Mrs. Helm was attacked by a young Indian, who raised his tomahawk, intending to deal her a blow, but she avoided the murderous weapon and seized her assailant around the neck. This is the moment that the sculptor of the bronze group, now situated at the intersection of Eighteenth Street and Calumet Avenue, chose for his representation. Mrs. Helm tried to get possession of the scalping knife which hung in a scabbard over his breast, but another and an older Indian dragged her away with a strong grasp. Struggling and resisting, she was then borne toward the lake, plunged into the water and firmly held, as if it were the intention to drown her. She soon perceived, however, that the object of her captor was not to drown her, as he held her in such a position as to keep her head above water. She began to gather courage, and looking the savage full in the face, she saw at once, notwithstanding the paint with which he had disguised himself, that it was Black Partridge, the chief who had surrendered his medal to the commandant the evening before. [Illustration: MEMORIAL MONUMENT TO THE MASSACRE _This monument marks the spot where the battle and massacre of the troops and others took place on the 15th of August 1812. The monument was designed by Mr. Carl Rohl-Smith. It consists of a bronze group placed on a pedestal of granite, upon the sides of which are panels depicting scenes in relief connected with the events of that day. It is situated at the foot of Eighteenth street, adjoining the tracks of the Illinois Central Railroad, and was the gift of Mr. George M. Pullman to the people of Chicago._ _The scene represents Black Partridge rescuing Mrs. Helm from death at the hands of a frenzied savage, the prostrate figure being that of the unfortunate Dr. Van Voorhis, the post surgeon, who met his death on that occasion. The child stretching out its arms in an appeal for help recalls the fiendish massacre of infants which was the terrible feature of the day._] When the firing was nearly over, the chief brought her out of the water and placed her on a sand-bank. "It was a burning August morning," she said, "and walking through the sand in my drenched condition was inexpressibly painful and fatiguing. I stooped and took off my shoes to free them from the sand with which they were nearly filled, when a squaw seized them and carried them off, and I was obliged to proceed without them."