Wau-nan-gee; Or, the Massacre at Chicago: A Romance of the American RevolutionRichardson, Major (John)
General
Wau-nan-gee; Or, the Massacre at Chicago: A Romance of the American Revolution
Richardson, Major (John)
Chicago (Ill.) -- Fiction; Fort Dearborn Massacre, Chicago, Ill., 1812 -- Fiction; Massacres -- Fiction
Although by no means persuaded by the reasoning of Winnebeg, that
men who had been plundering and drinking what they could find,
during the whole of the morning, were the most proper persons to
guard prisoners from the violence of excited enemies, Capt. Headley
felt that it would be imprudent to urge any further opposition.
For a single moment, it occurred to him that the chief had offered
this escort with a hostile motive, but it was a thought which,
involuntarily forced upon his mind, was as instantly discarded as
unworthy of the chief, and, whatever might have been his latent
misgivings, he no longer opposed an objection.
The preparations were soon made; the litter, and materials for
digging found, and the little party, who had taken off their uniforms
to avoid particular remark, and to be more free in their movements,
sallied forth. On passing near the gate, and in a direction opposite
to that by which they had just entered, they beheld the body of
Doctor Von Voltenberg, within a few paces of the pathway by which
they now advanced, which was the route taken by the Indians with
the three-pounder. He was stripped to the skin, scalped, and with
a profusion of large green flies and ants of the prairie settled
on and seemingly disputing possession of the dark and coagulated
blood that was already incrusted on the festering wound. The body
was fast becoming bloated and discolored under the rays of an August
sun, but no one could mistake the black and the peculiarly cut
whisker, and the good natured and smiling expression of face which
even in death had not wholly deserted him.
They had now reached the point where the Indians stood when the
first grenades were thrown in among them by the followers of Ronayne.
From this could be commanded a full view of the theatre of contest
as far as the crest of the sandhill, being a full musket-shot from
the spot where he had last fallen. The intermediate space, as has
already been remarked, was thickly strewn with dead bodies amounting
in all to upwards of a hundred, and the place chosen for interment
by Lieutenant Elmsley was the small copse of underwood, from which
the flank movement had been made upon Ronayne by the fresh band of
Indians upon whom he had directed the fire of the three-pounder.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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