The Kickapoo and Meskwaki (Fox) Tribes History in the Illinois County.

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According to the statements of a Kickapoo band now living in Mexico, their name in English translation means "Walking Indian." The Kickapoo is of Algonquian stock, and their language is very similar to Sac (Sauk) and Meskwaki (Fox) but slightly different from Shawnee. Several Miami Indians told one investigator that the Kickapoo were originally a part of the Shawnee group until they separated and then associated, to some degree, with the Miami. Chief Wah-bal-Io, a Fox Indian, related in 1820 that the Kickapoo were related to the Sauk and Fox by language and that the manners and customs of the three nations were alike.

The Mascouten has long been a problem to historians, anthropologists, and ethnologists because the early explorers or missionaries misunderstood their name; they frequently lived or associated with other tribes, and they signed no treaties with the United States where a study of their names and language could be made. One Jesuit reported in 1669 that the Mascoutens' name meant "Nation of Fire," but the following year, another priest corrected this report and translated the word as meaning "a treeless country." He explained that "Mascouten" had been misunderstood and confused with another word, fire. Later, a Miami confirmed the second priest's translation and declared that in the Mascouten tongue, "m'skoataa" is a prairie while "skoataa" is fire. The Mascouten said this Miami informant was a division of the Kickapoo and were known as the "People of the Prairie." However, Alanson Skinner, who based his conclusion on the translation of "Mascouten" like fire, insisted that the Mascouten were merely the Prairie Potawatomi since the latter name also meant "Nation of Fire." Some time ago, Indiana University completed a study of this problem and reported that the language of the Mascouten was understood by the Sauk-Fox-Kickapoo group.

In contrast, Potawatomi is much different from these three dialects. Therefore, they conclude, "If the Mascouten were linked with anyone during their known history, they were linked with the Kickapoo." It was said by the early Jesuits that the Mascouten also understood The Illinois tongue, probably because of their association with Miami while in Wisconsin. 

Jean Nicolet referred to the Mascouten in 1634 and located them near what is thought to be the present town of Berlin, Wisconsin, in the Fox River Valley. About 1657, the Jesuits said that the Mascouten were a three-day journey by water from Green Bay, and in 1669, they were placed near the Miami Tribe. At this same time, the Kickapoo lived within 4 leagues of the Fox Indians and in the same general area. By 1670, the Jesuits had discovered that the Mascouten and the Miami lived together in a palisaded village numbered 3,000 people, of whom 400 were warriors. Thus, the Mascouten obtained a working knowledge of the Miami language, nearly the same as that of The Illinois. Probably because of the close connection between the Mascouten and Miami at this time, confusion arose in one instance concerning the identity of a chief named Monso. He came to Lake Peoria in January of 1680, and René-Robert Cavelier, Sieur de La Salle (or René-Robert de La Salle), said that he was a Miami chief while Father Membre called him a Mascouten chief. La Salle also declared on August 22, 1682, that The Illinois had previously forced the Miami north into the country of the Mascouten.

A 1670-1671 Jesuit map showed the Mascouten on the Fox River southwest of Lake Winnebago, and Father Allouez, who was at the Saint Jacques mission in August of 1672, said that there were fifty large lodges (longhouses) of Mascouten, thirty of Kickapoo, and numerous Miami as well as some Illinois near his chapel. Marquette is said to have found the Mascouten, Kickapoo, and Miami at this exact location the following year. Near the southern tip of Lake Michigan in 1674, eight or nine Mascouten lodges were hunting in this area.13 Soon after this time, it would appear that the Mascouten were breaking up into various groups and living with their allies. In 1679, La Salle and Hennepin visited a group of Mascouten, Miami, and Wea near the portage from the St. Joseph to the Kankakee and in the same year, there were Mascouten and Fox villages in the vicinity of Lake Winnebago or Green Bay.

Longhouses of many Farming Indian Tribes. Hunters and Warriors would use Wigwams when traveling.

Although the Kickapoo were said to be a small nation and living in the neighborhood of the Winnebago, they were migrating down into the Illinois Country to hunt game or enemies in 1680. In October of that year, some Kickapoo killed Father Gabriel below the junction of the Illinois and Kankakee rivers, and La Salle discovered during the following month that a party of 200 had camped at the mouth of the Iroquois River. Upon reaching Starved Rock in December, La Salle observed that this same party of Kickapoo had moved into The Illinois village (which had been destroyed by the Iroquois in September) and rebuilt the houses after their own manner of construction. Some Mascouten had also moved south in 1680 and were seen near the Chicagou portage and at the Milwaukee River with a band of Fox. The area along the Chicago River was pointed out two years later as being the country of the Mascouten.

Mascouten Indian Tribe Wigwams.

About the year 1683, the Iroquois made an attack upon the Mascouten who were in the Lake Michigan area and carried off a number of them as prisoners. The remainder of the Mascouten and Kickapoo fled to escape further slaughter, although the Iroquois induced the Fox to remain where they were. Perhaps this attack marks the beginning of their migration into Illinois since the Franquelin map of 1684 shows the Rock River of Illinois as the "River of the Kickapoo." Minet's map of 1685 also places the Kickapoo here, and Homan's map of 1687 shows the Mascouten between the Rock and Wisconsin Rivers. Coronelli's map, drawn the following year, indicates that the Mascouten were living south of the Wisconsin River and gives a clue to the identity of this elusive nation. They were, said Coronelli, a group composed of Mascouten, Miami, and Kickapoo.

In French, a portion of the Franquelin map of 1684 shows the Rock River in Illinois as the "River of the Kickapoo."

Henri de Tonti stated that the Kickapoo and Mascouten were 15 leagues inland from the Mississippi River, near the Wisconsin River. In 1690, there were still some Mascouten on the Chicago River. In 1695, Antoine Laumet de la Mothe, sieur de Cadillac (or Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac - sometimes spelled: Motte) reported that the Kickapoo and Mascouten were west of Lake Michigan's southern tip where they were able to hide from the Iroquois. Father Julien Binneteau said in January of 1699 that the Kickapoo had migrated south near the country of The Illinois to raise better corn. Some Kickapoo still lived above the Wisconsin River in 1700, but by this time, they and the Mascouten had become acquainted with the Michigamea and joined them in the war on the Iowa River. Since The Illinois had abandoned their northern lands, the Kickapoo and Mascouten were moving into the vicinity of the Illinois River and its tributaries by 1702. This year, Pierre LeMoyne and Sieur d'Lberville related that the Kickapoo and Mascouten could muster 450 warriors and sometimes attacked French canoes on the Mississippi River. However, their primary purpose was to catch beaver, which they sold at Green Bay or to traders in Illinois. For a time, the Mascouten had a village near the mouth of the Ohio River, but the missionaries could not convert them even though they understood The Illinois Algonquian language.

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The word "Mississippi" comes from the Ojibwe Indian Tribe (Algonquian language family) word "Messipi" or "misi-ziibi," which means "Great River" or "Gathering of Waters." French explorers, hearing the Ojibwe word for the river, recorded it in their own language with a similar pronunciation. The Potawatomi (Algonquian language family) pronounced "Mississippi" as the French said it, "Sinnissippi," which was given the meaning "Rocky Waters."

It seems reasonable to suppose that the Kickapoo and Mascouten used Illinois as a hunting area rather than a permanent habitat since 1703, when these two tribes still had villages on the Fox River near De Pere, Wisconsin. Two years later, they were along the Wisconsin River and numbered approximately 400 braves. Some of these Mascouten seem to have joined the Miami on the Wabash River before 1711, and the following year, a group also joined the Fox at Detroit, where they and the Fox were nearly all destroyed. There was also a settlement of Kickapoo on the mouth of the Maumee River, and thirty Mascouten moved there, probably to defend against the angry French. Soon after 1712, the Kickapoo and Mascouten withdrew to the Illinois Country and again settled upon the Rock River, where they continued their war with The Illinois.

The White Robe is said to have been the principal chief of the Kickapoo in 1720, and their country, as well as that of the Mascouten, was between the Fox and the Illinois rivers. But on September 15, 1720, two Mascouten chiefs appeared at the St. Joseph River and asked permission to live near the Potawatomi, saying they could no longer live peacefully with the Fox. In May of the following year, some Mascouten and a group of Kickapoo led by the White Robe established a village on the St. Joseph. Their hunting grounds seem to have been down the Wabash River, although these tribes wandered about from one region to another, as did most neighboring tribes. On October 11, 1723, Pierre Francois Vaudreuil declared that the Mascouten had been incorporated into the Fox tribe, indicating that the former had moved toward the Mississippi River again. By October 1728, the Kickapoo and Mascouten lived north of The Illinois on the Mississippi River. The center of their activities was the Rock River, where the Kickapoo chiefs Pechicamengoa and White Robe established villages. During 1728, the Fox killed a few Kickapoos, and a rupture occurred between these two tribes, enabling the French to deal severely with the Fox, who were now mainly without allies. The Kickapoo, greatly enraged, sprung upon the Fox, killed two of their great chiefs (Pemoussa and Chichippa), and made peace with The Illinois. It appears that some of the Mascouten had also abandoned the Fox because, by 1729, they were again allies of the Kickapoo and aiding the French, whom they had previously fought against.

The Kickapoo and Mascouten lived between the Illinois and Rock Rivers in 1730. During the winter of 1734-1735, some of the Kickapoo and Mascouten moved back to the Wabash River. They settled within 6 leagues of Ouiatanon (a post near Lafayette, Indiana). However, the Kickapoo and Mascouten did not "harmonize" with the Wea settled there. Nevertheless, the newcomers remained near Ouiatanon, and the French failed to pay them in the mouth of the Tennessee River as a buffer against the Cherokee in 1736. There was a split in the Kickapoo and Mascouten tribes because in 1736 there were eighty Kickapoo braves and sixty Mascouten still on the Fox River - either in Illinois or Wisconsin. But in April of 1741, those Mascouten living in the direction of the Wisconsin River arrived at Ouiatanon and joined the Mascouten chief already there. These new arrivals filled eight lodges, and it appears that all the Mascouten were now together, but no mention is made of the other Kickapoo group participating in this migration.

Although they expressed a desire to leave the Wea and settle in the "meadow of the Maskoutins" in 1742, the Kickapoo remained at Ouiatanon, and two years later, the French again attempted to resolve them on the Ohio River. By 1746, they finally agreed to move to the projected fort on the Ohio River, but no evidence had been found that they had moved there. As the French became more interested in these tribes, mention was made of their chiefs, and in 1746, several were identified. Among the Mascouten were Le Temps Clair (Unclouded Weather); his brother, Pacanne (Pecan); La Noix (Walnut); Le Brave (Brave One); Mirraquoist; and La Mauvais Jambe (Bad Leg). The last two were war chiefs, and La Mauvais Jambe oversaw thirty warriors. Chiefs of the Kickapoo were Deaux Visages Plats (Two Flat Faces), Mainbas (Bad Hand), and Le Petit Bonheur (Little Good Luck).

Envoys from the Kickapoo and Mascouten visited the French at Montreal on April 24, 1748, but it is not stated where their villages were. Unless they were from the Wisconsin River, their homes were on the Wabash River since it is known that the Kickapoo settlements remained along this river for many years. The Wabash Kickapoo had established a village at Terre Haute, Indiana. In 1752, the French called them back to Ouiatanon to make the Wea jealous and secure their return from the British-controlled areas along the Ohio River. Other Kickapoo were allied to the Sauk and Fox, who remained on the Wisconsin River and made raids on the Illinois. As a result of the French and Indian War, the British assumed control of Post Ouiatanon and enumerated the Indians living in the surrounding territory. This census disclosed 180 Kickapoo and 90 Mascouten, all of whom were probably braves since the Europeans were mainly interested in the fighting strength of the Indians. Thomas Hutchins found the same number of Kickapoo and Mascouten at Ouiatanon in 1762 and said his count was only of the warriors, thus confirming the earlier account. Yet all of the Mascouten did not live at Ouiatanon; a village of twenty families was discovered in 1763 up the Kankakee River sixty miles from the confluence of that river with the Des Plaines.

Even though the British controlled the Wabash Country, the Kickapoo and Mascouten professed friendship with the French, who retained control of Fort de Chartres in Illinois. On June 26, 1764, a group of Kickapoo visited the commandant there. The British estimated that the Kickapoo could muster 300 braves at this time, but the military authorities did not mention the Mascouten. They were, however, still united with the Kickapoo and on June 8, 1765, George Croghan was captured by a mixed party of Kickapoo and Mascouten, who were hunting near the mouth of the Wabash River, and taken to Ouiatanon. The following year, these tribes were observed living near Vincennes, Indiana, and by 1767, the Kickapoo had made peace with the Kaskaskia, probably because they, too, favored the French. The Kickapoo and Mascouten continued to kill stray Britishers, and when Fort de Chartres hoisted the British Union Jack, a Kickapoo war party raided the village. Across the Mississippi River at St. Louis, Missouri, the Spanish maintained cordial relations with the Kickapoo and Mascouten, who traveled from the Wabash River to receive presents.

At the time of the American Revolution, there was a Mascouten village of fourteen lodges at the confluence of the Iroquois and Kankakee rivers; the Kickapoo resided mainly about Post Ouiatanon, but in later years, William Henry Harrison (the future 9th U.S. President) recalled that some Kickapoo had moved north at this time to establish a village on the Vermilion River. These tribes sided with the British in the Revolution and remained near Vincennes. The Spanish learned that the Kickapoo had 300 warriors and had for their principal chief a man who had the same name as a previous Mascouten leader, Pacanne (Pecan); within a mile of their village was a Mascouten settlement which could raise 200 warriors and had for their principal chief El Tander. A delegation of Kickapoo, Mascouten, and Wea held a council with the British at Detroit on June 29, 1778, and declared falsely that they never traded with the Spanish at St. Louis. Although no Mascouten chiefs were listed, the Kickapoo war chiefs present at the conference were Egh-kee-too-wa and Miquetto; the village chiefs were Mahinamba and Pi-e-mash-kee-canny. However, when the Kickapoo observed the Americans' success and received a message from George Rogers Clark - delivered by Captain Leonard Helm - they sued for peace.

After the American Revolution, the Mascouten and Kickapoo moved farther up the Wabash River and into the Illinois Country. By 1781, reports placed them south of Lake Michigan, and Tanclel was said to be the principal Mascouten chief, a man who thoroughly hated The Illinois. John Armstrong's map of 1790 calls the Desplaines River the "Kickapoo River." When surveyors moved up the Kaskaskia River to its source, they were attacked by the Kickapoo, who resided in the prairies of north-central Illinois. There also was a Kickapoo village, called "Kikapouguoi," on the Wabash River below the Vermilion River where Chief "Les Jambes Croches" (probably La Mauvais Jambe or Bad Leg) resided. Another of their main villages was in the prairie near the northern part of the Sangamon River. When Gen. Anthony Wayne called the Indians to a treaty council at Greenville, Ohio, on August 3, 1795, the Kickapoos were represented, but no location of their villages was given.

By 1800, the Prairie Band of the Kickapoo lived north and east of Springfield, Illinois, and around Bloomington. This group hunted down the rivers and into southern Illinois, where they sometimes killed the peaceful Kaskaskia. Since they received no annuity payments, these Kickapoo stole horses without fear because they had nothing to lose. As a result, these several hundred Kickapoo committed many depredations against the white settlers living in Illinois. Because there had been difficulty in defining and determining the boundaries of the land purchased from the Indians in 1795, several of the Wabash tribes were called to a council at Fort Wayne on June 7, 1803. The Kickapoo were represented by Nah-mah-to-hah (Standing) and Pas-she-we-hah (Cat). After the Indians had talked the matter over among themselves, another council and treaty resulted on August 7 whereby the Indians agreed to a land cession in Illinois as well as Indiana and granted the government the right to erect stations along the road  [now known as the Buffalo Trace] from Vincennes to Kaskaskia. At this second meeting, the Eel River Miami represented the Kickapoo.

A second large group of Kickapoo lived on the Vermilion River and were called the Vermilion Band. Although they generally kept to themselves, Michael Brouillette obtained a license to trade with them in 1804. Chief Pemwatome (The Swan that Cries) was an influential leader of these Kickapoo. Other little bands seem to have moved west to the Illinois River, and Zebulon Montgomery Pike (Pike was an American brigadier general and explorer for whom Pikes Peak in Colorado was renamed) announced in 1805 that some Kickapoo had a summer village on the little peninsula that was formed by the confluence of the Mississippi and Missouri rivers. This western movement of the Kickapoo alarmed the officials, and an attempt was made in 1807 to remove them to the Wabash River. Yet on December 9, 1809, the United States persuaded the Kickapoo to cede even these lands along the Vermilion River from Danville eastward. Their chiefs and principal braves who agreed to this cession were Joe Renard, Nemahson (Man on His Feet), Knoshania (Otter), Wakoah (Fox Hair), Nonoah (Child at the Breast), and Moquiah (Bear Skin).

As the war clouds gathered just before the War of 1812, the Kickapoo became restless and raided into southern Illinois. Part of the tribe traveled east to join the Shawnee Prophet's band on the Wabash River, but many remained along the Sangamon River as late as November of 1810. Those who had joined the Prophet fought against the forces of Gen. Harrison on November 7, 1811, and Mengoatowa, a Kickapoo, served as one of the war chiefs. Harrison estimated that half of the total Kickapoo strength had aided the Prophet. Soon after this important battle of Tippecanoe, the Kickapoo moved their villages from the Sangamon River to Lake Peoria, where Pemwatome established his band of 100 braves in a village twenty-four miles north of Peoria. Little Deer's group of seventy settled across the lake from Gomo's Potawatomi village, and the third band of Kickapoo - without a chief - took up quarters on the Mackinaw River with some Potawatomi, Chippewa, and Ottawa, making a little village of sixty braves. The rest of the Kickapoo remained with the Shawnee Prophet. To prevent further hostilities, Governor Ninan Edwards [Edwards was Governor of the Illinois Territory from 1809 to 1818] held a council with the Kickapoo and others at Cahokia on April 16, 1812. Still, that autumn, the Kickapoo raided Peoria. Pemwatome explained the action of the Kickapoo by saying that the whites had killed one of their chiefs who was hunting near the Kaskaskia River.

Major Thomas Forsyth, an Indian Agent living at Peoria, informed Gen. Benjamin Howard in September of 1812 that the Kickapoo, formerly living near Portage des Sioux, Missouri, were planning an attack upon the frontier settlements. Without waiting for this to happen, the Americans marched north to the Kickapoo towns on Lake Peoria. They burned them, causing the Kickapoo and Miami to seek protection among the Sauk on Rock River. Just a month or so later, troops also marched north into the stronghold of the Shawnee Prophet in Indiana and destroyed not only his town but also that of the Wabash Kickapoo; the latter numbered 160 houses and was located nearby. Those Kickapoo who joined the Sauk remained with them until the spring of 1813 and established their own village six miles up the Iroquois River from the Kankakee. There were 200 warriors in this settlement, and Thomas Forsyth speculated that the other group of Kickapoo living with the Shawnee Prophet might join them. Little Deer was the most influential Kickapoo chief and fought stubbornly against the Americans, but Pemwatome engaged in the war against his wishes and better judgment.

Although the Mascouten is mentioned in 1812 as a separate tribe, there are no further reports about this little-known tribe, and one observer declared to Thomas Jefferson in 1813 that they had been absorbed into the Kickapoo nation. Other scholars have agreed with this explanation, but more research must be done among the surviving Kickapoo groups before a definite answer can be given.

After the War of 1812, the Kickapoos were said to have 400 braves, but they were widely separated as a result of several American attacks that killed eighty of their warriors. Gomo, the Potawatomi chief, declared to Thomas Forsyth at Peoria that the Kickapoo had asked to camp with him on Lake Peoria. They dispersed instead to different sections of the country. Some had gone to live with the Sauk on Rock River, where the British distributed free gunpowder. Among this group was Pemwatome's band, which had established a village on the Illinois River portion of the Pecatonica River. Little Deer was also encamped somewhere in Illinois, although his location is unknown; perhaps it was his group of 200 braves living on the Vermilion River. In the fall of 1814, some of the Kickapoo assembled at the mouth of Rock River and established their winter hunting village on the Iowa River with a band of Foxes. Another village of Kickapoo took up their winter quarters on the Kankakee with Neshkagenaymain (Bad Sturgeon), a Potawatomi chief.

When the Rock River area Kickapoo learned that the war was terminated with Great Britain, they informed the Americans that their party would leave the Rock and return to their villages in central Illinois. One of these villages was on Kickapoo Creek, near Lincoln, and the Old Kickapoo Town was near the headwaters of the Sangamon River. Those Kickapoo who had joined the Potawatomi on the Vermilion River remained there in 1815. Ninan Edwards confidently informed the secretary of war that all of the Kickapoo were in Illinois. Yet many of the Kickapoo who had fought with the British were still living in Canada as late as October of 1815. However, the two groups did return to their former haunts the following month. One band settled on the Embarrass River and the other on the Sangamon River, but in 1816, there were still 161 Kickapoo in Canada: forty-three men, sixty-seven women, and fifty-one children. Another little group of Kickapoo was found along the Illinois River with the Potawatomi in 1816, and there were several lodges near Skunk River, Iowa, in addition to twenty lodges of Pemwatome's band who were living on the banks of the Mississippi River. Altogether, the Kickapoo nation consisted of 1600 persons, of whom 440 belonged to the Vermilion Band.

On June 4, 1816, Kickapoo chiefs and braves gathered at Fort Harrison in Indiana to confirm the land cession of 1809. Representing the Kickapoo were Sheshepah (Little Duck); Kaanehkaka (Drunkard's Son); Skekonah (Stone); Mahquah or Moquiah (Bear); Penashee (Little Turkey); Mehtahkokeah (Big Tree); Keetahtey (Little Otter); Nepiseeah (Blackberry); Pehsquonatah (Blackberry Flower); and Tecumthena (Track in Prairie). Although it is not stated where the Kickapoo resided, those who signed the treaty were undoubtedly from the Vermilion River. Later that year, a Kickapoo band delegation living among the Potawatomi went to St. Louis, Missouri, where they witnessed "The Council of Three Fires" land cession on August 24. The Kickapoo chiefs who signed this treaty were Katasa, Tapema, Sakappee, Kenapoeso, Pawanaqua, Ancowa, Mackkattaoushick, and Shaquabee.

Since the Kickapoo continued to hunt through the lands along the Sangamon River, Gov. Edwards was determined to remove them immediately. He claimed that these Kickapoos had occupied this section of Illinois only since about 1800 and had formerly lived on the Wabash River until smallpox forced them to leave these villages. After much effort, the Indian agents finally persuaded the Prairie Band of Kickapoo to come down to Edwardsville on July 30, 1819, where they ceded their holdings to all of central Illinois as far west as the Illinois River. In return, the Kickapoo received a land grant upon the Osage River and promised to go there immediately. Among the signers was Pemwatome, the celebrated chief. One month later, the Vermilion Band of Kickapoo agreed to this land cession and to leave Illinois immediately. But much trouble occurred, and some time passed before the Kickapoo was finally removed. When an attempt was made to gather them together for the long journey west, only Waw-pee-ko-ny-a (Blue Eyes) could be found - the remainder were hiding. Pemwatome (The Swan that Cries) and Pacanne (Pecan) quickly moved north with about 200 followers and established a village near the mouth of Rock River. Major Marston observed this group near Rock Island in November of 1820 and declared that Pemwatome was an old man while Pacanne was about forty years old.

Many of the Kickapoo refused to leave Illinois in 1820, but between 1821 and 1822, some did cross the Mississippi River. Among those who remained was Little Duck, who had his permanent village on the Wabash River, one mile above Pine Creek's mouth. His braves caused the Illinois settlers trouble as late as October of 1823. A band of Kickapoo lived near the Rock River, and the Sauk allowed them to hunt on the Iowa River. The Potawatomi had also formed an alliance with the remaining Illinois Kickapoo, who, it was said, numbered 600 persons. Charles Christopher Trowbridge, an explorer, learned in 1823-1824 that there were still Kickapoo living between Terre Haute and the Illinois River. These villages contained approximately 400 persons, and in 1823-1824, the Kickapoo of the Wabash Valley wintered on the Kaskaskia, but during the next two years, some of them moved west to Missouri.54 A few Kickapoo were still living within the boundaries of Illinois in 1824: a group on the headwaters of the Little Wabash River and another on the Vermilion River. Of the latter group, Wagoa and Oquid were the chiefs.

Thomas Forsyth learned in May of 1825 that there was a Kickapoo village thirty or forty miles south of Rock Island, and other informants reported that Maecenas band was on the north fork of the Sangamon River, Pemwatome's on the Embarrass, and Little Thunder's and Kanakuk's (The Kickapoo Prophet) on the Mackinaw River. From 1825 to 1827, about 25 lodges of Kickapoo moved to Missouri, and one group of thirty drew attention when it arrived at St. Louis on June 29, 1826. The destination of this party was the James Fork of the White River. On June 6, 1827, the Black Buffalo led his little family across the Mississippi River and headed for the Osage River reservation, but other small groups of Kickapoo remained in Illinois. The village on the Mississippi River below Rock River was still occupied in 1827, and Macena clung tenaciously to his hunting grounds on the Sangamon River. It was said in November of 1827 that fifty lodges were still in Illinois, but in the spring of 1828, several small parties of Kickapoo left their villages and moved west. Even Wagoa had gone to the White River by the year 1828. Of the prominent chiefs, only Kanakuk (The Kickapoo Prophet) remained at his village on the Mackinaw, and he promised William Clark on May 25, 1828, that he would move out of Illinois by May of the following year. His little village numbered approximately 200 souls.

Those Kickapoo who resided near the Sauk of Rock River agreed with Black Hawk in 1829 and spoke against the white settlers. One Kickapoo band from the Mackinaw River migrated to the Rock River in May 1830 and joined their friends there. This village of 100 warriors and twenty long houses was just south of the Rock River's mouth. The Vermilion Band was encamped near Chicago on their winter hunt in October of that same year. This was undoubtedly the village ruled by Kanakuk. William Clark ordered this chief to leave the state in 1831. Kanakuk replied to the messenger, Augustus Kennerly, on August 4 that "God has not told me to go on the other side of the Mississippi River, but to stay here and mind my Religion." Clark had told him to move out by October 1, when the corn and pumpkins would be harvested at his village on the Vermilion River. The other band of Kickapoo - who were living along the Mississippi - followed the Sauk into Iowa in the fall of 1831 for their winter hunt.

In the spring of 1832, some Kickapoo returned to Illinois from hunting lands west of the Mississippi River. In April, 100 lodges of Kickapoo and Sauk were encamped at the point where the Lewistown road crossed the Rock River (near Prophetstown). Citizens of Pekin reported in May that 380 warriors assembled at the Kickapoo town on "Money Creek, within twenty-five miles of Bloomington," and some of these were Kickapoo. They remained near Mackinaw River, and some joined Black Hawk's hostile band, Sauk and Fox. When his rebellious force was defeated by federal and state troops, one little group of Kickapoo fled to a Potawatomi village near Chicago only to be placed under arrest by the Indian agent there, Thomas J. V. Owen, and delivered to Fort Dearborn. This little band consisted of nine men, eleven women, and seventeen children."

A federal official, on October 11, 1832, instructed the governor of Illinois that he might negotiate a treaty for the final removal of the Kickapoo, and Kanakuk (The Kickapoo Prophet) led his band of about 250 Kickapoo and 150 Potawatomi from the Vermilion River to Castor Hill (near St. Louis) where they signed a treaty with William Clark on October 24 that year. By the 31st, Clark informed the Illinois governor that all the Kickapoo had left his state except those who had been incarcerated by Owen at Fort Dearborn in September."

The Kickapoo reservation was four miles north of Fort Leavenworth. Kanakuk became associated with the Methodist missionaries and was licensed to preach. Others followed the teachings of the Roman Catholic Church. In 1836, it was stated that 470 Kickapoo lived on the reservation. By 1865, there were 344 Kickapoo still in Kansas, and an undetermined number were living in Texas near the Mexican border. Shortly after this date, the Kickapoo in Texas migrated across the border. It frequently made raids into the United States until Col. H. M. Atkinson removed them to their reservation in 1875. 

Kickapoos pushed from the Great Lakes into Mexico, then Texas and Oklahoma. The Suke Jimenez family in their longhouse on March 2, 1986.

However, many of these Indians later fled back across the border into Mexico, where they still reside today in their own village, which is approximately 125 miles south of Eagle Pass, Texas (by road), and in the state of Coahuila, Mexico, near the town of Muzquiz. Some settled in Texas, and The remainder of the Kickapoo are mainly in Oklahoma.

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D. 

An in-depth look at Mary Ann Todd Lincoln's Life.

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In historical writing and analysis, PRESENTISM introduces present-day ideas and perspectives into depictions or interpretations of the past. Presentism is a form of cultural bias that creates a distorted understanding of the subject matter. Reading modern notions of morality into the past is committing the error of presentism. Historical accounts are written by people and can be slanted, so I try my hardest to present fact-based and well-researched articles.

Facts don't require one's approval or acceptance.

I present [PG-13] articles without regard to race, color, political party, or religious beliefs, including Atheism, national origin, citizenship status, gender, LGBTQ+ status, disability, military status, or educational level. What I present are facts — NOT Alternative Facts — about the subject. You won't find articles or readers' comments that spread rumors, lies, hateful statements, and people instigating arguments or fights.

FOR HISTORICAL CLARITY

When I write about the INDIGENOUS PEOPLE, I follow this historical terminology:

• The use of old commonly used terms, disrespectful today, i.e., REDMAN or REDMEN, SAVAGES, and HALF-BREED are explained in this article.

Writing about AFRICAN-AMERICAN history, I follow these race terms:

• "NEGRO" was the term used until the mid-1960s.
• "BLACK" started being used in the mid-1960s.
• "AFRICAN-AMERICAN" [Afro-American] began usage in the late 1980s.

— PLEASE PRACTICE HISTORICISM —

THE INTERPRETATION OF THE PAST IN ITS OWN CONTEXT.

 

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Mary Ann Todd Lincoln, the most criticized and misunderstood First Lady, experienced more than her share of tragedy during her lifetime. From the time she was six, her life took a downturn from which she never recovered. Mary suffered from depressive episodes and migraine headaches throughout her life. She turned to squandering money on lavish gowns and frivolous accessories during the white house year in hopes of finding relief from the void deep within. During the Civil War, both North and South called her a traitor, and the press seldom printed a kind word about her. If we examine her early years, her most impressionable years, we become enlightened and can find compassion for the woman who was the wife of the 16th president of the United States.

The Early Years
Mary Ann Todd was the third child of Eliza Ann Parker Todd and Robert Smith Todd on December 13, 1818. Preceding her in birth was her eldest sister Elizabeth, followed by her sister Francis. The Todds lived in a quaint two-story, nine-room L-shaped house on Short Street in Lexington, Kentucky. At that time, Lexington was a rugged frontier town founded by a handful of men, including Mary Ann's grandfathers, Robert Parker and Levi Todd, and her great uncles, Robert and John Todd. Her father, a Whig politician and storeowner, adequately provided for his family. In his early years, he'd studied to be a lawyer and was later admitted to the Kentucky bar; however, he never practiced law because there were already too many lawyers in Kentucky.

Although the Todds rejected the idea of slavery, they owned one slave for every member of the family. Mary was especially fond of the slave Mammy Sally. Her anti-slavery views developed very early in her life. She was incredibly proud and pleased when she learned that Mammy Sally was integral in helping escaped slaves make it to the Ohio River. Her anti-slavery views grew to match those of her father, who supported the Kentucky Colonization Society in its efforts to send the freed slave to Liberia. He freely discussed his dislike of slave selling and opposed efforts to open Kentucky slave markets to out-of-state imports. He believed slavery prevented Lexington from growing commercially. Regardless, his lifestyle contradicted his beliefs: he was a slaveholder in an anti-slavery family in a slave state.

Eliza became pregnant within a short time after Mary Ann's birth, this time giving birth to a long-awaited son named Levi. Another son Robert Parker soon followed but didn't survive the past 14 months. A daughter Ann was born when Mary Ann was three years old, and to avoid confusion between the two daughters, Mary Ann's name was shortened to Mary. A second son George Rogers Clark Todd was born in 1825, bringing the total of the Todd clan to six children. George's birth had taken its toll on Eliza, and she became deathly ill. In July 1825, three doctors were summoned to the Todd house to save her life. Their attempts proved futile, and she passed away at the age of 31, leaving Robert with six children to provide care for. Mary, only six years old, was crushed by her mother's death. Before she had time to mourn the loss, her father shocked her and her siblings when she proposed marriage six months later to Elizabeth "Betsey" Humphreys. Betsey accepted the proposal but found repeated excuses to postpone the wedding. She was in no hurry to become a mother to Robert's six children. At Robert's persistent urgings, she finally wed him on November 1, 1826.

Finding Acceptance
Mary's life—once glorious, filled with hope and joy—was turning dark and dreary. The Todd household took a turn for the worse after the wedding, and rooms that were once filled with Eliza's love for her children were now filled with the rantings and ravings of a stepmother who intensely disliked her husband's children. Outsiders witnessed Betsey's cruelty on several occasions and noted the stepmother used to shame, disgrace, and embarrassment to keep her husband's children in line. Mary's older sister Elizabeth stepped forward and assumed the role of "mother" to Mary and the younger children. Even so, Betsey was becoming increasingly miserable in Todd's home and never failed to express it. And each New Year brought another Todd into the world. In total, Betsey and Robert added nine more children to their brood.

The Importance of Education
Although Robert was a distant father and seldom home, he was concerned that each of his daughters would receive a good education. When it came time for Mary to begin her schooling in 1827, he arranged for her to attend Shelby Female Academy, also known as "Wards," for the reverend who was the director. She spent the subsequent five years at Shelby, where she was a model student. She studied reading, writing, grammar, arithmetic, history, geography, natural science, French, and religion, which may seem like a lot, but the boys were taught more. Women were considered unacceptable at the time to be overly educated—lest they scare off any possible suitors. Tuition at Ward's was a mere $44 per year; French was an additional $8. Mary excelled academically and found peace and order in her otherwise chaotic world. She invested most of her time and energy in her schooling, probably because it allowed her to escape the miseries at home. In 1832, at age 14, Mary graduated from Wards, and whereas most girls would have been satisfied with such an education, Mary was not.

As her family moved into an elegant 14-room house, she entered Madame Mentelle's for Young Ladies to continue her education. Mentelle's was run by a 62-year-old, well-traveled French woman and her husband. Tuition increased to $120 a year, and although Mentelle's was located close to Mary's new home, Mary petitioned the school to allow her to board the premises. Boarding privileges were usually reserved for girls who lived far away. Still, Mentelle made an exception in Mary's case and permitted her to board throughout the week and return to her home for weekends only. Although the Todds' new home was luxurious, boasting six bedrooms, a two-room nursery, and a bathtub on the second floor, throughout her life, Mary always considered Mentelle her real home. There, she thrived. Mary participated in French plays and parlor dances and marched in local parades. She enjoyed acting and found pleasure in mimicking those around her. Of course, those being mimicked rarely found pleasure in this talent. But it did bring her attention—attention she desired much of her young life. In addition to acting, she was fluent in French and quickly developed an interest in politics. Like her father, she was a confirmed Whig. When Mary was only 14 years old, Andrew Johnson visited Lexington, and she declined an invitation to a public demonstration given in his honor to show her disapproval. In February 1832, Mary's sister Elizabeth married Ninian Edwards in Lexington. That same year, a cholera epidemic swept through the state, and Lexington wasn't spared. Many families left the area, and of those that remained, hundreds lost their lives. The Todds decided to stay, and Mary wrote of that epidemic later in her life: "There was] nothing on the streets but the drivers and horses of the dead carts with the bodies of those who had just died. Toward the last, there were not even coffins. Father had all the trunks and boxes taken out of the attic to serve as coffins."

Striking out on her own
Mary was considered by those who knew her to be warm-hearted, save for her penchant for mimicking others. Standing only 5'2", she was described as having clear blue eyes, long lashes, light-brown hair, and a beautiful complexion. She was an excellent conversationalist, and many noted her ambitious nature. She rarely kept her thoughts hidden and was not one for idle chit-chat. She spoke her mind freely at a time when women were discouraged from doing so. Her father was proud of her and desired to spend more time with her as he aged. But Mary, following in her sisters' footsteps, was anxious to leave the nest due to the dissension with Betsey. In the summer of 1836, she decided to trail her older sisters to Springfield, IL. Elizabeth had married former Illinois state attorney general Ninian Edwards and was happily situated in the frontier town. Francis saw the move as her chance to flee the Todd home, and she joined Elizabeth and her husband. Mary, feeling restless and wanting to experience life, also chose this path.

Mary spent the summer of 1837 at Elizabeth's beautiful house that overlooked the town. She was happily received by everyone and found the attention stimulating. She became well-known for her ability to hold her own parlor discussions over the Whigs and the Democrats. She often sat in on conversations with her brother-in-law and cousin, John Todd Stuart, on whether they should stand for Congress in '38. In the same rugged, unsettled town was newcomer Abraham Lincoln whose appointment to the 9th Illinois assembly brought him to Springfield.

Lincoln, a native Kentuckian, was settling into a law practice with Mary's cousin John Stuart. He was an awkward-looking man and was described as a non-churchgoer and a loner. Before becoming an attorney, he was a farmer's son whose past jobs included laborer, farmhand, carpenter, and ferryman. Even so, he earned the moniker "humble Abraham Lincoln" and won a seat in the assembly. Lincoln described this time in his life as the loneliest he could recall. Whereas Lincoln was lonely that summer, Mary had the social time of her life. She was disappointed when the summer ended and reluctantly returned to Lexington. She would have stayed on, but her sister and brother-in-law couldn't afford to support Mary and Francis. When she returned to Lexington, she found most of her friends were married or preparing for their weddings. She focused her attention on finding employment and accepted a position as an apprentice teacher at Ward's school. Shortly after that, fate seemed to intervene, and Francis married a Springfield pharmacist and moved out of Elizabeth's home. This opened the door for Mary to return to Illinois. She hastily packed her bags and returned to Springfield, where she would spend the next 22 years.

The Belle of Springfield
For the first time in her life, Mary acquired a close friend named Mercy Levering. Mercy, much more proper and rigid than Mary, would become her most treasured confidante. Of the two, Mary's humorous nature usually got them in one predicament or another. Once, the two girls decided to journey into town after heavy rainfall left the roads thick with mud. Mary devised a plan to prevent their slippers and gowns from becoming mud-soaked. Each carried wooden shingles that they placed down on the mud to accommodate each step. This worked on the journey to town, but the shingles were useless on the return, and the two girls found themselves mud-soaked from the knees down. Mary's sister Elizabeth held parties as a way for her to meet eligible bachelors. But she found most of them "hypocritical, uninteresting, and frivolous in their affection." She did, however, have a few suitors, including a 90-pound, 5'4" Democrat by the name of Stephen Douglas. It was thought by the town that Douglas had proposed to Mary at one point, but no one knew for sure. Later in her life, Mary confessed to a friend that Douglas had indeed proposed, and she'd replied to him, "I can't consent to be your wife. I shall become Mrs. President or the victim of false prophets, but it will not be as Mrs. Douglas." Other suitors included the grandson of Patrick Henry and Edwin Webb, a persistent widower. None of these men touched her heart, and she wrote to Mercy about the latter: "I love him not, and my hand will never be given where my heart is not." Even when she met Abraham Lincoln, she was just moderately impressed. But the two did strike up a friendship. Mary's sister Francis was anything but impressed with Lincoln. She considered him the "plainest man in Springfield." Lincoln would have agreed with her. In a letter about that time in his life, He once wrote in a letter about that time in his life that his "swallowtail coats were too short, his patched trouser too shabby, and his socks rarely matched." When it came to Lincoln on the dance floor, friend James Conkling wrote in a letter to Mercy that he looked like "old Father Jupiter bending down from the clouds to see what's going on." It's said that when Lincoln met Mary, he wanted to dance with her in the worst way, to which she relayed that he did indeed "dance in the worst way."

Although Mary wanted to be guided by her heart, she also had criteria concerning a potential mate. She shared with her sister that she wanted "a good man, with a head for position, fame, and power, a man of mind with hope and bright prospects rather than all the houses and gold in the world." She held true to her word. Previous suitors, Stephen Douglas and Edwin Webb, were rising politicians at the time. 

Mary Todd at 20 years old in 1838.

In 1840, Lincoln and "Molly," as he now lovingly called her, slowly moved their relationship from friendship to courtship. Although she, too, disapproved of Lincoln, Elizabeth often invited him to their home, where he and Mary would sit in the parlor and talk. Elizabeth noted, "Lincoln would listen and gaze on [Mary] as if drawn by some superior power, irresistibly so." But the two being watched were dealing with their own doubts. Lincoln feared he would not make enough money to provide Mary with the life she was accustomed to, and Mary feared giving up control of her life to a husband. Elizabeth once stated, "I warned Mary that she and Mr. Lincoln were not suitable. Mr. Edwards and I believed they were different in nature, education and raising. They had no feelings alike. They were so different that they could not live happily as man and wife."

Having spent two years trying to create a rift between the two, Elizabeth rejoiced when on January 1, 1841, Mary and Lincoln went their separate ways after an argument. Apparently, Lincoln was to escort Mary to a party and arrived late, so she left without him. He finally showed up, only to find her flirting with Edwin Webb. That evening, a fuming Lincoln ended their relationship. It's said that Mary responded by stomping her foot and shouting, "Go and never, never come back!" The breakup took its toll on Lincoln, who missed the following six days in the legislature. When he finally returned, he was described as "reduced and emaciated in appearance and seems scarce to possess strength enough to speak above a whisper." Lincoln became a hypochondriac, and in a letter to Mary's cousin (his law partner), he wrote, "I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on earth. Whether I shall ever be better, I cannot tell; I awfully forebode I shall not. To remain as I am is impossible; I must die or be better, it appears to me." Mary suffered too. She wrote to her friend Mercy, "[Lincoln] deems me unworthy of notice, as I have not met him in the gay world for months, with the usual comfort of misery, imagines that others were as seldom gladdened by his presence as my humble self." Lincoln left Springfield to visit a friend in Louisville, Kentucky. During his absence, Mary wrote again to Mercy that she felt very alone. "The last two or three months have been of interminable length…I was left much to the solitude of my own thoughts…." It was clear Lincoln missed his Molly, and Molly missed her Abe.

Politics
Many outsiders looked upon the Mary and Abraham Lincoln union with much skepticism. She was short and round. He was tall and lanky. She had a keen fashion sense. His socks rarely matched. She was educated. He was not. Her family had money. He had none. He was loved by all, and she was disliked by many. So what kept these two opposite individuals in love during their marriage? Was it simply politics?

Love is Eternal
In 1842, when her stepmother gave birth to her 14th sibling, Mary reconciled her relationship with Lincoln at the urgings of mutual friend Eliza Francis who petitioned the two to at least enjoy a friendship. Slowly, the tall, lanky man and the round young woman rekindled the romance, and Lincoln soon proposed. It was then patterned to emerge in their relationship that would play out almost daily for the rest of their time together. If Mary felt neglected by her husband, she would flirt with his colleagues to garner his attention. He would respond indifferently and focus his energy on the tasks. Indeed, to outsiders, the only thing the two had in common was a political agenda. On Friday, November 4, 1842, Mary and Lincoln wed at the home of her sister Elizabeth in front of about 30 guests. It was a small, impromptu ceremony that didn't include her father and stepmother among the guests, all of who received only a day's notice of the ceremony. Even the best man was a last-minute thought, having been chosen by Lincoln on the day of the ceremony. What seemed to be the only planned part of the festivities was the plain gold wedding band that was placed on Mary's finger. In it was the inscription "Love Is Eternal."

Reverend Dresser, an Episcopalian minister, married the two in a simple ceremony that many still believed was an awkward pairing. Even Lincoln must have felt so, for he wrote one week later to friend Samuel Marshall: "Nothing new here, except my marrying, which to me, is a matter of profound wonder." The newlyweds settled into a room at the Globe Tavern, paying under $10 per week. They occupied the same room Mary's sister Francis had shared with her husband after they'd married. Lincoln returned to work immediately, and Mary had much idle time. The boredom didn't last long nine months later, she gave birth to a son on August 1, 1843, and named him Robert Todd after her father. It would be Mary who would name all the children—a task Lincoln would later joke about. Once he was asked to name a cannon, and he amusingly replied, "…I could never name anything. Mary had to name all the children." In the fall of 1843, the Lincolns moved from the Globe and settled into a four-room cottage on South Fourth Street, paying a mere $100 rent per year. Mary's father made the journey to Springfield (sans Betsey) to meet his daughter's new husband and see his new grandson and his other grandchildren he'd yet to meet.

During that visit, he showered Mary with attention and gifts as if making up for all the years of suffering she'd endured at Betsey's hands. He gave her a $25 gold piece, deeded 80 acres of Illinois land to the newlyweds, and promised a yearly sum of $1,100. To Lincoln, he handed over a legal case that later yielded a tidy sum of money. Her father's generosity paved the way for the Lincolns to purchase a one-story, five-room cottage on one acre of land. The property cost $1,200 and was purchased from Reverend Dresser, the same reverend who'd performed their marriage ceremony. Although they now had a wonderful home, both recognized that their standard of living still wasn't what Mary was accustomed to. In 1846, Mary gave birth to a second son named Edward.

"Eddie" was named after Edward Dickinson Baker, who'd beaten Lincoln for the Whig nomination for Congress in 1842. Eddie, who was ill most of the time, kept Mary busy. To all outsiders, the new mother seemed to fall off the face of the earth as she took care of her home and children. Mary was a superb doting parent, often engaging the boys in various activities. Having been criticized so harshly when she was a child, she parented the boys so that outsiders felt she gave them too much freedom.

Meanwhile, her husband traveled the circuit trying cases and was away from home more times than not. It was during this time Mary's anxieties and fears seemed to escalate. She disliked staying alone at night and often invited guests to stay at their house. When Lincoln was at home, he was just as attentive to the children as she was. In fact, he often solely cared for the children while Mary attended a church function or did the marketing. When it came to disciplining the children, neither Mary nor Lincoln seemed to excel. Lincoln confessed he used reason to keep the children in line over "switching" (spanking).

A Lauded Hostess
Mary went on to hire several helpers but usually had a difficult time getting along with them. She was fortunate in employing one faithful helper who described Mary as "taking no sassy talk, but if you are good to her, she is good to you and a friend to you." She also employed a kind black woman she grew fond of named Mariah Vance. Mariah, who understood Mary and looked at her with compassion, stayed with her for years. For Mary, Mariah may have reminded her of her beloved Mammy Sally from her childhood. Mary took special care in cleaning and cooking herself; however, her husband was quite a finicky eater. An apple was usually enough to fill him. Not only was he not much of an eater, but he would often forget to come home for dinner, to which Mary would send the children to fetch him. Her domestic skills were not lacking, and she frequently entertained in their small home.

Isaac Arnold, a frequent guest of the Lincolns, expressed, "Mrs. Lincoln often entertained small numbers of friends at dinner and somewhat larger numbers at evening parties. Her table was famed for the excellence of its rare Kentucky dishes and in the season was loaded with venison, wild turkeys, prairie chickens and quail, and other game." Even though he praised the young Mrs. Lincoln, he would later become critical of her during the White House years. By the mid-1850s, Lincoln's law practice became profitable, and Mary found her small dinner parties turning into large receptions. Although the Lincolns were growing in popularity, Mary didn't conform to her role (and all women during that time). Instead, she spoke her mind freely, expressed her opinions without caution, and could hold her own when the talk turned to politics. There was a little gray area regarding Mary: most either liked her or disliked her, and very few had no opinion. In 1856, after Lincoln was defeated in the Senate, Mary sold off the 80 acres given to her by her father for $1,300. The money funded the building of a second floor to their quaint home. Thus, four new bedrooms, a back stairway, and a double parlor on the first floor were added. The extra room provided her with areas of the house where she could have quiet, which she relished when she suffered from a migraine. Although she provided a good home for her children and husband, she sometimes suffered from bouts of melancholy, just as her husband did. She wrote to a friend in 1859 when her husband was home, "I hope you may never feel as lonely as I sometimes do…."

Losses
As Lincoln continued to pursue a political career, Mary carefully groomed and coached her husband. In 1846, he received the Whig nomination for Congress, and in August, he became one of Illinois' Congressmen. And whereas most of the congressmen left their wives and children at home while they served, Mary and the children journeyed to Washington with Lincoln, which offended most of the male boarders where they'd settled, especially those who knew of Mary Lincoln and disliked her. When his congressional term was up, he sought Commissioner of the General Land Office but did not win that post-even though Mary went on a letter-writing campaign to get him appointed. Instead, he was offered the post of Governor of Oregon-which he graciously declined. Mary Lincoln would not travel to such a barren frontier town with two children in tow. During the summer of 1849, Mary's father contracted cholera and passed away. More devastating was the death of Eddie on February 1, 1850. He died of pulmonary tuberculosis. Mary believed in predestination, and it was inevitable fate was against her. She told her friend, Emile Helm, "What is to be is to be and nothing we can say, or do, or be can divert an inexorable fate, but despite knowing this, one feels better even after losing if one has had a brave, whole-hearted fight to get the better of destiny."

On December 21, 1850, William Wallace Lincoln was born, and almost two years later, on April 4, 1853, Thomas Lincoln, named for his paternal grandfather, was born. He earned the moniker "Tadpole" for the strange shape of his head after his difficult birth. The nickname was soon shortened to Tad. Lincoln's political career seemed to stall during this time, but it was jumpstarted in 1858 when he went up against Mary's former beau Senator Steven Douglas. Lincoln's slogan became: "A house divided against itself cannot stand. I believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free." At the same time, Mary campaigned, "[Douglas] is a tiny giant" beside "my tall Kentuckian."

Even so, Lincoln lost again. This time both Lincolns felt the defeat harshly. It wasn't just Lincoln who lost the election; she'd also lost. Theirs was a political partnership. To soothe the sting of the loss, Mary turned to spend money on the latest wardrobe fashions. In 1859, 16-year-old Robert was leaving the nest for Harvard, and Lincoln was being eyed for president the following year. Twelve years had passed since he'd held a public office, and an excited Mary surrounded herself with the political elite. Whereas most politicians' wives were unassuming, Mary surprised the press by taking an active role in politics. She freely expressed her opinions, once again taking the public by surprise and offending them. The election came and went, and Lincoln was nominated president. It's evident he saw their marriage as a political partnership as well because he rushed home to tell her, "Mary, Mary, we are elected!" The partnership continued, and Mary, feeling as though her husband may understand the day's issues, thought she understood people and character much better than he ever could. She was instrumental in political appointments. If she disapproved of her husband's choices, she would solicit those close to her husband to talk him out of the appointment.

Mary's Political Agenda
The newly-appointed president and his family took the train to Washington, D.C. Lincoln had preferred that Mary and the children take an alternative route due to assassination threats. Still, General Winfield Scott [1] talked him out of it, rationalizing that an assassin would less likely take aim if he were surrounded by his family. Mary had received many anonymous letters bearing a skull and crossbones and a threat that if her husband took office, he would be assassinated. As the train journeyed to D.C., it made many stops, and Mary was surprised at her notoriety. "Where's the Missus? Where's Mrs. Abe?" the crowd cried if she was not at her husband's side to greet the well-wishers. This reinforced her belief that she had been elected as well. Ladies Home Journal coined her "Illinois Queen."

First on Mary's White House agenda was to assemble a wardrobe, which took two weeks and captured national media attention. She tailored her wardrobe after France's Empress Eugenie (who married Napoleon III in 1853). She wanted to be known for her wardrobe, and she was, but not in a flattering light. The press poked fun at her "loud" outfits, yet Lincoln always complimented her. Rarely was a newspaper published without some mention of the new first lady. Not only did she not conform to the day's dress, but she also went against convention by making herself very visible. All of her predecessors had spent their time in the White House sequestered on the upper floors while their husbands ran the country. And although she was pleased, she was getting media attention. The harsh, exaggerated words printed about her stung and made their mark on her already weakened self-esteem. In her eyes, the press was no different than her cruel stepmother.

Second, Mary's agenda was to give the White House a desperately needed makeover using a $20,000 stipend. Every president since William Harrison had been receiving the funds, but none chose to take advantage of it. Thus, it was in disrepair when the Lincolns arrived at the White House. After the war broke out and a Rebel invasion seemed imminent, General Scott urged Mary to take her children and return to Springfield. She declined and instead went on a two-week shopping trip, making stops in Philadelphia and New York and, in turn, angering the merchants in Washington who'd served the White House for years. Her shopping trip was costly—she spent the entire $20,000 that was supposed to last four years in one trip. She purchased furnishing, curtains, rugs, china, and anything she felt would lend a regal atmosphere to the White House. At one point, Lincoln did intervene and cautioned her about her spending. He even threatened to pay the shopping expenses she incurred from his own salary if she didn't curtail her spendthrift ways. That threat seemed to take the edge out of her spending; however, she had already run up several debts that she eventually turned over to White House staffers to manage. She quickly learned the art of bartering. Even though Mary was careless with spending, she saved $70,000 of his $100,000 salary during his presidency.

After the Battle of First Bull Run, Mary became a regular at the newly-established hospitals around D.C. She provided food and comfort to the wounded. She read to them, brought flowers, wrote letters home, and worked tirelessly to raise funds for special needs. She also contributed all the White House liquor to the hospitals. And whereas most women could not stand the sight of an amputated limb, it's reported that Mary could tolerate the atrocities of war. Although she had a philanthropist side, her spending seemed to grace the headlines, and she had three half-brothers fighting with the Confederacy. For her sisters' husbands, Mary secured an appointment for each. Ninian Edwards was appointed to the Commissary Department of the U. S. Army, and Francis' husband was appointed local paymaster of the volunteers.

Mary possessed a defiant streak, to say the least. She was not one to be bullied by any of her husband's cabinet members. Once, she sent a friend to Edwin Stanton to secure an appointment, and after Stanton met with her friend, he sought out Mary and scolded her for the imposition. She promised she would not bother him again. Still, it's said shortly after his berating, he received a package of newspaper clippings that pointed out his inadequacies with the Union army. Many feel Mary was the sender of the package, which would have been consistent with her sometimes passive-aggressive behavior. Regardless, she was the busiest of any first lady in history, and her accomplishments were not trivial. Mary had successfully redecorated the White House, became an admired hostess, reviewed the troops alongside her husband, and held the hands of the wounded and dying. She overlooked frequent migraines, fevers, depression/loneliness (her husband was preoccupied with the war), and once a concussion to make herself available to the public. She had no less drive than the men of her day.

The Lincoln's House at Eighth and Jackson Streets in Springfield, Illinois
When Lincoln became a presidential candidate, their Springfield, Illinois house at Eighth and Jackson Streets became a magnet for visitors, parades, rallies, and other political festivities. After holding farewell receptions there in 1861, the Lincolns rented it and sold most of their furniture.

More Losses
In January of 1862, when the country finally accepted it would not be a quick war, Mary decided to hostess a lavish party. Five hundred invitations were sent out, and those who received one were delighted. Those who didn't were bitter. Many felt with the solemn blanket the war spread, it was no time to be hostessing a party. She did so anyway, and as though she were being punished, two weeks after the party, her favorite son Willie died of illness. Mary fell into a deep depression. She was bedridden for weeks and never entered the Green Room, where Willie's body had been laid out, or the room where he died, ever again. Shortly after that, Tad became ill, and with Mary in no condition to care for him and intervene, Dorothea Dix posted one of her nurses at the White House. Mary's grief played out in ways that weren't so unusual for the time. She had insomnia and suffered from bizarre nightmares, and although both of those symptoms seemed to be the norm for Lincoln, his grief played out in other ways. Every Thursday, he would sequester himself in Willie's room. Not able to see anything that reminded her of her favorite son, Mary quickly removed all her son's items from the White House and sent them to relatives in Springfield. The only things she kept were his pony and his two goats. Mary was downright angry at God for taking something so special from her.

Meanwhile, husband and wife were growing apart, and to her, it seemed as though they'd been closer in spirit when he was traveling on the circuit and away most of the time during the early years of their marriage. She continually worried about his health and often asked those closest to the president for their opinion on the matter. He was visibly depressed, tired, and giving all his energy to the war. Many male friends entertained her in her notorious Blue Room as she came out of mourning. The Blue Room was intended for entertaining while her husband met with his generals and cabinet. The press and the wives of those invited to the Blue Room felt it was inappropriate. Maybe Mary did too, but making her husband jealous was the only way she knew to bridge the gap between them.

Dreams and Visions
In '64, the Lincolns needlessly worried that they would not be reelected. The final outcome was Lincoln managed to win every state—save three. It was then a friend reminded Mary of a vision that Lincoln had. He'd just woken from a nap when he looked into the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. There, he saw two images of his face, one much lighter than the other. Both images remained no matter how he shifted and from what angle he viewed the oddity. Mary interpreted her husband's vision to mean he would be reelected but would not complete his term. The vision didn't surprise her. Her life had been such that when one joyous door opened, another closed shortly after that. With that in mind, she immediately spent $1,000 on mourning attire. Mary was now called the "Presidentess."

As the war ended and the Lincolns traveled into the Confederacy, Lincoln had another vision, which came to him in a dream. In it, the White House was on fire. He shared this dream with Mary, and the next day, she sent a telegraph to the White House: "Send a telegram, direct to City Point... and say if all is right at the house. Everything is left in your charge—be careful." All of this probably weighed heavily on Mary's mind, and it played out in ways that made her look less becoming. A grand review was planned the following day, and she was to attend with Lincoln. For reasons beyond her control, she was late in arriving. Not only was she late, but during her carriage ride with Julia Grant to the review, the carriage hit a ditch, and Mary banged her head forcefully against the roof. By the time she arrived, she openly expressed her anger and irritation to her husband, not sensitive to the fact that others were within earshot and witnessing her tantrum. Most felt sadness for Lincoln at that point. He took her anger with calmness and dignity. Mary regretted her behavior that day and returned to the White House with a heavy heart.

After a few days, she returned to her husband's side in the Confederacy and walked through the Confederate capitol. The Lincolns returned to the White House, and Lincoln was exposed to another one of his dreams. In this one, he was wandering through the halls of the White House, and he came upon the East Room. There was a coffin with a corpse inside. He asked the soldier in attendance, "Who is dead in the White House?" The soldier responded, "The President." Lincoln shared the dream with Mary, and it haunted her. Regardless, Lincoln expressed his desire that they both look to the future. Now that the war was over, they needed to focus on each other and nurture their relationship. At her husband's urgings, the day's first order was to make plans to attend the theatre that evening to see Our American Cousin.

The Widow Years
Having lost her mother at the impressionable age of five created a deep void within Mary from which she never recovered. That, coupled with her inability to accept the deaths of sons Eddie and Willie, led to perpetual depression and anxiety that she tried to cure with frequent shopping excursions and win the love and affection of those around her. In the end, she may have assembled quite a collection of beautiful wares, but it cost her the respect of her admirers. Mary's losses also included the deaths of two half-brothers, Sam, a Confederate who was mortally wounded at the Battle of Shiloh, and Aleck, a Confederate killed at the Battle of Baton Rouge. Knowing her fondness for her brothers, some accused her of traitorous behavior during the war. Little did Mary know that although the war was coming to a close, her battles were just beginning.

A National Tragedy
On Good Friday, April 14, 1865, Mary and Lincoln took a carriage ride to rekindle their relationship with intimate conversation. It was decided that later that evening, they would attend a showing of Our American Cousin at Ford's Theatre, along with Senator Harris's daughter Clara and her fiancé Major Henry Rathbone. The presidential party arrived at the theatre late but became happily situated inside the freshly decorated presidential box as the orchestra played Hail to the Chief. When the applause died down, the play began. About an hour and a half into the performance, Mary intimately slipped her hand into her husband's and leaned over to ask him what the others in their group would think of her bold display of affection. Before she could absorb his response, a man entered the box, pointed a revolver at the back of the president's head, and pulled the trigger. Lincoln slumped over. Mary's screams echoed throughout the theatre, and those who witnessed the shooting never forgot the wretched moans that came from Mary over the next few moments. "Oh my God..." she uttered in disbelief, "have I given my husband to die?"

Lincoln was quickly removed from the theatre and taken to a private home across the street. A hysterical Mary and her companion Clara followed closely behind, their gowns spattered with Major Rathbone's blood from a saber wound he'd received while trying to subdue Boothe. Lincoln's unresponsive body was laid on a bed in a second-floor bedroom, and Mary clung to him, begging for a response. The men in attendance were unable to tolerate Mary's hysteria. At a time when she should have been consoled and allowed to remain at her husband's side, she was forcibly removed from the room and taken to a downstairs parlor. For the next nine hours, she anxiously awaited her husband's death. Robert, who'd been fetched to the home earlier, divided his time between consoling his mother and sitting beside his father's lifeless body. Mary was finally permitted another visit with her husband and collapsed. By the time she was revived, her husband was dead. 

She later wrote of his death, "I often think it would have been some solace to me and perhaps have lessened the grief, which is now breaking my heart—if my idolized had passed away, after an illness, and I had been permitted to watch over him and send him to the last," then she could have, "...thanked him for his lifelong—almost—devotion to me and I could have asked forgiveness, for any inadvertent moment of pain, I may have caused him."

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I was given a private tour of the Lincoln Library Vault in Springfield, on the 150th Anniversary of Lincoln's Funeral Train's Arrival at Springfield in 1865.

I was presented many Lincoln items, none of which have been viewed by the general public before. Dr. Samuel Wheeler, the Director of Research, Collections, and Library Services, at that time, gave the history of each item to me. 

I saw a handwritten letter from Mary Todd Lincoln the day after Abe died, written on mourning stationery (black-bordered paper) where Mrs. Lincoln is giving instructions (i.e. her last will and testament) about what she desired after her death. She thought her sorrow was so massive that she was going to die. 

The very first sentence stated that she should be in-state, open casket, for 48 hours. She was very afraid of waking up after being pronounced dead and being buried. 

 

Doctors some times didn't know if a patient was actually dead as medical technology wasn't very accurate yet. Sometimes, people were buried, by mistake, still alive (evendent by scratch marks or tattered fabric on the cover of the casket). To combat this issue with a backup system, people were buried with one end of a rope tied to their wrist. The other end of the rope was hooked to an above-ground bell. If the person awoke in the casket, they would pull on the rope, ringing the bell, summoning help to dig them up before they suffocated. Hence the term "Dead-ringer."

During this challenging period, Mary did not attend her husband's funeral and had no family members from Springfield come to her side. She became bedridden for the next 40 days and refused callers who came to offer their sympathy, which in turn created talk of her impropriety in dealing with her husband's death.

Starting Over
President Andrew Johnson was anxious to settle into the White House and his new role; however, he patiently waited for Mary to leave the White House. During her confinement, she was oblivious to the goings-on around her; the White House staff took advantage of her preoccupation and began looting valuable items. (The following year, the Congressional Committee on House Appropriations investigated the thefts and whether Mary had a hand in the disappearance of these items. She was cleared of any involvement.)

Mary began to contemplate her future. Most suggested she return to Springfield, but to return to Springfield, where she'd enjoyed so much gaiety with her husband, was out of the question. It was also the place where she had lost Eddie. She finally decided on Chicago, and on the same day that the Union chose to celebrate their victory in war, Mary, Robert, and Tad boarded a train for Chicago.

"I go hence brokenhearted with every hope in life almost crushed...Alas, all is over with me."

The three settled along Lake Michigan in the Hyde Park Hotel. There, she allowed herself to think of her husband and grieve while walking the shores of Lake Michigan. For the most part, she became a recluse and allowed few people into her world. Those she did interact with concluded that Mary was still very much consumed by the events of the evening her husband was assassinated. Today, we recognize her behavior as post-traumatic stress disorder.

Robert remained active and busied himself by accepting a position as an apprentice in a law firm. Mary's yearly purse totaled $1,500 by the fall of 1865, and she and Tad moved into Clifton House, a boarding house home primarily to newcomers and transients. Robert refused to join the two, feeling that their new accommodations were dreary. In actuality, he was trying to distance himself from his mother. Creditors began knocking on her door to collect debts incurred during her White House years. To pay off some of the debts, she sold her gowns and returned jewelry and other items to the place of purchase. She refinanced the remaining debt with a wealthy financier at a very high-interest rate. She hired Alex Williamson to handle her financial affairs and raise contributions to the Mary Lincoln fund. Through his efforts, Mary was able to pay off the vast amount of her debts—although many frowned upon her methods. Regardless, she was proud of her accomplishment.

A Colorized Photo of Mary Lincoln.

But her accomplishment was overshadowed by the fact that other war-time widows were receiving much more in contributed funds than she was receiving. It was another blow to her already wounded self. In 1866, Simon Cameron promised to raise $20,000 for Mary, and in light of this promise, she purchased a house on W. Washington Street in Chicago. The purchase, she hoped, would bring her family back together under one roof. Robert did not support her in this purchase, especially since she didn't have the funds, only a promise. Sure enough, Simon Cameron's interest in Mary waned after he'd won a senatorial nomination. Mary was frustrated by the broken vow and took it upon herself to secure the necessary funds. She sought out those individuals whose careers had been helped by her husband. Robert became irritated at his mother's "begging," and his opinion of her soon aligned with her critics. Unable to afford the house, Mary rented it out and became a vagabond. She felt "No place is home for me."

Her public humiliation continued. In November 1866, Lincoln's former law partner William Herndon went public with a story that Ann Rutledge had been Lincoln's true love, not Mary Lincoln. He called the marriage of Lincoln's "a domestic hell...For the last 23 years of his life, Mr. Lincoln had no joy." Mary didn't respond publicly. Instead, she endured a living hell in solitude. During this time, others came to her defense and denied the claims made by Herndon, who was considered an irresponsible alcoholic. Robert also came to his mother's defense during this time and tried to persuade Herndon to drop the story, but he was unsuccessful.

No Place is Home
In 1867, Mary packed her belongings in what she termed "poor boxes" and traveled unaccompanied for the first time in her life. Both Robert and Tad were in Washington, testifying at the trial of John Surratt. Mary made her way to the spas in Racine, Wisconsin, where she took advantage of their therapeutic effect. While there, she began to feel better and seemed to garner a clearer sense of her predicament. She formulated a plan to raise money, including selling her entire White House wardrobe. She no longer needed the clothes as she'd worn widow's garb since her husband's death. She immediately journeyed to New York, where she planned the sale under the alias Mrs. Clarke, but it was only a matter of days until her identity was discovered, and she was blasted in the press once again. The sale was a fiasco.

She returned to Chicago in time to read the Chicago Journal's coverage: "The most charitable construction that Mary Lincoln's friends can put on her strange course is that she is insane." Robert's opinion of his mother seemed to move in the same direction. More specifically, he wrote to his future wife, Mary Harlan, "My mother is on one subject not mentally responsible-it. Is very hard to deal with someone who is sane on all subjects but one." He referred to her mishandling of money.

Robert was becoming increasingly embarrassed by his mother's actions. Later that year, Mary learned through a newspaper article that her late husband's estate was ready for disbursement. Neither Robert nor David Davis, who was handling the affair, bothered to tell her. She also learned that although she received a mere $130 a month to live on since Lincoln's death, Robert received twice that amount. This infuriated her since she'd had given up her house on Washington Street because her requests to Davis for an additional income to afford the house were rejected, yet her son's request for more money had been awarded. He'd even received extra money to decorate his bachelor's quarters. Davis was now prepared to divide Lincoln's $110,000 between Robert, Tad (with Robert as guardian), and Mary.

Wishing to leave the United States and all the public and private humiliation, Mary and 15-year-old Tad boarded a steamer in 1868 bound for Europe—but not before attending the wedding between Robert and Mary Harlan. Frankfurt, Germany, became home to Mary for the next two years. There, her eccentricities were seen for just that and not insanity. She was liked and even admired abroad. In 1869, she became a grandmother, and although the relationship with Robert was strained, Mary passed advice freely on to her daughter-in-law about marriage and motherhood. "Don't mope around the house. Attend operas and concerts," she advised.

Her life became leisurely, and when she wasn't sending lavish gifts to both her daughter-in-law and granddaughter, she was reading books and walking alongside Main. She journeyed to Baden-Baden to enjoy the sulfurous baths, followed by Nice, where she enjoyed the climate. "Was there ever such a climate, such a ray of sunshine, such air—flowers growing in the gardens, oranges on the trees, my windows open all day, looking out upon the calm, blue Mediterranean." Onward to Scotland where "We visited Abbotsford, Dryburgh Abbey, passed six days in charming Edinburgh, seeing oh so much: Glasgow... all through the west of dear old Scotia, Burn's birthplace...went to Greenock, heaved a sigh over poor Highland Mary's grave—went out into the ocean—entered Fingal's cave—visited Glencoe—Castles innumerable—Balmoral."

Back in Frankfurt, Mary was surprised and delighted to receive a visit from her old friend Sally Orne. The two spent the ensuing days together reminiscing. Mary's lighthearted nature reappeared briefly, and apparently, the two women made so much noise in Mary's room with their giggling and talking that "a gentleman next door knocked several times, during the night, saying ladies I should like to sleep some. We amused ourselves very much over his discomfiture. Last night another sufferer rang the bell for the waiter and was quiet at 2 1/2 o'clock this morning. "As it has been suggested by some that Mrs. Lincoln is partially deranged, having seen her recently, it may be proper for me to say to you that I have watched her closely by day and night for weeks and failed to discover any evidence of aberration of mind in her, and I believe her mind to be as clear now as it was in the days of her greatest prosperity and I do believe it is unusually prolonged grief that has given rise to such a report."

Seeing Sally renewed Mary's spirit, and she petitioned for a pension again. After a much-heated debate in Washington, President Grant signed the bill providing her an annual pension of $3,000. When the French invaded Germany, Mary and Tad journeyed to Milan, Lake Como, and Florence before returning to Chicago, where they boarded with Robert and his wife. By early 1871, there was friction between Mary and Robert, and Mary chose to move into Clifton House. It was there Tad became very ill with what was initially diagnosed as a cold. But his lungs quickly filled with fluid, and on July 15, he died of "compression of the heart." Mary received no comfort from Robert as she grieved the loss of Tad. In fact, 10 days after Tad's death, Robert left for the Rocky Mountains, where he remained in seclusion for a month. The locale was a favored place for men who were suffering from "nervous" disorders. Robert would later express that he'd been "all used up" after his brother's death.

Soon, Mary was no longer welcome in Robert's house—it may have been because she learned of her daughter-in-law's struggle with alcoholism. 

On October 8, 1871, Mary and Robert found themselves in the midst of the Great Chicago Fire.

Mary, who now despised the 14th and 15th day of each month—anniversary dates of Lincoln's death and Tad's death, respectively, turned more and more to spiritualists and mediums to find comfort. In 1872, Tad's estate was ready for disbursement, and Mary offered to split the estate (worth $35,570) with Robert even though the law entitled her to two-thirds. She also loaned Robert $10,000 for a real estate investment. She then traveled to Waukesha, Wisconsin, and settled near the health spas next to Lake Michigan.

Lunacy vs. Eccentricity
In 1873, Mary traveled to Canada. In 1875, she desired warmth and traveled to Green Cove, Florida. As the 10th anniversary of her husband's death neared, Mary had a premonition that Robert was dying. Hastily, she left for Chicago, where she was relieved to find him in good health but angry at her for all the ridiculous fuss. Mary's anxieties during the anniversary of her husband's death played out in unusual ways. She shopped for items she didn't need and then purchased the item in large quantities. At one point, she ordered eight pairs of lace curtains for windows she didn't have and patiently awaited their arrival. When a knock came at her door, expecting the caller to be delivering the curtains, she opened the door. She was surprised to find two uniformed men and an attorney, the same attorney who'd nominated her husband for president in 1860. Mary learned she was being charged with lunacy and was directed to attend a trial immediately where a jury would deliberate on her sanity. Mary told the men, "You mean to say I am crazy—I am much obliged to you, but I am abundantly able to care for myself. Where is my son Robert?"

Later, Mary learned that Robert took out the warrant for her arrest as a lunatic. In fact, he hired Pinkerton men to follow her throughout her travels and meetings with mediums and spiritualists. He'd also questioned her doctors, maids, waiters, and store clerks and then petitioned them to testify against her. One by one, they concurred with Robert's assessment that his mother was insane. Mary had a poor defense, one appointed to her by Robert, and it was prearranged the attorney would not provide her a defense that was in her best interest. It only took the all-male jury 10 minutes to return a verdict; guilty of insanity. Her sentence was to hand over her bonds, give control of her money to a court-appointed conservator, and accept detainment in a private asylum in Batavia, IL. If Mary's trial had been held in the modern-day, she would never have been charged with lunacy—maybe eccentricity—but not lunacy. Mary was condemned for being ahead of her time.

On May 20, 1875, she was admitted to Bellevue, and from the moment she passed through its doors, she was planning her exit—not her escape, but her legal exit. She wrote letter after letter trying to secure an attorney to represent her, but this was difficult since her mail was censored. She finally found allies in attorney Myra Bradwell and her husband, Judge James B. Bradwell. Although a court decreed that Myra Bradwell could not practice law as "the paramount destiny and mission of women are to fulfill the noble and benign offices of wife and mother," she set out to put Mary's case back in the media. When a Chicago Times reporter asked her if Mary Lincoln was insane, Myra replied, "Mary Lincoln is no more insane than I am."

While Myra worked on the outside, Mary worked on the inside and prearranged with her sister Elizabeth to reside at her home in Springfield after her release. Initially, Elizabeth agreed until Robert stepped in and pressured Elizabeth to deny Mary's request. He even concocted several stories to further declare his mother's lunacy and sway Elizabeth to his side. Myra privately met with Elizabeth and set the record straight, and Elizabeth held firm in her offer to Mary to join them. Judge Bradwell sent a letter to Bellevue threatening habeas corpus. Robert continued to pay doctors (with Mary's money) for their prognosis, supporting his theory that his mother was insane. Regardless, Mary was finally released to her sister and made the trip back to Springfield. Robert still held her funds and refused to send her money—not even for a new bonnet to wear to church.

Freedom
Mary was cheerful and sociable at her sister's home, but she continued to fight Robert for her property and money. She felt as long as he held both, she would not be free. She knew Robert was still pursuing his quest to commit her, so she thought to bargain with him. She made him an offer that if he placed her money in a Springfield bank, she would release the contents of her current will, naming him and his daughter heirs to her estate. There was a veiled threat amid her words that she would disinherit him if he did not comply. Finally, Robert complied.

On June 15, 1876, another jury found her "restored to reason and capable of managing and controlling her estate." Robert returned to Mary $73,000, including $60,000 in bonds. With the new ruling, Mary wasted no time in forwarding a letter to her son, where she demanded the immediate return of all her personal belongings that he had. Mary signed the letter, Mrs. A. Lincoln. She also returned all the items that Robert had given her, which didn't amount to much. The gift-giving had been obviously one-sided.

Her funds were restored, and Mary decided to journey to Europe. She felt safer with an ocean separating her and her son, who she knew was still trying to have her committed. Abroad, she settled in Pau, France, where she spent the next four years. "I live very much alone," she wrote in 1877, "and do not identify myself with the French—have a few friends and prefer to remain secluded..." She traveled extensively, visiting Rome, Naples, Sorrento, Italy, and Vichy, France. In 1879, Ulysses and Julia Grant traveled to Pau, and although they knew Mary to be residing there, they didn't visit her. The old Mary would have felt slighted and snubbed, but she looked at their act indifferently. In 1880, after two serious falls, she wrote to her sister, "I cannot trust myself any longer away from you all. I am too ill and feeble in health." She returned to her sister's home, and within a year, weighing only 100 pounds, Mary was nearly blind. She was diagnosed with kidney, eye, and back problems. A New York reporter interviewed the physician who treated Mary and asked about the ailing woman's sanity. The doctor responded, "She is no more insane than you or I are, and if you come with me to talk with her, you would understand that."

With her medical bills rising, 64-year-old Mary petitioned Congress to increase her pension. It was increased to $5,000, and she was awarded $15,000 in back pay. She never collected any of the money. On July 15, 1882, on the anniversary of Tad's death, she collapsed in her bedroom and fell into a coma that evening. On July 16, Mary Lincoln died of a stroke. Mary was buried on July 19, and the Springfield mayor declared a holiday in observance. Thousands lined the streets, and the First Presbyterian Church was crowded. For once, the newspapers were kind to her and restored her character in death.

After the service, Robert and Mary's sister led the procession to Oak Ridge Cemetery in Springfield, Illinois, where she was laid to rest among those who had abandoned her throughout her life. In 1884, Robert inherited his mother's estate, not because he was listed in his mother's will because she destroyed the only copy, but because Illinois state law named him her natural heir.

The Lincoln's Springfield, Illinois House Becomes a Lincoln Museum.

While attending a memorial service for Lincoln in 1880, Osborn Oldroyd, a Lincoln memorabilia collector, decided to display his vast Lincoln collection. When Lincoln's son Robert sought a tenant for the family's house in Springfield in 1883, Oldroyd found the perfect place for his collection. For 10 years, Oldroyd operated his "Lincoln Museum" there.

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D. 

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[1] General Winfield Scott - In 1832, President Andrew Jackson ordered Winfield Scott to Illinois to command the Black Hawk War conflict. General Winfield Scott led 1,000 troops to Fort Armstrong to assist the U.S. Army garrison and militia volunteers. While General Scott's army was en route along the Great Lakes, his troops had contracted Asiatic cholera before they left the state of New York; it killed most of his 1,000 soldiers. Only 220 U.S. Army regulars from the original force made the final march, from Fort Dearborn, in Chicago to Rock Island, Illinois. Winfield Scott and his troops likely carried the highly contagious disease with them; soon after they arrived at Rock Island, a local cholera epidemic broke out among the whites and Indians around Fort Armstrong. Cholera microbes were spread through sewer-type, contaminated water mixed with clean drinking water, brought on by poor sanitation practices of the day. Within eight days, 189 people died and were buried on the island.

By the time Scott arrived in Illinois, the conflict had come to a close with the army's victory at the Battle of Bad Axe. Also known as the Bad Axe Massacre was a battle between Sauk (Sac) and Meskwaki (Fox) Indians and United States Army regulars and militia on August 1st and 2nd of 1832. This final battle of the Black Hawk War took place near present-day Victory, Wisconsin.

The Town of Austin, Illinois, was Annexed to Chicago against the towns wishes in 1899.

On October 25, 1899, the residents of the Town of Austin, Illinois, awoke to find their town had been annexed to the City of Chicago at 12:01 AM. And they didn’t like it. The residents wanted their community of about 4,000 people to remain a separate Illinois town. A referendum had been held, and most Austin voters had been against joining Chicago. But it had happened anyway. The whole thing was called un-American. 

The Austin Town Hall is now in Chicago, Illinois.

The story began in 1865, when the Austin subdivision was created along the C&NW railroad line, seven miles due west of Lake Street from downtown Chicago. The area was part of Cicero Township. Besides Austin, the township included the settlements of Cicero, Berwyn, and Oak Park.

Austin grew fast. In 1870 the Cicero Township Hall was built in the community at Lake and Central. Everything remained peaceful until 1898 when the Lake Street Elevated Railroad arrived on the scene. The ‘L’ company wanted to extend its line from Chicago west to Austin Boulevard. The Town of Austin favored the extension, but the rest of Cicero Township did not. But since Austin controlled the township government, the extension was approved.

That did it. The rest of Cicero Township was tired of being pushed around by the Austin minority. So they hatched a plan to get rid of Austin.

The City of Chicago was eager to add more territory. Austin was a lovely, semi-affluent community with an attractive tax base. Petitions were gathered, and a referendum on the annexation of Austin was held on April 5, 1899. The law stated that most of a township’s voters had to approve any takeover by Chicago. More than half the voters within Austin rejected the annexation. But the rest of Cicero Township voted to let Chicago have Austin by a considerable margin. That was just enough to tip the outcome. The anti-annexation Austin group was furious. They went to court and filed appeals. The Illinois Supreme Court ruled the referendum was binding. Austin was to become part of Chicago.

October 24, 1899, was the last day for an independent Austin. Cicero Township police were withdrawn and replaced by 21 Chicago police officers. Five Chicago firemen settled into the Austin firehouse, and no local resistance was encountered.

Though over a century has gone by since annexation, The Austin community still calls its park fieldhouse “The Town Hall,” nearly 120 years later, and... the ‘L’ line that started the ruckus now runs all the way through the Village of Oak Park. 

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.