John McKenzie, or, as he was afterwards called, John Kinzie, was the son of Surgeon John McKenzie of the 60th Royal American Regiment of Foot, and of Anne Haleyburton, the widow of Chaplain William Haleyburton of the First or Royal American Regiment of Foot.

Major Haleyburton died soon after their arrival in America, and two years later his widow married Surgeon John McKenzie. Their son John was born in Quebec, December 3, 1763.

In the old family Bible the "Mc" is dropped in recording the birth of "John Kinsey" (so spelled), thus indicating that he was known as John Kinsey, or, as he himself spelled it, "Kinzie," from early childhood.

Major McKenzie survived the birth of his son but a few months, and his widow took for her third husband Mr. William Forsyth, of New York City.

Young John grew up under the care and supervision of his stepfather, Mr. Forsyth, until at the age of ten he began his adventurous career by running away.

He and his two half brothers attended a school at Williamsburg, L. I., escorted there every Monday by a servant, who came to take them home every Friday. One fine afternoon when the servant came for the boys Master Johnny was missing. An immediate search was made, but not a trace of him could be found. His mother was almost frantic. The mysterious disappearance of her bright, handsome boy was a fearful blow.

Days passed without tidings of the lost one, and hope fled. The only solution suggested was, that he might have been accidentally drowned and his body swept out to sea.

Meantime Master John was very much alive.

He had determined to go to Quebec to try, as he afterwards explained, to discover some of his father's relatives.

He had managed to find a sloop which was just going up the Hudson, and with the confidence and audacity of a child, stepped gaily on board and set forth on his travels.

Most fortunately for him, he attracted the notice of a passenger who was going to Quebec, and who began to question the lonely little lad. He became so interested in the boy that he took him in charge, paid his fare, and landed him safely in his native city.

But here, alas, Master Johnny soon found himself stranded. Very cold, very hungry, and very miserable, he was wandering down one of the streets of Quebec when his attention was attracted by a glittering array of watches and silver in a shop window, where a man was sitting repairing a clock.

Johnny stood gazing wistfully in. His yellow curls, blue eyes, and pathetic little face appealed to the kind silversmith, who beckoned him into the shop and soon learned his story.

"And what are you going to do now?" asked the man.

"I am going to work," replied ten-year-old valiantly.

"Why, what could you do?" laughed the man.

"I could do anything you told me to do, if you just showed me how to do it," said John.

The result was that John got a job.

The silversmith had no children, and as the months rolled on he grew more and more fond of John. He taught him as much of his trade as the lad could acquire in the three years of his stay in Quebec. Later in his life this knowledge was of great value to him, for it enabled him to secure the friendship and assistance of the Indians by fashioning for them various ornaments and "tokens" from the silver money paid them as annuities by the United States Government. The Indians called him "Shaw-nee-aw-kee" or the Silver Man, and by that name he was known among all the tribes of the Northwest.

These happy and useful years drew to a close. As John was one day walking down the street, a gentleman from New York stopped him and said: "Are you not Johnny Kinzie?" John admitted that he was, and the gentleman, armed with the astonishing news and the boy's address, promptly communicated with Mr. Forsyth, who at once came to Quebec and took the runaway home.

His rejoicing mother doubtless saved him from the sound thrashing he richly deserved at the hands of his stepfather.

John had now had enough of running away, and was content to stay at home and buckle down to his books. The few letters of his which remain and are preserved in the Chicago Historical Society give evidence of an excellent education.

The roving spirit was still alive in him, however. Mr. Forsyth had moved West and settled in Detroit, and when John was about eighteen years old he persuaded his stepfather to fit him out as an Indian trader.

This venture proved a great success. Before he was one and twenty, young Kinzie had established two trading posts, one at Sandusky and one at Maumee, and was pushing towards the west, where he later started a depot at St. Joseph, Michigan.

John Kinzie's success as an Indian trader was almost phenomenal. He acquired the language of the Indians with great facility; he respected their customs, and they soon found that his "word was as good as his bond." He was a keen trader, not allowing himself to be cheated, nor attempting to cheat the Indians. He quickly gained the confidence and esteem of the various tribes with which he dealt, and the personal friendship of many of their most powerful chiefs, who showed themselves ready to shield him in danger, and to rescue him from harm at the risk of their lives.

When in the neighborhood of Detroit, he stayed with his half brother, William Forsyth, who had married a Miss Margaret Lytle, daughter of Colonel William Lytle of Virginia. In their home he was always a welcome guest; and here he met Mrs. Forsyth's younger sister, Eleanor. She was the widow of a British officer, Captain Daniel McKillip, who had been killed in a sortie from Ft. Defiance. Since her husband's death, she and her little daughter Margaret had made their home with the Forsyths.

John Kinzie fell desperately in love with the handsome young widow, and on January 23, 1798, they were married.

In all of his new and arduous career he had been greatly aided and protected by John Harris, the famous Indian scout and trader mentioned by Irving in his Life of Washington (Volume 1, Chapter XII). It was in grateful appreciation of these kindnesses that he named his son "John Harris," after this valued friend.

Mr. Kinzie continued to extend his business still farther west, until in October, 1803, when his son John Harris was but three months old, he moved with his family to Chicago, where he purchased the trading establishment of a Frenchman named Le Mai.

Here, cut off from the world at large, with no society but the garrison at Fort Dearborn, the Kinzies lived in contentment, and in the quiet enjoyment of all the comforts, together with many of the luxuries of life. The first white child born outside of Fort Dearborn was their little daughter Ellen Marion, on December 20, 1805. Next came Maria, born September 28, 1807. Then, last, Robert Allan, born February 8, 1810.

By degrees, Mr. Kinzie established still more remote posts, all contributing to the parent post at Chicago; at Milwaukee, with the Menominee; at Rock River with the Winnebago and the Potowatomi; on the Illinois River and the Kankakee with the Prairie Potowatomi; and with the Kickapoo in what was called "Le Large," the widely extended district afterwards converted into Sangamon County. He was appointed Sub-Indian Agent and Government Interpreter, and in these capacities rendered valuable service.

About the year 1810, a Frenchman named Lalime was killed by John Kinzie under the following circumstances: Lalime had become insanely jealous of Mr. Kinzie's success as a rival trader, and was unwise enough to threaten to take Kinzie's life. The latter only laughed at the reports, saying "Threatened men live long, and I am not worrying over Lalime's wild talk." Several of his stanchest Indian friends, however, continued to warn him, and he at last consented to carry some sort of weapon in case Lalime really had the folly to attack him. He accordingly took a carving knife from the house and began sharpening it on a grindstone in the woodshed.

Young John stood beside him, much interested in this novel proceeding.

"What are you doing, father?" he asked.

"Sharpening this knife, my son," was the reply.

"What for?" said John.

"Go into the house," replied his father, "and don't ask questions about things that don't concern you."

A few days passed. Nothing happened; but Mr. Kinzie carried the knife.

Mrs. Kinzie's daughter by her first marriage was now seventeen years old, and was the wife of Lieutenant Linai Thomas Helm, one of the officers stationed at Fort Dearborn, and Mr. Kinzie frequently went over there to spend the evening. One very dark night he sauntered over to the fort, and was just entering the inclosure, when a man sprang out from behind the gate post and plunged a knife into his neck. It was Lalime. Quick as a flash, Mr. Kinzie drew his own knife and dealt Lalime a furious blow, and a fatal one. The man fell like a log into the river below. Mr. Kinzie staggered home, covered with blood from the deep wound.

The late Gurdon S. Hubbard, in a letter to a grandson of John Kinzie's, gives the following account of the affair:

143 Locust St., Chicago, Ill.,
Feb. 6th, 1884.

Arthur M. Kinzie, Esq.,
My Dear Sir,

I have yours of 5th. You corroborate what I have said about your grandfather killing Lalime as far as you state. I am glad you do. I cannot forget what I heard from your grandmother and Mrs. Helm. They said your grandfather, coming in bloody, said "I have killed Lalime. A guard will be sent from the Fort to take me. Dress my neck quickly!" Your grandmother did so, remarking "They shall not take you to the fort—come with me to the woods." She hid him, came home, and soon a Sergeant with guard appeared. Could not find your grandfather.

After the excitement was over, the officers began to reason on the subject calmly, for Lalime was highly respected, good social company, educated. They came to the conclusion that the act was in self defence. The history of Chicago, by Mr. Andreas will soon be out. He sent me the account relating to your grandfather to revise. Much in it incorrect, which I have explained.

Can't you come and see me?

Your friend,

G. S. Hubbard.

As far as it goes this account agrees with the facts as held by the family. The Kinzies, however, always stated that after the excitement subsided, as it did in a few weeks, Mr. Kinzie sent word to the commanding officer at the fort that he wished to come in, give himself up, and have a fair trial. This was granted. The fresh wounds in his neck—the thrust had barely missed the jugular vein—and the testimony given as to the threats Lalime had uttered, resulted in an immediate verdict of justifiable homicide.

In the meantime some of Lalime's friends conceived the idea that it would be a suitable punishment for Mr. Kinzie to bury his victim directly in front of the Kinzie home, where he must necessarily behold the grave every time he passed out of his own gate. Great was their chagrin and disappointment, however, when Mr. Kinzie, far from being annoyed at their action, proceeded to make Lalime's grave his special care.

Flowers were planted on it and it was kept in most beautiful order. Many a half hour the Kinzie children longed to spend in play, was occupied by their father's order in raking the dead leaves away from Lalime's grave and watering the flowers there.

About two years subsequent to this event the Fort Dearborn Massacre occurred. John Kinzie's part in that tragedy has already been given in Helm's narrative.

After the massacre Mr. Kinzie was not allowed to leave St. Joseph with his family, his Indian friends insisting that he remain and endeavor to secure some remnant of his scattered property. During his excursions with them for that purpose he wore the costume and paint of the tribe in order to escape capture and perhaps death at the hands of those who were still thirsting for blood.

His anxiety for his family at length became so great that he followed them to Detroit, where he was paroled by General Proctor in January.

At the surrender of Detroit, which took place the day before the massacre at Chicago, General Hull had stipulated that the inhabitants should be permitted to remain undisturbed in their homes. Accordingly, the family of Mr. Kinzie took up their residence among their friends in the old mansion which many will recollect as standing on the northwest corner of Jefferson Avenue and Wayne Street, Detroit.

Feelings of indignation and sympathy were constantly aroused in the hearts of the citizens during the winter that ensued. They were almost daily called upon to witness the cruelties practiced upon American prisoners brought in by their Indian captors. Those who could scarcely drag their wounded, bleeding feet over the frozen ground were compelled to dance for the amusement of the savages; and these exhibitions sometimes took place before the Government House, the residence of Colonel McKee. Sometimes British officers looked on from their windows at these heart-rending performances. For the honor of humanity, we will hope such instances were rare.

Everything available among the effects of the citizens was offered to ransom their countrymen from the hands of these inhuman beings. The prisoners brought in from the River Raisin—those unfortunate men who were permitted, after their surrender to General Proctor, to be tortured and murdered by inches by his savage allies—excited the sympathy and called for the action of the whole community. Private houses were turned into hospitals, and every one was forward to get possession of as many as possible of the survivors. To accomplish this, even articles of apparel were bartered by the ladies of Detroit, as from doors or windows they watched the miserable victims carried about for sale.

In the dwelling of Mr. Kinzie one large room was devoted to the reception of the sufferers. Few of them survived. Among those spoken of as arousing the deepest interest were two young gentlemen of Kentucky, brothers, both severely wounded, and their wounds aggravated to a mortal degree by subsequent ill usage and hardships. Their solicitude for each other, and their exhibition in various ways of the most tender fraternal affection, created an impression never to be forgotten.

The last bargain made by the Kinzies was effected by black Jim and one of the children, who had permission to redeem a negro servant of the gallant Colonel Allen with an old white horse, the only available article that remained among their possessions. A brother of Colonel Allen's afterwards came to Detroit, and the negro preferred returning to servitude rather than remaining a stranger in a strange land.

Mr. Kinzie, as has been related, joined his family at Detroit in the month of January. A short time after his arrival suspicion arose in the mind of General Proctor that he was in correspondence with General Harrison, who was now at Fort Meigs, and who was believed to be meditating an advance upon Detroit. Lieutenant Watson, of the British army, waited upon Mr. Kinzie one day with an invitation to the quarters of General Proctor on the opposite side of the river, saying the General wished to speak with him on business.

Quite unsuspecting, Mr. Kinzie complied with the request, when to his surprise he was ordered into confinement, and strictly guarded in the house of his former partner, Mr. Patterson, of Sandwich.

Finding he did not return home, Mrs. Kinzie informed some Indian chiefs, Mr. Kinzie's particular friends, who immediately repaired to the headquarters of the commanding officer, demanded "their friend's" release, and brought him back to his home. After waiting until a favorable opportunity presented itself, the General sent a detachment of dragoons to arrest Mr. Kinzie. They succeeded in carrying him away, and crossing the river with him. Just at this moment a party of friendly Indians made their appearance.

"Where is Shaw-nee-aw-kee?" was the first question.

"There," replied his wife, pointing across the river, "in the hands of the redcoats, who are taking him away again."

The Indians ran down to the river, seized some canoes they found there, and, crossing over to Sandwich, a second time compelled General Proctor to forego his intentions.

A third time this officer attempted to imprison Mr. Kinzie, and this time succeeded in conveying him heavily ironed to Fort Malden, in Canada, at the mouth of the Detroit River. Here he was at first treated with great severity, but after a time the rigor of his confinement was somewhat relaxed, and he was permitted to walk on the bank of the river for air and exercise.

On September 10, as he was taking his promenade under the close supervision of a guard of soldiers, the whole party were startled by the sound of guns upon Lake Erie, at no great distance below. What could it mean? It must be Commodore Barclay firing into some of the Yankees. The firing continued.

The hour allotted to the prisoner for his daily walk expired, but neither he nor his guard observed the lapse of time, so anxiously were they listening to what they now felt sure must be an engagement between ships of war. At length Mr. Kinzie was reminded that he must return to confinement. He petitioned for another half hour.

"Let me stay," said he, "till we can learn how the battle has gone."

Very soon a sloop appeared under press of sail, rounding the point, and presently two gunboats in pursuit of her.

"She is running—she bears the British colors!" cried Kinzie. "Yes, yes, they are lowering—she is striking her flag! Now," turning to the soldiers, "I will go back to prison contented—I know how the battle has gone."

The sloop was the "Little Belt," the last of the squadron captured by the gallant Perry on that memorable occasion which he announced in the immortal words:

"We have met the enemy, and they are ours."

Matters were growing critical, and it was necessary to transfer all prisoners to a place of greater security than the frontier was now likely to be. It was resolved, therefore, to send Mr. Kinzie to the mother country.

Nothing has ever appeared which would in any way explain the course of General Proctor in regard to this gentleman. He had been taken from the bosom of his family, where he was living quietly under the parole he had received, protected by the stipulations of the surrender. For months he had been kept in confinement. Now he was placed on horseback under a strong guard, who announced that they had orders to shoot him through the head if he offered to speak to a person upon the road. He was tied upon the saddle to prevent his escape, and thus set out for Quebec. A little incident occurred which will illustrate the course invariably pursued towards our citizens at this period by the British army on the Northwestern frontier.

The saddle on which Mr. Kinzie rode had not been properly fastened, and, owing to the rough motion of the animal it turned, bringing the rider into a most awkward and painful position. His limbs being fastened, he could not disengage himself, and in this manner he was compelled to ride until nearly exhausted, before those in charge had the humanity to release him.

Arrived at Quebec, he was put on board a small vessel to be sent to England. When a few days out at sea the vessel was chased by an American frigate and driven into Halifax. A second time she set sail, when she sprung a leak and was compelled to put back.

The attempt to send Mr. Kinzie across the ocean was now abandoned, and he was returned to Quebec. Another step, equally inexplicable with his arrest, was soon after taken.

Although the War of 1812 was not yet ended, Mr. Kinzie, together with a Mr. Macomb, of Detroit, who was also in confinement in Quebec, was released and given permission to return to his friends and family. It may possibly be imagined that in the treatment these gentlemen received, the British commander-in-chief sheltered himself under the plea of their being "native born British subjects," and that perhaps when it was ascertained that Mr. Kinzie was indeed a citizen of the United States it was thought safest to release him.

In the meantime, General Harrison at the head of his troops had reached Detroit. He landed September 29. All the citizens went forth to meet him. Mrs. Kinzie, leading her children, was of the number. The General accompanied her to her home, and took up his abode there. On his arrival he was introduced to Kee-po-tah, who happened to be on a visit to the family at that time. The General had seen the chief the preceding year, at the Council at Vincennes, and the meeting was one of great cordiality and interest.

Fort Dearborn was rebuilt in 1816, on a larger scale than before, and, on the return of the troops, the bones of the unfortunate Americans who had been massacred four years previously were collected and buried.

In this same year Mr. Kinzie and his family again returned to Chicago, where he at once undertook to collect the scattered remnants of his property—a most disheartening task. He found his various trading-posts abandoned, his clerks scattered, and his valuable furs and goods lost or destroyed.

In real estate, however, he was rich—for he owned nearly all the land on the north side of the Chicago River, and many acres on the south and west sides, as well as all of what was known as "Kinzie's Addition."

At the present day the "Kinzie School," and the street which bears his name, are all that remain to remind this generation of the pioneer on whose land now stands the wonderful City of Chicago.

Mr. Kinzie, recognizing the importance of the geographical position of Chicago, and the vast fertility of the surrounding country, had always foretold its eventual prosperity. Unfortunately, he was not permitted to witness the fulfillment of his predictions.

On January 6, 1828, he was stricken with apoplexy, and in a few hours death closed his useful and energetic career.

He lies buried in Graceland Cemetery, Chicago. Loyal in life, death has mingled his ashes with the soil of the city whose future greatness he was perhaps the first to foresee.

John Kinzie was not only the sturdy, helpful pioneer, but also the genial, courteous gentleman.

To keen business ability he united the strictest honesty, and to the most dauntless courage, a tender and generous heart.

As the devoted friend of the red man, tradition has handed down the name of Shaw-nee-aw-kee throughout all the tribes of the Northwest.

Cornplanter, a Seneca chief