only person living who has looked upon that old stockade and taken part
in its tragic history. What a marvellous change has less than a century
witnessed! Once the outermost guard of our western frontier, it is now
the site of one of the great cities of two continents. To me, who have
seen these events and changes, it possesses more than the wonderment of a
dream.

That day, as I rode forward, I saw but little of the Fort's formation,
for my eyes and thoughts were so filled with those frenzied savages that
hemmed us about, and the cool deployment of the few troops that guarded
our passage-way, that everything else made but a dim impression. Yet the
glimpse I obtained, even at that exciting moment, together with the
subsequent experiences that came to me, have indelibly impressed each
detail of the rude Fort upon my memory.

It stands before me now, clear-cut and prominent, its outlines distinct
against the background of blue water or green plains. In that early day
the Fort was a fairly typical outpost of the border, like scores of
others scattered at wide and irregular intervals from the Carolina
mountains upon the south to the joining of the great lakes at the north,
forming one link in the thin chain of frontier fortifications against
Indian treachery and outbreak. It bore the distinction, among the
others, of being the most advanced and exposed of all, and its small
garrison was utterly isolated and alone, a forlorn hope in the heart of
the great wilderness.

The Fort had been erected nine years before our arrival, upon the
southern bank of a dull and sluggish stream, emptying into the Great Lake
from the west, and known to the earlier French explorers as the river
Chicagou. The spot selected was nearly that where an old-time French