FRIENDS OF THE WIGWAM: A Civil War Story

by John William Huelskamp

  “That’s right. Those holly bushes have leaves that are green all year. All evergreens are a symbol of eternal life. Ya know, like you never die. That’s what Grandma Lucy says. She says those Injuns did believe that the red berries of the holly bushes stand for love. So the holly branch stands for eternal love. The leaves from that big ol’ oak outside are for courage.”

  “I still don’t get what you’re getting at,” Aaron replied with a look of frustration in his face.

  Jenny and Will remained silent.

  “Well, if you think of puttin’ the china plate together, it all makes sense. And there is a legend about these things that Grandma Lucy told me. So it all makes sense.” Allie straightened her back. She looked somber and continued. “Back before any white folk came to the Pecatonica, there were Injun tribes who fought in these parts. She said there were two Injun lovers who walked along this river.”

  Jenny blushed and glanced at Aaron and then quickly looked down in embarrassment.

  Allie paused, smiled, and continued. “Young braves would take off to other tribes to take horses, tomahawks, and other stuff. Sometimes they would just face off without killin’ one another. They were still brave when doin’ so.”

  “Like a fistfight?” asked Aaron.

  “No, they counted coup. They would ride their horses at each other in an open field, like the knights of old, you know. The riders would carry a coup stick that was skinny as a sapplin’ and about ten feet long. When they got right close enough, they would touch the Injuns they were fightin’ with the coup stick and, sure as a rabbit, ride their ponies as fast as they could to git back to the other braves that couldn’t git the gumption to go with ’em!”

  “So they didn’t kill each other in the fight?” Will asked.

  “No. Just gittin that close and touchin’ ’em with those long sticks was brave. Grandma Lucy says they would get feathers for each coup they did get.”

  “What does this have to do with the wigwam? I still don’t get it,” Aaron replied, his green eyes peering inquisitively.

  “I will tell you the story ’bout this place. An ol’ legend has it that the Injun lovers met somewhere ’long this river. After each raid the brave would meet his maiden here. One day as the dusk was settling in, he didn’t come back. His lover returned to the Winnebago village to find him wrapped in buffalo hides. He was killed during a coup fight. A Potawatomi touched him with a coup stick and rode back. The Winnebago lover then took his stick and rode his horse to do the same. When he got real close, a Potawatomi broke the Injun code and shot him off his horse with a musket ball. They all took off ’cept the friends who carried him on his horse back to the village.”

  Allie finished and looked up with a tear in her eye. The silence in the wigwam was deafening. Jenny sniffled on her lacy silk kerchief. The boys said nothing.

  “So do you think the tomahawk and medicine bag are theirs?” Jenny replied as she dabbed both eyes.

  “Legend has it that the medicine bag was hers, the tomahawk is his, and this place was their secret place on the river!”

  “So what about the holly and the oak tree?” Will asked.

  “I ’spect the two planted those holly bushes. They rightly loved each other more than one could know. And that big bowed oak…I reckon she put that there for him because of his courage and bravery.” Allie paused. “Strange how it bends. It looks kinda sad as it hangs right over the river. Makes a good climbin’ tree, though.”

  Everyone looked at each other and nodded. There was silence again. Nobody knew what to say.

  Suddenly, a loud crack of a gunshot pierced the air, followed by the sound of the bullet impacting something very close to them. Jenny screamed in fear. The four jumped up, huddled by the entrance, and peered out across the river.

  “Who do you think it is, Will?” asked Aaron as he placed his arms snugly around Jenny.

  “I don’t know. Wait! I see it!”

  “What? What?”

  Across the river was an old hickory tree that had lost its footing in the river bank soil. A gust of wind had tipped it over into the river during a storm. The top half of the tree had been stripped of its leaves by the current, and over the years the old hickory had become deeply buried in the muck. The massive roots on the bank appeared like a dragon’s foot with the tree trunk resembling a submerged leg, giving the impression that a dragon was sleeping in the Pecatonica with one of its feet resting on the opposite shore.

  “I see a rifle perched between the toes of the dragon’s foot. And it’s pointing in our direction,” Will whispered as he squinted toward the other side of the Pecatonica.

  “Oh my God!” Jenny exclaimed.

  “Jenny, now you just settle down a bit. We got to see this thing out,” Allie stated calmly. “No sense gittin worked up right now. Could be someone just huntin’.”

  Allie squeezed out of the cave entrance, walked to the riverbank with both hands on her hips, and glared at the two strangers.

  “Come outa there and show your faces! You damn near hit me with that ball!”

  The barrel of the rifle was pulled back from its resting spot between two of the center toes of the dragon’s foot. It pointed straight up now. There was a tense moment of silence. A rustle could be heard distinctly across the water. Two heads popped up between the toes. Both were covered by wide floppy hats.

  “Ma’am, I am very sorry,” shouted the tallest one across the river. He raised his rifle over his head, perpendicular to his body so all could see he meant no harm.

  Allie cupped both her hands to her mouth and announced directly, “I ain’t a ma’am. I’m a miss! Now, come out from behind that tree and reckon with us!”

  There was a hush of wind that caused ripples on the slow-moving water. The hats disappeared from view. Another pause, and then two figures appeared on each side of the dragon’s foot.

  “We are boys from Buda, just down the river. Can we cross?” answered the tall one.

  At that point everyone slowly emerged from the cave. Allie looked at Will. Will then glanced at the others. Everyone knew the strangers were now aware of the cave entrance. There was quiet on both sides of the Pecatonica.

  Will shouted, “You can come over, but keep your rifle over your head with both hands up!”

  The strangers disappeared again behind the dragon’s foot. Within a moment the tall one put both hands on two toes of the fallen tree and pulled himself up onto the trunk. He then grabbed the rifle from the other stranger, who lifted it up between the same two toes. From there he started walking with the rifle raised above his hat. He started down the angling shin of the dragon’s foot so he could get as far across the river as possible without getting his boots wet. Step by step he proceeded down the trunk, placing each foot carefully in front of the other. Within a few minutes, he was close to the friends. The dragon shin was nearly submerged at that point, only ten feet from the wigwam.

  “The river is only about three feet deep from where you are. You can easily walk the rest if you don’t care much about your britches and boots getting wet,” Will cautioned the tall one. Since he was the oldest and tallest of the friends, he wanted to make sure the strangers knew he could fend for the group.

  The tall stranger proceeded into the water and stepped up, slipping slightly, on the muddy shore. He nodded gently under his wide-brimmed hat and then looked at his friend by the dragon’s foot.

  “My fishin’ pole is stuck in the roots, and I can’t get to it rightly without fallin’ in the river,” the other stranger announced in a nervous drawl. He stood short, not much over five feet tall, and wore a hat with a turned-up, wide brim. His eyes and hair were a charcoal black that accented his large nose, and he had a moustache that looked like cat whiskers. He was pudgy, shaped like an egg. His shoulders were sloped and his hips too wide for his body. “Now, hold on! Yep, I got it! I will be there lickety-split!”

  “Hold that pole to both sides of you so you can balance,” Will instructed.

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nbsp; The pudgy little stranger held the long cane pole over his head with both hands, causing his shirt to rise up and expose his big belly, belly button and all.

  “I will be there right quick,” he said.

  Suddenly, the breeze picked up again, sending a wave of ripples across the river. The cane pole began to wobble.

  “You better watch your step!” the tall one cried out.

  “I don’t much have any steps right now!” he screamed. “Could you get me some chicken feet to make this distance!”

  When he was at midriver, the deepest point, he stopped to balance himself. “I can right make it,” he said. “I just hope this dragon doesn’t wake up soon and send me flyin’.”

  Everyone chuckled.

  The tall stranger looked at the kids, shook his head, and replied, “Well, if he does, you can slay that dragon with your cane pole!”

  With that comment, the friends let out a hoot, causing the pudgy one to start laughing, too. As his chuckles rose in pitch, the wind picked up, sending the pole and him headlong into the river. A head soon emerged followed by two hands that slapped the water. One held the hat; the other gripped the cane pole.

  “Guess that damn dragon thought I was a flea or something.”

  Everyone hooted again. Arms and legs flailed as the stranger tried to get closer to the muddy bank.

  “Give me that cane. I can get you out,” Allie exclaimed. “Take your boots off so you don’t lose ’em in the deep mud!”

  “Why, miss, I can’t rightly do any bendin’ right now to get my brogans off! Can’t even reach my knees out here! Can you take my pole?”

  Allie reached for the tip, now within two feet of the riverbank, and grabbed it firmly. “We can pull you in. Keep your boots on, then!”

  The other friends grabbed the pole and pulled hard.

  “Now don’t let go!” Will shouted.

  “Bet my boots and britches, I won’t!”

  With his hat and pole gripped firmly, he was pulled quickly onto the muddy shore. He rolled over and in one quick motion jumped to his feet like a cat. He put his soaked hat back on his head and pulled it down to his ears.

  “I want to thank you kindly, miss. And you, too, miss. And the misters, too,” he replied with a smile that grew to a radiant grin. “I suspect you must be wonderin’ how I can catch anything with this pole if I keep swimmin’ with it ’stead of stayin’ on dry ground!”

  Chuckles rose from the group.

  Allie turned to the tall one. “So why did ya shoot at us? Why were you snoopin’ on us?”

  “Whoa, hold it, missy. I think you’re reading us dead wrong now,” replied the pudgy one. He looked down to his muddy boots and britches and then pleaded, “And besides, we haven’t made proper introductions.”

  Allie looked down river, paused, then gently nodded her head. “Well, I am Allie. This is Will, Aaron, and Jenny. They are from Freeport. I live over by the Rock River. We are friends of the wigwam.”

  The pudgy one walked over and stood erect by his friend, who easily stood a foot taller and was blond and sturdy. He held his rifle with an easy grace. The contrast was striking.

  “We are friends from Buda. He fishes, and I hunt,” said the tall one.

  “And what are your names?’ asked Will.

  The tall one replied in a steady tone, “His nickname is Trick. It’s short for Patrick. His last name is Kane.”

  “And you?”

  “My name is T.J. Lockwood.”

  There was a pause.

  Will and Aaron quickly looked at each other.

  “Are you the T.J. Lockwood who shot from the belfry tower during the big fire?” exclaimed Will.

  The friends glanced at each other as Will asked the question.

  “Yes, I am,” T.J. answered.

  There was a longer pause this time before Allie spoke up. “Well, why in the dickens are you firin’ at friends?”

  “I was shooting at a squirrel that was hiding in those holly bushes.”

  “Well, it looks like you missed it good,” replied Allie.

  T.J. approached the holly-covered entrance to the wigwam. He poked the barrel of his squirrel rifle into the greenery and then reached in and pulled out a dead squirrel by its tail. “Guess we best be off, Trick. Supper will be coming up shortly. We best be getting home.”

  Trick grabbed his cane pole.

  “Don’t go!” Aaron begged.

  “Will, don’t you think we should show T.J. the wigwam? He saved the town two years ago. He would make a good friend.”

  Will looked at Allie and Jenny. Jenny nodded.

  “What about you, Allie?”

  “Well, I suppose, but I can’t quite see lettin’ him in,” Allie replied as she pointed to Trick.

  Trick replied in a beat, “Yeah, I guess I can’t save a town with a cane pole from the belfry, but I can sure fish this river better than anyone.”

  “We go together,” T.J. said. “That’s the way it’s been. That’s the way it’ll always be.”

  Will looked at Allie, who nodded reluctantly. He approached T.J. and Trick and extended his hand. “You are friends, and we are friends. You can join us now as friends of the wigwam.”

  T.J. grasped Will’s hand firmly and nodded. Will grabbed Trick’s thick hand and turned to Allie, Aaron, and Jenny. “Both of these boys from Buda will make good as friends. We have something to show you now.”

  Will was first to lift back the holly branches that hid the wigwam. He ducked inside the entrance followed by T.J., Trick, and the rest of the friends.

  The boys from Buda would be late for dinner, but it was all good for now.

  Chapter 12

  Republican National

  Convention

  Chicago

  May, 1860

  The Wigwam

  Southeast Corner of Lake and Market Streets

  Black smoked belched up through the cone-like stack one last time as the red engine reeled into Chicago Station. The dark cloud of soot reeled over the passenger cars and descended on the waiting throng of delegates who waved small thirty-four-star-studded flags. It was convention time in the city of the big shoulders. Most of the trains traveled from the east where William H. Seward of New York was expected to take the Republican Party nomination for president of the United States on the first ballot.

  “Congressman Washburne! Congressman Washburne!” barked a surly looking character whose head poked above the crowd.

  “Yes, sir, how may I help you?” Washburne replied hesitantly. He did not extend his hand because he did not recognize the stranger.

  “Don’t you remember me? My name is John Hanks, Mr. Congressman.” The stranger took off his hat and raised both eyebrows in anticipation of a nod of recognition from Washburne.

  “John Hanks…John Hanks…” He looked at the stranger, brow furrowed as he struggled to remember.

  The stranger stared back.

  “Oh, Mr. Hanks! Why, of course. You are Mr. Lincoln’s brother, I should say.” Washburne smiled, nodded in recognition, and then extended his hand.

  “I am his uncle, mind you!” Hanks shook Washburne’s hand and then pulled on his beard, which was a foot long and ran from ear to ear like that of an Amish farmer’s.

  “My apologies, sir, for my impropriety. Good to see you, Mr. Hanks. Shall we head toward the wigwam now?”

  Hanks nodded and pulled his large, broad hat down to his ears. The two proceded to walk down Wacker Street where the growing crowds surged toward the wigwam. Washburne and Hanks stayed close so as not to be separated in the excitement of the gathering. Over one hundred thousand Chicagoans were in the streets and it seemed as if all were gathering around the wigwam.

  “What is this wigwam, Mr. Washburne?”

  “It is a marvelous new building constructed and named by the Republicans for this convention. It’s over on a corner of Lake and Market Streets. It was named to honor the original citizens of this Sucker State, mainly Potawotomi and Winnebagos.”
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  “Will there be Indians there?”

  “Only one that I know of, and he’s a Seneca Indian from Western New York who lives in Galena now.”

  “What is his name?”

  “He is Ely Parker, a friend and member of the Wide Awakes.”

  “And what is a Wide Awake?” asked Hanks, who pulled on his beard again as he looked down at Washburne.

  “Wide Awakes will stay up all night with torches, cheering on your nephew, Mr. Hanks. They let everyone in town know that Old Abe is vigilant even in the night. Mr. Seward thinks he has things all wrapped up here. The Wide Awakes and the rest of these Suckers around us still have a say in what happens in the wigwam tomorrow night. I hope you will join us there and help the cause.”

  “I certainly will, Congressman. I am not one for stump speeches, but I will do my best to help my nephew.”

  “Are you aware, Mr. Hanks, your nephew will stay in Springfield? He will make no speeches at the wigwam.”

  “Well, sir, I thought he would be. I came all the way from Decatur. I suppose now I should be here in spirit for him.” Hanks looked to his feet, stroked his beard again, and then looked at Washburne.

  “Good night, Mr. Hanks. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Good night, Congressman.”

  Hanks looked at the swelling crowd that created a bottleneck at Market Street. He decided to make his way to the Rush Street Bridge and cross the Chicago River to the less busy north side. He had not booked a hotel room, so after crossing the bridge, he headed east to Green Bay Street for another mile or so. By the time he reached the Catholic Cemetery south of North Avenue, he was clear of the noise and clatter. He entered the cemetery, meandering for a while between the headstones before finding a grassy spot that looked suitable to sleep on. In the distance he could hear waves gently slapping the swampy shore of Lake Michigan. The wind whispered through the boughs of a tall oak nearby. He stretched out on the ground, nodded twice, and then fell into a deep slumber.

  In what seemed only minutes, he was awakened by the bright morning sun as it rose steadily above the lake. A distant clatter could be heard building to the west. The wigwam was gathering a crowd even at this early hour.