Kind friends were waiting for them at the station at Chicago, and they were soon driving through its busy streets. They approached the river, which has _made_ the town, affording as it does a safe harbor for vessels. This river runs due east and falls into the lakes, receiving, about a mile from its mouth, branches from the north and the south. The river and its branches, lined with substantial warehouses, divide the city into the north, south and west side. On approaching the bridge it suddenly swung round to give passage to a large schooner towed by a little puffing black tug, which gave its shrill whistle as a signal for the drawbridge to open, and then went panting and snorting through. While waiting for the bridge to resume its place, Emily Percy, a blue-eyed, fair-haired little girl who was seated beside Norman, showed him an old wooden house that formerly belonged to Fort Dearborn, and that, with the light-house, was the only thing left to tell of its existence. “Norman,” said Mrs. Lester, “this is the fort spoken of in those lines you are so fond of repeating about the Indians: ‘Where, to repel their fierce attack, Fort Dearborn rear’d across their track Its log-constructed walls. For forty years these fronts of wood The tempest and the foe withstood; And many a night of fire and flood, The dauntless garrison made good Their supper in its halls.’” “It is difficult to fancy any Indians here, in the heart of this busy city,” said Norman. “And yet this great city,” said Mrs. Percy “is the growth of twenty-five years. In 1831 there were but four arrivals, two brigs and two schooners, and now there are eight thousand.” “The lonely garrison that abandoned this fort in 1812,” said Mrs. Lester, “would have been rather astonished, could the vision of this city have risen up: before them.” “Why did they abandon the fort, mother?” asked Norman. “They thought it best when they heard of General Hull’s surrender at Detroit. Soon after leaving the fort they were attacked by a large body of Indians, to whom they surrendered, on condition that their lives should be spared. Notwithstanding this promise, the Indians cruelly murdered several of them.” “You must not forget to tell of Mrs. Heald,” said Mrs. Percy, “for I think we may call her the heroine of Chicago.” “I leave that to you,” replied Mrs. Lester. “An Indian,” said Mrs. Percy, “approached her with uplifted tomahawk, when, with great presence of mind, she looked him full in the face, and smilingly said, ‘Surely you would not kill a squaw!’ This Indian warrior was disarmed by this appeal, and the lady’s life was saved.”