CHARLES JONAS

 
ate

 
TA 4 Bias,

TRADITIONS AND ROMANCE

OF

BORDEHE

AND

REVOLUTIONARY TIMES.

 

BY EDWARD 8. ELLIS. ~

 

CHARLES JONAS

NEW YORK:

BEADLE AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,
118 WILLIAM STREET, :

 
Entered according to Act of Congress, 1n the Year 1864,
by BEADLE AND Company, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Southern District of New York.

(T. 6.)

 
PREFACE.

In this volume we offer the reader a combination of two
of the most fascinating qualities which a book can possess.
{t is almost strictly historical, and yet as marvelous as the
most romantic fiction. The sketches and incidents here gath-
ered are all authenticated; yet many of them, in their won-
derful interest and pathos, exceed the bounds of fancy. They
belong to two classes: those which are connected with the

Revolution, and those which chronicle the peculiar events of .

our Frontier History.» While they will absorb the attention

of the most intelligent reader, they are charmingly adapted to
attract young people, who will be both instructed and de-
lighted. Boys will find examples worthy of emulation, and
will learn to appreciate those traits of character which made
the glory and the progress of our young republic; while girls
may gain dignity of mind by contemplating the devotion,
courage and endurance of the women of those days.

An insight will be afforded into the customs of the Indians,
and into the manner of life of the early settlers, whose dangers
and difficulties, privations and calamities, are almost incredible.
Many of the most thrilling events in our national history are
herein related, along with the fearless adventures of our brave
pioneers, and the perils and catastrophes which. befel the
families of those whose protectors were absent on the field of
battle, or whose cabins failed to find sufficient defense in the

rifles of their owners.

 
 

 

iv PREFACE.

The reader will linger over these pages, thrilled by the
consciousness that the scenes so vividly brought before him
are real—a living, abiding part of our existence as a people.
The “storied Rhine” and “classic Italy” are laid and over-
laid thickly with traditions which give a vague interest to
soil, ruin, mountain and sky. We, also, have our traditions
—different in kind, but of wild and marvelous interest—and
the day shall come when the banks of the fair Ohio, the blue
Muskingum, the picturesque Allegany, the noble Mississippi,
shall be trodden by reverent feet, while the thoughts of the
traveler speed back to the days of the lurking red-man and
the bold ranger. It is no mean duty of the chronicler to
treasure up the threads of a thousand little facts, and weave
them into a web which shall perpetuate them for the future.

The publishers believe that this volume will not only be a
favorite in the hands of men, young and old, but will have its

appropriate place by the fireside.

 

 
 

CONTENTS.

Abduction of General Wadsworth, - - - -
Anecdotes of an early settler of Kentucky; - -
Anecdotes of juvenile heroism, - - -* - =
Anecdotes of Washington, - - - - - -
A remarkable hunting excursion, - - - - -
Big Joe Logston’s struggle with an Indian, - -
Boquet’s expedition into Indian territory, - - -
Brady’s leap, - - - - " Pe . F
Brandt and the boy, - - - - ‘ ; -
Brave deeds of Logan, ee eee ee
British atrocities during the Revolution, a i a
Captain Hubbell’s adventure on the Ohio, - as ae
Captain John Sevier, - - - - - - -
Captivity of Jonathan Alder, - - - - -
Close quarters with arattlesnake,- - - -— =
Colonel Horry, of Marion’s brigade, - - - -
Davy Crockett’s adventure with a cougar, - - -

Deborah Sampson, the maiden warrior, - - °
Dick Moxon’s fight with the deer, - - - -
Downing’s remarkable escape from an Indian, - -
Elerson’s twenty-five mile race, - - - - =

Ethan Allen, a prisoner of war, - - - z P
Execution of Colonel Isaac Hayne, a a oipae
Female characters of the Revolution, - - i
General Dale’sadventure, - - - - -° -
Harrison’s invasion of Canada and death of Tecumseh,
Heroic death of Cornstalk, sachem of the Shawnees,_— -
Horrible atrocties by savages, - - - - -
Horrible cruelties by British troops, - . - ‘
Horsewhippingatyrant, - - - - - -
Interesting anecdotes of Mrs. Fisher’s courage, - -
John Minter’s bear fight, - - or cba: ea
Joseph Bettys’ bloody career, i ae
Major Robert Rogers’ adventure, oc, ae aioe

 
vi CONTENTS.

Marvelous escape of Weatherford,

Miss Sherrill’s flight to the fort, -

Molly Pitcher at Monmouth, -

Moody, the refugee, -  -

Morgan’s prayer, - -

Mrs. Austin and the bear, - = -

Mrs. Slocumb at Moore’s Creek, -

Murphy saving the fort, -  -

Nathan Hale’s arrest and execution,

Proctor’s massacre at River Basin, - - -
Sargeant Jasper’s adventures in the British camp,
Sargeant Jasper and the young Creole girl, -
Simon Girty’s attack on Bryant Station,

Simon Kenton and his Indian torture-ride, -
Spirited adventures of a young married couple,
Tecumseh saving the prisoners,- - — -

The Baroness de Reidsel, —-

’ The chieftain’s appeal, -

The Grand Tower massacre, -

The implacable governor, - - -

The Johnson boys killing their captors,

Wee teap.forlife- -- .- .- .

The little sentinel,

The mother’s trial, ‘me 2S

The women defending the wagon, sit at
Thrilling anecdotes of women of the Revolution,
William Kennan’s flight from thirty Indians,

 
ILLUSTRATIONS:

SIMON KENTON’S TORTURE-RIDE, -
MURPHY SAVING THE FORT,

BRANT AND YOUNG WKOWN, -

MRS. AUSTIN AND THE BEAR, - -
JOE LOGSTON’S ENCOUNTER WITH AN INDIAN,
DEBORAH, THE MAIDEN WARRIOR, - - .
GENERAL MORGAN’S PRAYER, - - -
JOHNSON BOYS KILLING THEIR CAPTORS,
SWEATLAND’S HUNTING ADVENTURE, -
COLONEL HORRY’S EXPLOITS, - -
ELERSON’S TWENTY-FIVE MILE RACE,
MOLLY PITCHER AT MONMOUTH, - -
THE LITTLE SENTINEL, - - -
TECUMSEH SAVING THE PRISONERS, -
HORSEWHIPPING A TYRANT, - -

THE MOTHER'S TRIAL, - - -
WOMEN DEFENDING THE WAGON, -
CAPTIVITY OF JONATHAN ALDER,
MOODY, THE REFUGEE, . -

THE LEAP FOR LIFE, - a

THE CHIEFTAIN’S APPEAL,

THE IMPLACABLE GOVERNOR, -

MRS. SLOCUMB AT MOORE’S CREEK,
BRADY’S LEAP, - - - - -

 
 
SIMON KENTON,

AND HIS

INDIAN TORTURE-RIDE.

 

Forrmost among the wild and terrific scenes which arise before
our startled eyes when we turn the pages of border warfare, is the
ride of Simon Kenton—not that the cruelty of its devisers was so
atrocious, nor the final results so dregath, as in many other instances ;
but the novelty, the unique gee of the affair, ~‘~ikes upon the
imagination, as if it were one’of those thrilling stories related of ages
and people which never were, instead of an event that actually oc-
curred to one of our own countrymen in one of our own territories. .

In the early light of morning breaking through the wees which sur-
round them, a group of Indians are preparing to resume their march,
after a night of repose. They have with them a solitary prisoner.
Corraled about them are numbers of horses, the reeoyery of which
has been the object of the expedition. Before these are released and
the day’s march resumed, the prisoner must be disposed of. While
his captors are deciding this important matter, we will ———
he is and what has brought oe into his present stat_.

About the first of September, 1778, Simon Kenton—the friend and
younger coadjutor of Boone, who ne been with the latter for some
time at Boonesborough Station, employed in protecting the surround-
ing country, and engaging in occasional skirmishes with the ians
—becoming tired of a temporary inactivity which his om
rendered insupportable, determined to have another adyenture with,
the Indians. For this purpose he aypociater with Alex, a

the Shawnees.

 
 

  

.
ee

TALES AND TRADITIONS,

The three brave scouts reached old Chilicothe without meeting
with any thing exciting. There they fell in with a drove of Indian
horses, feeding on the rich prairie, and securing seven of the drove,
started on their return. Reaching the Ohio, they found the river
lashed into fury by a hurricane, and the horses refused to cross.
Here was an unlooked-for dilemma. It was evening; they felt sure of
being pursued; no time was to be Jost. As the only resource, they
rode back to the hills, hobbled the animals, and then retraced their
steps to see if they were followed. Finding ‘as yet no signs of pur-
suit, they took what rest their anxiety would allow them. The next
morning, the wind having subsided, they sought their horses and

vagain attempted to cross the river, but with the same result; the
horses, from fright, refused to take to the water, and they were driven
to the alternative of parting with them. Selecting each one of the
best, they turned the others loose, and started for the Falls of the

_ Ohio, (now just below Louisville); but disliking thus to abandon the

fruits of their expedition, they unwisely returned again, to attempt to
retake and lead the others. This was by no means an easy task,
and while engaged in the endeavor, they were surprised by a party
of mounted savages, who had followed their trail with vengeful per-
tinacity. The whites were separated ; and Kenton, hearing a whoop
in the direction of his comrades, dismounted, creeping cautiously in
the direction of the sound, to discover, if possible, the force of the
enemy. Dragging himself forward on his hands and knees, he came
suddenly upon several Indians, who did not discover him at the
moment. Being surrounded, and thinking the boldest game the best,

he took aim at the foremost and pulled trigger, but his gun missed

fire. This, of course, discovered his position, and he was instantly
pursued. Taking advantage of some fallen timber, he endeavored
to elude his pursuers, by dodging them, and hiding in the under-
brush, where their horses could not follow; but they were too cun-
ning, or rather too many for him. Dividing their forces and riding
along either side the timber, they “beat it up,” until, as he was
emerging at the further end, he was confronted by one of the say-
ages, who, the moment he discovered his white foe, -hrew himself
from his horse and rushed upon Kenton with his tomahawk.
Kenton drew back his arm to defend himself with the butt end of
6

 

 
TUE TORTURE-RIDE OF SIMON KENTON. 7

e his gun; but as he was about to strike, another stalwart savage,
whom he had not observed, seized him in his powerful grasp, pre-
venting the descending blow. He was now a prisoner, compelled
to yield, with such grace as he could, tv superior numbers. While
they were binding him, his companion, Moutgomery, made his
appearance, firing at one of the savages, but missing his mark. He
was immediately pursued; in a few moments gne of the pursuers
returned, shaking the bloody scalp of his friend in Kenton’s face.
Clark succeeded in making his escape, and crossing the river, arrived
in safety at Logan’s Station. ;
That night the Indians encamped on the banks of the river; in
the morning they prepared to return with their unfortunate prison
| who had passed an uneasy night, bound to the ground, and not
knowing precisely what vengeance his enemies might be pleased to
visit upon him. Some of them knew him well, and he realized that
there were long scores to be wiped off against him. However, the
red-man had a keen appreciation of bravery, and he did not antici- j
pate any severer fate upon that account. Some little time elapsed
® before they succeeded in catching all their horses. The day had
well advanced before they were ready to march, and the annoyance
consequent upon this delay so exasperated them, that they determ-
ined to make their captive pay the full penalty of the trouble he had
caused them. They therefore selected the wildest and most restive
horse among their number, and proceeded to bind Kenton upoa his
back. Their mode of, proceeding was as follows: a rope was first '
passed round the under jaw of the horse, either end of which was ~
i held by an Indian; yet even with this advantage, it required the
assistance of others to control the vicious beast, which was determ-
: ined not to receive its burden. Kenton was first seated upon the
= horse with his face toward the tail, and his feet tied together under
the animal. Another rope confined his arms, drawing the prisonet
down upon his back. A third, secured about his neck, was fastened
to the horse’s neck, thence extending longitudinally down his person
to the animal’s tail, where it was secure@, and’ answered well for a
crupper. In this way he was fastened to thie wild and fi an i > steed,
beyond the possibility of escape. To make they matter ‘sure 1 ‘
contingencies, the now delighted savages passed another:

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8 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

   

his thighs, securing it to the one which served as a girth, They
then fastened a pair of moccasins upon his hands to prevent his de-
fending his face. During the time they were thus preparing him for
his Mazeppa-like ride, they taunted him by asking if he wanted to
steal any more horses. They danced around him, yelped and
screamed, and, in every possible manner, expressed their infernal
delight at the anticipated sufferings of their victim. The heart of
Simon Kenton seldom quailed before any danger; but it must have
been supernaturally strengthened not to have sickened during those
moments of preparation and anticipation. ‘To be ound to unspoken
torture, which could end, at the last, only in deat) i—death long de-

ee perhaps into hours and days, whose every minute and second

ould be sharp with anguish—to be so helpless to resist the evils
which were sure to come, with the close rope stratigling the breath
in his throat whenever he attempted to raise his Lead to see the eru-
elties which he felt—to add all the mental miseries of suspense to
the horrible realities before him—this was enough surely to shake
even the sturdy spirit of the defiant pioneer. For a moment he was
_ inclined to beg of his tormentors to tomahawk him then and there;
put. he knew that such an appeal would gratify their malice while it

‘ would produce no other effect; and he closed his lips tightly, re-

"solved that they should enjoy no sign of fear or dismay to enhance
their inhuman delight. One glance at the blue sky smiling down
between the lightly-waving branches of the trees—one scornful look
into the demon-faces about him, and, for an instant, his eyes closed ;
felt like one falling from a precipice into terrific depths yawning
to receive him.-

With stripes aa demoniac yells they at length turned loose the
almost savage horse, which was goaded to desperation by the tumult
and the blows. The infuriated beast at once bounded away on its

 
 

_ , aimless, erratic course, anxious only to rid itself of its strange

“Twas scarcely yet the break of day,
And on he foamed—away !—away !—
The last of human sounds which rose,
As he was darted from his foes,

Was the wild shout of savage laughter
Which on the wind came roaring after.”

ee

 

 
THE TORTURE-RIDE OF SIMON KENTON. ¥..>

on
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Frantic with fright, the noble animal went careering through the

woods, rearing and plunging in his madness, inflicting upon his tor-
tured rider countless wounds and blows as he endeavored to dash
him against the trees, or rushed through the tangled brush, lacerat-
ing the flesh of both with innumerable thorns and briers. In one
of the mad dashes which the horse gave through the unpitying for-
est, Kenton’s arm came with such force against a tree that it was
broken—he knew it by i!s becoming so limp and helpless, as well as
from the knife-like pain which darted from it. The wretched man
could only hope that the horse would some time tire; that, wearied
out with its useless efforts to free itself from its burden, it would
subside into some quet, which might give a moment’s ease to his
aching and mangled limbs; but he hoped in vain !

‘Each motion which he made to free

His swollen limbs from their agony,

Increased its fury and affright ;

He tried his voice—’twas faint and low,

But yet it swerved, as from a blow;

And, starting at each accent, sprang

As from a sudden trumpet’s clang.

Meanwhile the cords were wet with gore,

Which, oozing from his wounds, ran 0’er ;

And on his tongue the thirst became

A something fiercer far than flame.”
Oh, that horrible ‘Hirst which takes possession of the person suffer-
ing exquisite pain, until the torture seems to exceed that of the an-
guish which causes it. None but those who have experienced ‘~
extremity of mortal suffering can picture it; none but those who
have suffered the horrible pangs of thirst can sympathize with the’
unutterable pain which Simon Kenton endured for the next few
hours. Yes, for hours! The harassed steed, at length, with wasted
strength and trembling limbs, returned to the point from which he
had started, with his now almost inanimate rider, who must haye™ a
sunk into insensibility long before, had not the fever of his pain kept | a

% oe

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him from that blessed relief. . The hunter hoped that now he would ~ oes ;
either be killed outright, or relieved of his present position; but such
was not the intention of the red devils who had him in their power.

Worn out with fatigue, and satisfied of his inability to rid himself

bt - o.3

of his unwelcome burden, the exhausted horse took his place in the
£9 4

 
  

ee

VALES AND TRADITIONS.

cavalcade, which had already started for its home. The only mercy
they vouchsafed the prisoner was to give him, twice or thrice, some
water. His sufferings had only commenced—death, in its worst
form, would have been preferred to the ordeal through which he had
yet to pass. To feel certain of death—to count the lingering hours
as they pass—to know that each is but a step toward a certain doom—
to fee: that doom impending day by day, and yet to see it postponed
through miserable stretches of suffering—to endure continu lly all
the anguish of which the human frame is capable, and all this time
to know that hope has fled beyond recall—that all this protracted
agony must end in inevitable death, is too terrible to contemplate.

All this Simon Kenton bore for three days and nights. It seems
incredible that life should have held out so long; but his previous
training in the schools of endurance seemed only to have fitted him
now to hold out through what no other man could have borne.
Through three nights he lay in his cradle of anguish; through three
days he was racked by the motion of the animal which bore him;
und when the Indians reached their village, he was still alive.

It had been the intention of the savages to procure his death by
means of the wanton torture they had instituted; but when he
reached his destination alive, owing to some custom or supcrstition
of their own, they delivered him over to the care of their squaws.
These took him from the rack, bathed his disfigured body, set his
broken arm, bandaged his wounds, made soothing and healing
washes from the herbs of the forest, nourished him with drinks and
food, and gradually restored him to health. Not only was his life
saved, but his iron constitution remained unbroken by the fearful
trial through which it had passed. As soon as his renewed strength
warranted the attempt, he set about planning the mode of his escape,
which he successfully accomplished, returning to the friends whe had
long since given him up for lost, to relate to their almost incredulous

hearts the story of his sufferings.

This remarkable episode is but one of countless adventures in
which Simon Kenton was engaged. Our readers may hear from him
again in scenes equally thrilling. He was, without doubt, one of
the bravest and most interesting of the western pioneers ; he-was

ereelled by none, and scarcely equaled by his precuf¥or, Daniel
10

 

 
Jao we

THE TORTURE-RIDE OF SIMON KENTON. : 11

Boone. His biography, as far as it has been preserved, will be read
with interest by all; his name will never be forgotten in the valley
of the great West. He was the coadjutor of Boone throufhout the
protracted struggle for the occupancy of the rich forests and prairies
on either side of the Ohio. The almost incessant exposure and life
of self-denial which these resolute adventurers endured can scarcely
be appreciated by us of this generation who enjoy in peace the
fruits of their sufferings. , 4 Bi
While the United States were British Colonies, and Kentucky and
Ohio still were primeval in their solitudes, filled with Indians, and
wholly destitute of white inhabitants, these two heroic men, Boone
and Kenton, as if moved by the finger of Providence, left the shades
of civilization, entire strangers to each other, and ventured into the
midst of a boundless wilderness, neither having any knowledge of
the purpose or movement of the other. Boone Jed the way from
North Carolina, crossed the mountains, and entered the valley of
Kentucky in 1769; Kenton followed from Virginia, in 1773. The
former emigrated from choice, to gratify his natural taste, after full
deliberation, and after having calculated the consequences. Not so
with Kenton; he fled to the wilderness to escape the penalty of a

supposed crime. He had, unfortunately, become involved in a quar-—

rel with a young man of his neighborliood, with whom he had lived
in habits of great intimacy and friendship, and, as he supposed, had
killed him in a personal conflict. To avoid the consequences of that
imaginary homicide, and to escape, if possible, from the distress of
his own feelings, he left home and friends, without waiting to ascer-
tain the result. Unaccompanied by any human being, he crossed
the mountains and descended into the valley of the Big Pawn
under the assumed name of Simon Butler. He retained that name
several years, until he received information that the friend whom he
supposed had fallen under his hand, had recovered from the blow,
and was alive and in health. He then resumed his proper name,
and disclosed the reason which had led him to assume that of But-
ler; but a love for the wild life to which he had exiled himself had
now taken such strong hold of him that he made no effort to return
to the ties from which he had so hastily fled. i

It is a matter of regret that so small a portion of the achievements |

1 ;

 

~~

 
“212 TALES AND TRADITIONS,

of this interesting man have been perpetuated. This may be ac-
counted for by the fact that so large a portion of his life was spent
in the Wilderness, either in solitude, or associated with others of the
same adventurous cast with himself; and it explains the reason why
we are not only without a connected record of his life, but have so
few of its isolated transactions preserved. It is known, however,
that, after he joined the adventurers in the district of Kentucky,
about tworyears before the Declaration of American Independence,
he engaged in most of the battles and skirmishes between the white
inhabitants and the savages which followed, during 1774 to 1783.
He became an enterprising leader in most of the expeditions against
the Indian towns north-west of the Ohio. These conflicts, indeed,
continued during the long period of twenty years, interyening be-
tween their commencement and the decisive victory of “Mad
Anthony” Wayne at the rapids of the Maumee, in August, 1794,
which was followed by the celebrated treaty of Greenville, and peace
to the afflicted border. Kenton was always considered one of the
boldest and most active defenders of the western country, from the
commencement of its settlement until the close of Indian hostili-
ties. In all their battles and expeditions he took a conspicuous
part. He was taken prisoner several times and conveyed to the
Shawnee towns, but in every instance he made his escape and
' returned to his friends.

On one occasion he was captured when on an expedition against
the Wabash (Miami) villages, and taken to one of the remote Indian
towns, where a council was held to decide on his fate. Again he
was fated to endure one of their cruel and peculiar modes of inflicthhg
punishment. He was painted black, tied to a stake, and suffered to
remain in this painful position for twenty-four hours, anticipating the
horrors of a slow.and cruel death, by starvation or fire. He was
next condemned to run the gauntlet. The Indians, several hundred
in number, of both sexes, and every age and rank, armed with
switches, sticks, bludgeons and other implements of assault, were
formed in two lines, between which the unhappy prisoner was made
to pass; being promised that, if he reached the door of the council-
house, at the further end of the lines, no further punishment would
be inflicted. He accordingly ran, with all the speed of which his

12

 
THE TORTURE-RIDE OF SIMON KENTON. ' +33

debilitated condition rendered him capable, dreadfully beaten by the
savages as he passed, and had nearly reached the goal, when he was
knocked down hy a warrior with a club; and the demoniac set,
gathering around the prostrate body, continued to beat him until
life appeared to be nearly extinguished.

In this wretched condition, naked, lacerated and exhausted, he
was marched from town to town, exhibited, tortured, often threat-
ened to be burned at the stake, and compelled frequently to run the
gauntlet. On one of these occasions he attempted to make his
escape, broke through the ranks of his torturers, and had outstripped
those who pursued him, when he was met by some warriors on
horseback, who compelled him to surrender. After running the
gauntlet in thirteen towns, he was taken to the Wyandot town of
Lower Sandusky, in Ohio, to be burned. Here resided the white
miscreant, Simon Girty, who, having just returned from an unsue-
cessful expedition against the frontiers of Pennsylvania, was in a
particularly bad humor. Hearing that there was a white prisoner
in town, the renegade rushed upon him, struck him, beat him to the

ground, and was proceeding to further atrocities, when Kenton had

the presence of mind to call him by name and claim his protection.
They had known each other in their youth ; Kenton had once saved
the life of Girty ; and deaf as was the latter, habitually, to every
dictate of benevolence, he admitted the claim of his former ac-
quaintance. Actuated by one of those unaccountable caprices
common among savages, he interceded for him, rescued him from
the stake, and took him to his own house, where, in a few days, the
prisoner recovered his strength. Some of the chiefs, however,
became dissatisfied ; another council was held, the former decree
was reversed, and Kenton was again doomed to the stake.

From this extremity he was rescued by the intercession of Drew-
yer, a British agent, who, having succeeded in obtaining his release,
carried him to Detroit, where he was received by the British com-
mander as a prisoner of war. From that place he made his escape,
in company with two other Americans; and, after a march of thirty
days through the wilderness, continually exposed to recapture, had
the good fortune to escape all perils, and to reach the settlements of
Kentucky in safety. : fats

aioe

  

4

et
14 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

Hall, from whose sketches of the West we have gathered this
account of his running the gauntlet, states that all those horrors were
endured upon the occasion of his captivity following his Mazeppa-
like ride, although Burnet, in his ‘‘ Notes,” speaks of it as upon another
and a future occasion.

After the fall of Kaskaskia, which took place in 1778, and in the
expedition against which Kenton took an active part, he was sent
with a small party to Kentucky with dispatches. On their way the
rangers fell in with a camp of Indians, in whose possession were a
number of horses, which the daring fellows took and sent back to
the army, then in great need of the animals.

Pursuing their way by Vincennes, they entered that French-Indian
town at night, traversed several of the streets, and departed without

being discovered, taking from the inhabitants two horses to each
man. When they came to White river, a raft was made on which
to cross, while the horses were’ driven in to swim the river. On the
opposite shore a party of Indians was encamped, who caught the
horses as they ascended the bank. Such are the vicissitudes of
_ border» incident ! The same horses which had been audaciously

taken only the night before from the interior of a regularly garrisoned
town, were lost by being accidentally driven by their captors into a
camp of the enemy! Kenton and his party, finding themselves in
the utmost ‘danger, returned to the shore from which they had

' pushed their raft, and concealed themselves until night, when they
crossed the river at a different place, reaching Kentucky in
safety.

The expedition against Kaskaskia was one of the earliest made by
the Americans beyond the Ohio. This place, as well as the posts
upon the Lakés, was then in possession of the British, with whom
we were at war. Being one of the points from which the Indians
were supplied with ammunition, and thus enabled to harass the
settlements in Kentucky, its capture was considered so important
that the legislature of Virginia were induced to raise a regiment for
the purpose. The command was given to Colonel George Rogers
Clarke, the young military hero, to whom, more than to any other
one person, Kentucky owes her successful foundation as a State. He
Was, as a military leader, what Kenton was as a scout and skirmisher—

14

 
THE TORTURE-RIDE OF SIMON KENTON.

one of those men who seemed raised up, providentially, to master
great difficulties.

The story of the campaign by which he took Kaskaskia is one of
the mest interesting of our border experiences. With two or three
hundred men, mostly raised in Virginia, he crossed the mountains to
the Monongahela, and descended by water to the Falls of the Ohio,
where he was joined by some volunteers from Kentucky, among
whom ‘yas Simon Kenton, After a halt of a few days to refresh his
men, he proceeded down the Ohio to the neighborhood of Fort
Massac, a point about sixty miles above the mouth of that river,
where he landed and hid his boats, to prevent their discovery by the
Indians. He was now distant from Kaskaskia about one hundred
and thi:ty miles. The intervening country must have been, at that —
time, a'most impassable. His route led through a flat region, over-
flowed by the backwater of the streams, and entirely covered with a
most ] ixuriant vegetation, which must have greatly impeded the
march of his troops. Through this dreary region, the intrepid young
leader 1aarched on foot, at the head of his gallant band, with his
rifle on his shoulder and his provisions on his back. After wading
through swamps, crossing creeks by such methods as could be hastily
adoptec, and sustaining two days’ march after the provisions were
exhausted, he arrived in the night before the village of Kaskaskia.
Having halted and formed his men, he made them a speech, which
contained only the brief sentence: “The town must be taken at all
events.” Accordingly it was taken, and that without striking a
blow; -or, although fortified, the surprise was so complete that no
resistance was attempted. This exploit was followed up by a series
of the same character; in all of whick Kenton played his part, being
chosen, as we have seen, after this expedition, to be the bearer of
important dispatches through a hostile country. In all emergencies
like this, his aid was invaluable.

Simen Kenton was a striking example of cool, deliberate bravery,
united with a tender, sympathizing heart. In times of danger and
conflict, all his energies were enlisted in the struggle. He fought for
victory, regardless of consequences; but the moment the contest
was over, and his feelings resumed their usual state, he could sit

down and weep over the misery he had assisted in producing.
15 :

 
16 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

Doubtless this extreme sensibility was the cause of his being driven
into the wilds of the West—the wretchedness he suffered on account
of the blow he had dealt in a moment of passion being such as per-
mitted his mind no repose fora long period after the deed was
committed. Such tenderness of heart is not incompatible with the
sternest bravery—indeed, the most heroic are, usually, also the most
gentle and generous in times of repose. During a large portion of
his life, solitude, danger and want were his attendants; necessity
had so familiarized him to privation, that he could endure abstinence
from food, and subsist on as small a quantity of it, without detriment
to health or strength, as the savages themselves.

During his residence in the wilderness, the land-warrants issued
by the commonwealth of Virginia were easily obtained. After the
holders were permitted to locate them west of the mountains, he
found no difficulty in possessing himself of as many of them as he
desired ; and having traversed the wilderness in every direction, his
topographical knowledge enabled him to select for location the best
and most valuable lands in the country. Well, too, had he earned
these estates, for his hand had opened them not only to himself but
for thousands of others to possess and enjoy. Had he possessed

the information necessary to enable him to make his entries suffi-

ciently special to stand the test of legal scrutiny, his locations would
have been the foundation of a princely fortune for himself and his
descendants. Unfortunately, however, he was uneducated; and,
although his locations were judicious, and his entries were made in
the expressive language suggested by a vigorous mind, yet they were
not sufficiently technical; in consequence of which the greater part
of them were lost, by subsequent entries more specifically and tech-
nically made. He succeeded in retaining a few of them however,
and these were sufficient to make him entirely independent.
The first authentic information we have of him, after he left the
place of his nativity, is that he was éngaged in the great battle fought
at: the mouth of the Big Kanawha, between the Indians and the
troops of Lord Dinsmore, while. he was Ggyernor of the Province of
Virginia ; in which he, Kenton, was distinguished for his bravery.
The next intelligence is, that in 1775, he was inthe district of
Kentucky commanding a station, near the spot where the town of
16

 
THE TORTURE-RIDE OF SIMON KENTON.

Washington now stands. Not long after that work was done, the
station was discovered, attacked and destroyed by the Indians, and
it does not appear that he made any effort to reoccupy it until the
year 1784, after the treaty of peace with Great Britain. In that year
he rebuilt his block-house and cabins, and proceeded to raise a crop ;
and though frequently disturbed by the Indians, he continued to
occupy and improve it, until he removed his family to Ohio, some
eight or ten years after the treaty of Greenville.

At the commencement of the war of 1812, Kenton was a citizen
of Ohio, residing in the vicinity of Urbana. He then bore on his
person the scars of many a bloody conflict; yet he repaired to the
American camp and volunteered in the army of Harrison. His per-

sonal bravery was proverbial; his skill and tact in Indian warfare

were well known; and as the frontier at that time abounded with
Indians, most of whom had joined the British standard, the services
of such an experienced Indian-fighter as Simon Kenton were highly
appreciated by General Harrison and Governor Meigs, each of whom
had known him personally for many years. His offer was promptly
accepted, and the command of a regiment conferred upon him.
While a portion of the army was stationed at Urbana, a mutinous
plan was formed by some of the militia to attack an encampment of
friendly Indians, who, threatened by the hostile tribes, had been
invited to remove their families within our frontier settlements for
protection. Kenton remonstrated against the movement, as being
not only mutinous, but treacherous and cowardly. He appealed to
their humanity, and their honor as soldiers. He told them that he
had endured suffering and torture at the hands of these people again
and again, but that was in time of war; and now, when they had
come to us under promise of safety, he should permit no treachery
toward them. Finding the mutineers still bent on their purpose, he
took a rifle and called on them to proceed, declaring that he should
accompany them to the encampment, and shoot down the first man
who attempted to molest it. Knowing that the veteran would keep
his promise, no one veytured to.take the lead. "Thus generous was
Kenton in times of peace ; ‘thus brave in times of wat. as Bie!

We have qaid that he secured enough land—despite of the entries |
made after and upon his—to render him independent te Wea

1 2

 
  

TALES AND TRADITIONS.

 

18

there were not wanting those, in his latter days, base enough to
defraud the confiding and noble old hero out of the remainder of
his affluence. In 1828 Congress granted him a pension, dating back
many years, which afforded him.an ample support the remainder of
his life.

The records of such lives as his should be carefully preserved, that
the luxurious and effeminate young men of to-day, and those of the
future, may know by what courage and hardships their ease has
been secured to them.

MURPHY SAVING THE FORT.

SUDDENLY, through the clear stillness of an autumn morning
rung out the three rapid reports of an alarm-gun, which had been
agreed upon by the three frontier forts defending the valley of the
Schoharie, as a signal of danger. The faint flush in the eastern sky
was as yet not strong enough to tinge the white frost glittering over
leaf and grass; the deep repose of earliest dawn rested over all
things in that beautiful vale; but as the thunder of that alarm-gun
rolled sullenly along the air, every eye unclosed, every heart awoke
from the even pulse of sleep to the hurried beat of fear and excitement.
Not even the inhabitants of Gettysburg, nor the plundered, mis-
used people of East Tennessee, can imagine the appalling terrors
which beset our ancestors during those “days which tried men’s
souls,” when they fought for the liberties which now we are bound
to defend in all their sanctity against foes at home or abroad. When
we recall the price paid for our present position in the van of pro-
gress and free government, well may our hearts burn with inextin-
guishable resolve never to give up what was so nobly purchased.
Pardon the reflection, which has nothing to do with the story we
have to tell of Trmoray Morruy, roe ceELEBRATED RIFLEMAN OF
Moraan’s Corrs. Only this we must say: our English neighbors,
who are so much shocked at the way we have managed our civil

war, ought to turn back to that disgraceful page of their history
18

 

 

 
MURPHY SAVING THE FORT. 19

   

whereon is written the hideous record of Indian barbarities which
they employed against us—against our women and children, our fire-
sides, our tnnocent babes /
The signal was fired by the upper fort; but when those of the
middle fort sprung to the ramparts to ascertain the cause of alarm,
they found their own walls completely invested. A combined force
of British troops, Hessian hirelings and tories, with a body of Indians
r of the Six Nations, under their war-chief, Joseph Brant—the whole
under the command of Sir John Johnson—passing the first fort
| unobserved, had entered the valley. After the usual manner of
their warfare, the work of destruction upon peaceable inhabitants
immediately commenced. Farm-houses were in flames; women and
children, who ran from them, found refuge only in the tortures ot
the savages waiting without; barns, filled with the plenty of autumn,
blazed up a few moments with the wild brightness of ruin, and then
sunk back, a smoldering heap, to tell of poverty and famine. While
this cruel work was progressing, a column of the enemy, with two.
small mortars and a field-piece called a “ grasshopper, "from being
mounted upon legs instead of wheels—was sent to occupy a height |
which commanded the middle fort. This, with its little garrison of
about two hundred men, was surrounded, and lay completely under
the enemy’s fire.

Under these circumstances the men turned to their commander
for instructions. Unfortunately, Major Woolsey was a fallen star

i ' amid that glorious galaxy to which we look back with such pride—

 

he was’ that pitiable object at which women blush—a d in
epaulettes! Where was he in the emergency which ought, have
| called forth all his powers? ‘“ Among the women and children in a

house of the fort!” says the historian, but the narrator does not

inform us whether or not the Major absolutely begged the shelter

of their skirts! And, “ when driven out by the ridicule of his asso-

ciates, he crawled around the intrenchments upon his hands and

| knees.” There was one way in which this incident.was of service — ee
to the troops who awaited the orders of their commander. The te

Major’s cowardice was so utterly ridiculous that the jeers and —

1 : laughter it called forth restored courage to the men, who had been

so suddenly surprised as to be at first disheartened. oy
We

 
  

TALES AND TRADITIONS.

Among these who shook with mingled wrath and taughter at sight
of the impotence of their leader was Murphy. At the first note of
danger he had sprung to the ramparts, his unerring rifle in hand,
his bright eye flashing fire. He should have been in the Major’s
place. It is x1en like him who electrify their comrades with the
thrilling enthusiasm and reliance of their own courage—men:*who
know not fear, who think nothing of themselves and all of their
cause—cool, prompt, ready for any emergency. He should have
been the leader: but he was only a militiaman, whose term of serv-
ice had expired at that, and who was “ fighting on his own account.”
But he could not brook the disgrace of such leadership; when the
commander of ‘he fort went creeping about on his hands, the militia-
man felt that it was time to take the reins in his own grasp, and he
did it. Implicit obedience from the soldier to the officer is a
necessity ; but there are exceptions to all rules, and this was one of
them; to be r itinous then was to be true to duty and to honor.
Deeming the fort their own, the enemy sent out an officer with a
flag of truce. As soon as he came in sight, the relieved Major got
off his knees, commanding his men to cease all firing. Now it was
that this justiuuble mutiny ensued. Murphy, from his position on
the ramparts, answered to the flag, warning it away, threatening in
event of its closer approach to fire upon tt. This remarkable assump-
tion of authority confounded all within the fort. He was ordered

_by the officers of the regular troops to forbear, but the militiamen,

whose hero he was, cheered him, and swore he should have his
way. Thus supported, as soon as the flag of truce came within
range, he fire“ purposely missing the messenger who bore it, when
the flag quickly retired. This “ outrage” at once closed all avenues
to a peaceful surrender. The enemy’s artillery opened upon the
fort. A continual fusilade was kept up by the mortars, the grass-
hopper, and ..e rifles of the Indians, fortunately with little effect.
Many an Indian, who considered himself at a prudent distance, bit
the dust, as the smoke cleared away from the busy rifle of Timothy
Murphy. Hor after hour the attack continued. A number of
shells were thrown, but only two of them fell inside the walls; one
of these pierced the house within the palisades, and descending to
the first story, smothered itself in a feather-hed, without doing any
20

 

 
MURPHY SAVING THE FORT. 21

fatal injury. The gallant Major commanding shonld have been
ensconced for safety in those feathers! The other shell set fire to
the roof, which was saved from destruction by a pail of water carried
by the intrepid Philip Graft, the sentinel who had first discovered
the approach of the British troops.
Many exciting events occurred during that long forenoon. A
& large barn, filled with grain, and surrounded by several stacks of
wheat, stood a few hundred feet from the fort. It was several times
set on fire. As it was important to save its contcats, Lieutenant
Spencer, with his band of forty men, sallied out on each occasion,
and extinguished the flames. This heroic party also made sorties,
whenever the enemy approached too near the fort, which could not
be properly protected, owing to a short supply of ammunition.
Now it was, also, that the courage of women—which the annals
of the Revolution set forth in such noble luster—shone resplendent
above the craven fear of the commander. Some Jf the women
armed themselves, avowing their determination to aid in the defense,
rs should the attack reach the walls. The supply of water threatening
to give out, a soldier was ordered to bring some from a well outside
the works. He turned pale and stood trembling in his shoes,
between the double danger of disobedience and exposure to the
enemy’s fire.
“ Give the bucket to me!” cried a girl, not over ni»eteen years of
age, her red lip curling slightly with scorn, as she took the bucket a
from his yielding hand, and went forth after the much-needed neces-
sary of life. gs
A shout of enthusiasm broke from the spectators. With a smile
on her face and a clear luster in her eyes, inspiriting to see, she went
out on her dangerous journey. Without the least. appearance of
Z + trepidation, she filled her bucket and returned, passing within range
of the enemy’s fire. This errand she performed several times in-
safety. &
All this time the rifle of Murphy was doing its appointed wads
In the course of the forenoon he saw a second flag “pproaching to
demand the surrender of the fort. Seeing him a e
» it as he had the former, Major Woolsey ordered theviy
ae rifleman from the ramparts.

    
 
  
 

ae
\
|
i

.

22 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

“JT shan’t come down,” said the sturdy patriot. “I’m going to
fire on that white rag.”

“Then I shall be obliged to kill you on the spot,” said the Major,
drawing his sword, and making a flourish.

Murphy only took one eye from the advancing flag; his weapon
was sighted; he was not sufficiently alarmed by this threat to lose
its position.

“ Kill away, Major, if you think best. It won’t better your situ-
ation much. I know you, and what you will do. You will surren-
der this fort. Yes, sir; in the hopes of saving your miserable skin,

_ you'll surrender! But you won’t even save your Own carcass. You

can believe what I tell you. I know them troops out thar, and
their way of fightin’. You won’t make nothing by surrendering to
them, and Tim Murphy, for one, ain’t going to surrender. No,
sir /”

Again the gallant militiamen applauded his sentiments, which were
no sooner uttered than the rifleman discharged his piece at the ap.

_ proaching officer, missing him, as before, purposely. Of course, at

this, hostilities were renewed; but, as the rifleman said, he knew
‘which of two dangers was most to be dreaded; and, if he must
perish, he preferred to die in defense of what had been intrusted to
them rather than to be smote down after the humiliation of a sur-
render by murderers who respected none of the laws of war. It is
true, that, to fire upon a flag of truce, was a breach of military
usage, and, in almost any circumstances, inexcusable; but not so
now, when the garrison would only meet with the most fatal
treachery as the result of any interview. The officers of the regu-
lars, however, did not so regard the affair. Brought up under the
stern discipline of military rule, they took sides with the Major,
and expostulated with Murphy upon his unwarrantable violation of
the laws of war.

“Don’t talk,” he cried, impatiently. “Jest come up here and
take a look at the smoke arising from the homes of defenseless citi-
zens. Take a look at the red-skins dancing around ’em, like devils
around the fires of hell. Hear the screams of them women and
children they are murderin’ in cold blood. By the God above, if I

cou.d get at them fiends, I’d stop that music !” His “teeth were
22

 

 
MURPHY SAVING THE FORT. 23

firmly set ; his face hardened; his eyes shone like two coals of fire ;
and, disdaining to argue his point at a moment like that, he settled
his weapon for the next victim who should venture within range.

The garrison could indeed hear, in the intervals of the cannon’s
silence, the shrieks of helpless families smote down by the tomahawk.

“Do you hear it?” he cried again, as the shrill cry of a female
voice pierced the air. “That's the kind of enemy you've got to
deal with, and there you stand, balancing yourselves on a p’tint of
law! Ifyou open your gates and lay down your arms, you, nor
your wives and children, won’t meet any better fate. If you want
to be tortured by red-skins, and your families given up to their deyil-
ment, let ’em in, let ’em in! ¢ J shan’t have a hand in it.”

The signs of a final charge about to be given allowed no time for
further argument. Sir John, drawing up his regular troops in the
rear of a frame building standing near the fort, prepared for an
assault, while the garrison within made what readiness they could
to repel it. The women, knowing how little they had to expect if
the place fell, grasped the weapons they had solicited and took their
stations near the men, resolved to deal such blows as they could in
self-defense. With pale cheeks, but hearts that had outgrown their
natural timidity, they awaited the expected blow. 4

At this moment of peril and suspense, for the third time a flag of a

truce was seen approaching Fort Hunter. Again the undaunted — ak
Murphy prepared to fire upon it; but this time, made desperate by a
his very cowardice, Major W ‘iahiiie commanded his soldiers to arrest
the disobedient rifleman. The militia, however, gathered around
their hero, threatening any and all who should molest him ; they
had confidence that the judgment of one so brave was superior to
that of the officer who had shown himself so unfit for his position.
In the mean time, precious time was being lost. In a moment more
Murphy would enrage the foe by again insulting their flag. The
commander ordered a white flag to be shown. A handkerchief was
placed: on a staff and a soldier ordered to display it.

“The man who dares attempt it will be shot down by my own
rifle,” thundered the inexorable militiaman, who thus braved the
regular authority. The men knew that he meant what he said, ¢ and ,

not one was found to attempt to execute the order of Woolsey.
28

 
  

 

i a agen eee ee

42% 3 SE ere

é

   

Qt TALES AND TRADITIONS.

“Who commands here, you or I ?” shouted the enraged Major.

“T reckon, J do, as far as not givin’ up goes,” was the cool answer.

At this crisis, Captain Reghtmeyer, of the militia, feeling that their
commander was about to betray them all, took up his station by
the rifleman and ordered him to fire.

Exasperated by such contumacy, Woolsey drew his sword upon
the Captain, threatening to cut him down unless his orders were
obeyed. It was a strange time for persons associated in such immi-
nent peril to fall out among themselves; but the brave and un-
flinching were not disposed to yield their fate into the hands of the
weak and vacillating. Captain Reghtmeyer, in answer to this threat,
clubbed his gun, and awaited the attack of the Major, resolved to
dash out his brains if he assaulted him; whereupon that officer,
thinking in this, as in other cases, that discretion was the better
part of valor, subsided into silence.

The flag-officer of the enemy, as soon as he came within range,
seeing Murphy bring his rifle to his shoulder, immediately turned
and ran back; he had no mind to encounter the sharp warning
which had been given his predecessors.

Then followed a moment of suspense. The little garrison expected
nothing better than an angry and overwhelming assault; the men
breathed heavily, grasping their muskets sternly, while the women’s

faces grew like those of their fathers and husbands, settling into the

firm lines of resolve. Moment after moment crept away; a half
hour sped, and yet the roar of artillery and the nearer shouts of the
expected assailants were not heard.

“You needn’t give yourself no further oneasiness, Major,” at

: length spoke the gallant Murphy, contempt mingling with relief and

joy in his voice. He had kept his gaze fixed upon the movements
of the enemy, and now perceived that they were retiring. “ The
red-coats and red-skins are takin’ themselves off. It’s j@st as I told
you—the spunk we've shown makes ’em think us stronger than we
are, and they’ve made up their minds to back out.”

And so, indeed, it proved! “The spunk we've shown” Murphy
modestly said; which was really the spunk he had shown. His
courage and persistence saved Fort Hunter. The British officers

naturally supposed their flag of truce would not be three times fired
2° .

 

-

 
 

Murphy Saving the Fort—Vfage 22.
 

 

 
MURPHY SAVING THE FORT. 27

upon unless that fort was to be defended to the death. They there-
fore decided to withdraw, and to abandon the attempt for its capture,

Thus was the fort, with all its precious lives, preserved by the
tact as well as the determination of a single man. However cha-
grined the “gallant” Major may have been at the flagrant: disobe-
dience of an inferior, the results were such as to nullify the conse-
quences of his anger. The fact that the fort was saved was ths
mutineer’s justification.

This affair occurred in 1780. It was not the first gallant exploit
of our hero—nor the last. He had already made himself famous by
deeds both of daring, dashing boldness, and deliberate courage.

Three years before the attack on Fort Hunter, at the battle of
Stillwater in 1777, he had killed the British General, Frazer, by a
ball from his unerring rifle. This is the first record we have of
him; but after that many instances were noted of his extraordinary
prowess, and many more, doubtless, of equal interest, never have
received a chronicle. He had a peculiar hatred of the Indians,
called forth by the many proofs of their treachery and cruelty. He
was a valuable acquisition to any party of scouts who might be out
after the red-skins ; and many were the marvelous escapes he had.

As an instance of that obstinacy of his character exhibited in his
conduct at the attack upon Fort Hunter, we must give the reader an
account of another and quite different circumstance, in which he dis-
played the same determination to have his own way—and in which
he had it! This little episode in the life of the celebrated rifleman
is not only interesting in itself, but also as showing under what dif-
ficulties the little Gop or LovE will struggle and triumph.

“ Love rules the court, the camp, the grove ;”
and not the fiery sword of Mars himself can frighten him from his
universal throne.

After the attack upon Fort Hunter, Murphy, although his period |

of enlistment had expired, still remained with the garrison, It was
not long after this that something besides duty to his country began

tu bind him to the valley of the Schoharie. The heart which had ;
never quailed before an Indian or red-coat, was brought low by a

shaft from the bright eyes of a maiden of sixteen! “a

Not far from the fort dwelt a family by the name of Feeck, ‘show

eX > tat

Sa
7°

 
ee een en eee tn eee

a

apron nee

eta nema pan et

ae ee ee ae

     

   

9

28 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

home had escaped destruction from the advent of the enemy. Their
daughter Margaret was a spirited and handsome girl, in whose dark
blue eyes laughed mischief and tenderness combined; her auburn

hair shaded cheeks rosy with health; her form was just rounding

into the fullness of maidenhood, with a grace all its own, acquired
from the fresh air and bountiful exercise to which she was accus-
tomed. The historian does not tell us how the first meeting occurred,
but certain it is that the indomitable heart of the rifleman was con-
quered at last. Murphy was then twenty-eight years of age and
Margaret but sixteen. There is something in the nature of a woman
which does homage to bravery in a man. The man who has the
reputation of cowardice may be handsome and elegant, but she will

despise him; he alone who is famous for courage commands woman’s

full respect and dove. When the invincible rifleman, whose iron
nerves shrunk from no exposure, and whose energy was daunted by
no difficulties, betrayed to the young girl, by his faltering manner in
her presence, that she could do what armies could not—confuse and
master him—her breast thrilled with pride and delight. The dis-
parity of their ages was nothing to her; she felt honored at being
the choice of a brave man; her timid glance, usually so mischiey-
ous, encouraged him to speak, and when he did he was not rejected.

Whether it was that Margaret’s parents thought her too young, or
that there was too great a discrepancy in their ages, or that they had
some prejudice against Murphy, we are not advised ; but they stren-
uously opposed the intimacy, forbidding the lover to enter their
house. Then it was that he again questioned the authority of the
ruling powers. It was not in his nature to submit to this arbitrary
decree. As once before he had “had his own way” in defiance of
superiors, he was resolved to have it now. He luved the maiden
and she him; there was none who should keep them apart. When
he made a resolution it might be considered as carried out. Mar-
garet, drooping about the house, doing her work listlessly, instead of
with joyous singing, received a communication which brought back
the roses to her cheeks in fuller bloom than ever. A. faithful friend
of Murphy, living not far from the Feeck family, on the Schoharie
creek, was the person who wrought this change in the young girl.
le 2 to the parents, he contrived to arrange & meeting at

 

fie

 
MURPHY SAVING THE FORT. 29

his own house with her lover. Thither she went one day on a pre-
tended errand, and found her lover awaiting her. During the inter-
view a plan was arranged for eluding the vigilance of her parents
and consummating their happiness by marriage.

There was some difficulty about this, for her father and mother
had instituted a close surveillance over all the “coming and going.”
Margaret herself, though willing, was timid, shrinking from the dan-
ger of detection and the anger of her parents.

“Pshaw !” said Murphy, squeezing the hand he held in his own
broad palm, “it’s likely I can’t take care of you, Maggie! I’ve
trailed too many Injuns, and dodged too many bullets, to think much
of carrying off my girl when I want her. Jest you be on the spot,
and leave the rest to me.”

She promised, and they separated to wait impatiently for the ap-
pointed evening. When it came, Margaret, under pretense of going
to milk, some distance from the house, stole away from home to
meet her intended husband, She dared not make the least change

 

in her apparel, lest suspicion should be excited; and when she made 4
her appearance at the appointed spot, she presented but little of the
usual semblance of an expectant bride. She was barefoot and bare-
headed, and wore the short gown and petticoat, so much the vogue
among females of that day as a morning or working-dress; but be-
neath the humble garb beat a true and ingenuous heart, worth more
than outward trappings to any man. The form, arrayed in home-
spun, was of a blooming and substantial beauty, which needed not
the “ foreign aid of ornament.”

She was first at the place of rendezvous, where she waited with
fear and impatience for her lover, but no lover came. Twilight was-
fast fading into darkness, and yet he came not. From her little
nook of concea!iment, behind a clump of alders which grew on a
bend of the stream, out of sight of her home, she strained her eyes
to look for the approaching form, which still came not. The pink
tinge which flushed the silver water died off into the gray of even
ing ; every moment she expected to hear the stern voice of her fat he
calling her. What should she do? It would not answer tot

home, for she already had been gone too long. The cow “had ot

ets

been milked, and if she went back now, her unusual absence must |
pros ae
29

 

  
 
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a a ee
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ee en NONE E  aENE O mE NSO
“

    
 

80 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

excite suspicions, which would prevent a future meeting with her
lover. This was her greatest dread. She had dwelt on their union
too fondly to endure the return now to a hopeless separation.

Margaret was not long in making up her mind what course to
pursue. Since Murphy had not come to her she would go to him!
She knew him brave and honorable, and that some important mat-
ter must have kept him from the tryst. In order to reach the fort
she was obliged to ford the stream. About this she had no squeam-
ishness, as she had performed the feat one hundred times before;
the stream was shallow and not very wide. Evidently she was for-
tunate in not being troubled with shoes and stockings in the present
emergency ; it did not trouble her much to hold up her short skirts
from the water into which she waded; and, as her little feet felt
their cautious way across the creek, no doubt she looked as pretty to
her lover, in her attitudes of unconscious grace, as other brides have
done under more fortunate circumstances; for Murphy saw the
whole proceeding with a pleased eye, taking her advance as a proof
both of her love for, and faith in, himself. He had been detained
at the fort by some provoking duties, and had ridden up to the
‘brook just as Margaret began to cross.

“Although in her heart she felt inwardly relieved to find him there,
the maiden began to pout at his tardiness, and to regret that she
had taken a step beyond the trysting-place to meet a lover who
would not take the trouble to be punctual to an appointment like this.

“T shall go home again, Tim,” she cried, concealing her blushes
under a frown, which, though pretty, was not at all frightful.

“ Not to-night, Maggie,” he said, as, lifting her up behind him,
he sped away to the fort.

Murphy was a general favorite among the garrison; not an indi-
vidual there who would not willingly have aided and assisted him in
his nuptial enterprise. His plans were well known; and, as the
happy couple rode in at the gate, lighted by the last lingering gleam
of sunset in the west, they were received with three hearty cheers.
The circumstances were such as to call forth the warmest interest
of the female part of the population. The young maiden was taken
in charge by them. As there was no minister to perform the cere-

mony of marriage, the ‘couple would be obliged to take a trip to
30

 

 
    

a

MURPHY SAVING THE FORT.

Schenectady, twenty-five miles distant. The evening was spent in
preparation. Various choice articles of apparel and ornament, some
of whicn, doubtless, had served a similar purpose on former occa-
sions, vere brought forth; all went to work with a will to fit out
this impromptu bridal trousseau. By morning every thing was in
readine-3 except the proper dress. This, Murphy decided to pro-
cure in Schenectady.

As time was precious they started at dawn, and made the whole
distance in four hours. A handsome silk dress was here purchased
and placed in the hands of a dressmaker and some friends, who
perform :d wonders which would astonish a modiste of to-day: they
completed the dress in the course of the afternoon! The couple
stopped at the house of friends, who did all they could to assist in
the pleasant project. Before dark the bride was arrayed in a man-
ner becoming the important occasion. A gay company, composed
of some of their acquaintances, accompanied the happy pair to the
residenc? of the Rev. Mr. Johnson, where the solemn ceremony
which united their lives in one was performed ; after which they
returnec to the house of their friends to spend the wedding-night.

We are afraid if some of the dainty belles of the present day had @

to accomplish as much in one day as had been done by this bride,

before tey could find themselves safely wedded to the object of -
their choice, they would shrink away dismayed, and settle down into -

old maics. To run away from home barefoot; to wade a creek; to
ride into a fort behind her lover; to ride twenty-five miles; to buy
and make a wedding-dress, and attire herself for the ceremony ; to go
to the n inister and get married, all in twenty-four hours, showed an
energy worthy of the times. Such kind of women were fit wives
for the men who bore the perils ol the Revolution, and whose
strength of mind and heart, whose unconquerable love of liberty,
secured to us our inheritance.

On their return to Schoharie, the parents of the bride were ex-
ceedingly wroth at the disobedience of their daughter, and at the
presumpiion of the daring rifleman. For a time they refused to be
reconciled ; but, reflecting that no opposition could alter or recall the
act, they at length concluded to overlook all and receive the couple

to their ove. eri 94

Si aoa

 
TALES AND TRADITIONS.

The brave ritleman made a true husband. Margaret, who lived
with him happily for nearly thirty years, had no reason to regret
the hour when she forded Schoharie creek in search of her tardy
lover.

Despite of the eventful perils into which he was always flinging
himself, Murphy lived to see years of peace, dying of cancer in the
throat, in 1818, at the age of sixty-eight. He was an uneducated
man; but, possessed of a strong will and an amiable disposition, he
exerted an unbounded influence over the minds of a certain class of
men, who, like himself, were schooled in trial. His power was that
of originality, independence and courage—qualities which will make
any mana leader of the people among whom he moves. Men of
his stamp were a necessity of the times in which they lived; they

seemed to spring up in the hour of need, having patience, perse-

verance, endurance and boldness to cope with the stealthy and mur-
derous foes who hung upon the path of our civilization. They
deserve to be embalmed in the annals of the country in whose guard
they fought.

BRANT AND THE BOY.
One bright summer morning, a lad by the name of M’Kown was
engaged in raking hay in a field some distance from any house, and
—as was the custom with all who labored abroad in those days of
danger and sudden surprise—was armed with a musket, which, how-
ever, he had stood against a tree; but in the progress of his work
had advanced beyond its immediate proximity. While busily occu-
pied, and intent upon his work, he heard a slight jingling behind
him, and turning suddenly around, he beheld an Indian within three
feet of him, who bore in his mien and costume the appearance of a
chief; and although his position indicated peaceful intentions, the
tomahawk in his right hand betokened his readiness for hostilities
if occasion required it. Startled’ at this sudden and unexpected

apparition, the youth, with a natural impulse, raised his rake to
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BRANT AND THE BOY. 85

defend himself, thoughtless of the insufficiency of his weapon. His
fears were dissipated by the Indian, who remarked :

“Do not be afraid, young man; I shall not hurt you.”

He then inquired of the lad if he could direct him to the resi-
dence of a noted loyalist by the name of Foster. Young M’Kown
give him the necessary directions to enable him to find that person-
age, and then, emboldened by the appareut peaceable intentions of
the other, asked him if he knew Mr. Foster.

“T° am partially acquainted with him,” was the reply, “ having
once met him at the half-way creek.”

The Indian then entered into a familiar conversation with his
interregator, in the course of which he asked him his name, and upon
being informed, he added : 4

“You are a son, then, of Captain M’Kown, who lives in the
north-east part of the town, I suppose. I know your father very
well; he lives neighbor to Captain M’Kean. I know M’Kean very
well, and a very fine fellow he is, too.”

Thus the parties conversed together in a social manner for some
time, until the boy—emboldened by the familiarity which had been
established between them—ventured to ask the Indian his name in
turn. This he did not seem disposed to give him, hesitating for a
moment, but at length replied :

“My name is Brant.”

“What! Captain Brant?” eagerly demanded-the youth.

“No; I am a cousin of his,’ replied the Indian, at the same time
accompanying his assertion with a smile and expression of counte-
nance which intimated his attempt to deceive his interlocutor. It

my

was indeed the terrible Thayendanega himself, who was associated,
in the mind of the youth, with every possible trait of a fiend-like
character; and it is not to be wondered at, that he trembled as he

felt himself to begin the presence of one whose delight, it had been

represented to him, was to revel in slaughter and bloodshed. He |

was somewhat reassured, however, by the thought, that, if his inten-

tions had been hostile toward him, he could easily have executed

them before; but he did not feel fully assured of his safety un##l the

Indian had taken his departure, and he had reached his ‘home with
, Cet ag

 

his life and scalp intact. yf te

t

 
    

36

 
 

TALES AND TRADITIONS.

This little incident is but ona of many, told to prove that Brant
was not the bloodthirsty monster which, for many years after the
Revolution, he had the reputation of being. He was a Freemason:
and on several occasions, during the war, his fraternal feelings were
called into play, in behalf of prisoners who belonged to that order.
Among others we-are told :

 

Jonathan Maynard, Esq.—afterward a member of the Massachu-
setts Senate—who was actively engaged in the Revolutionary war, *
was taken prisoner at one time by a party of Indians under the com-

ee Se ee

mand of Brant. The younger warriors of the party seemed disposed
to put him to death, in accordance with their determination to
exterminate the whites, as agreed upon by the tories and Indians in
that section of the country. Preparations had been made to carry
out their intentions, when, having been partially stripped of his

can Bo I

clothing, Brant observed the emblems of Masonry indelibly marked
upon the prisoner’s arms, and feeling bound to him by a tie which
none but a brother can appreciate, he interposed his authority, saved
his life, and sent him to Canada, to keep him out of harm’s way ;
and he remained in durance for several months, until exchanged and
allowed to return home. ‘
There is another incident, where Brant met one of his old school-
. mates; but where the circumstances of their early intimacy would
. not have interfered between the white officer and death, had he not
caved himself by means of justifiable duplicity. ms
In the month of April, in 1780, it was the intention of Captain ae Pou
. Brant, the Indian chieftain, to make a descent upon the upper fort
of Schoharie, but which was prevented by an unlooked-for circum-
stance. Colonel Vrooman had sent out a party of scouts to pass
over to the head-waters of the Charlotte river, where resided certain
suspected persons, whose movements it was their duty to watch. It ee
being the proper season for the manufacture of maple sugar, the men
were directed to make a quantity of that ‘article, of which the gar- .
rison were greatly in want. On the 2d of April this party, under
“the command of Oaptain Harper, commenced their labors, which
they did cheerfully, ee entirely unapprehensive of danger, as a fall
of snow, some thrée feet deep, would prevent, they supposed, the
iti, 4, ene . any considerable body of the enemy, while in fact they
a: ne : /
: s te 4 é ot

>™

 
>=

: BRANT AND THE BOY. ——

Se

were not aware of any body of the armed foe short of Niagara. But
on the 7th of April they were suddenly surrounded by a party of

about forty In@ians and tories, the first knowledge of whose presence *

was the death of three of their party. The leader was instantly
discovered in the person of the Mohawk chief, who rushed up to
Captain Harper, tomahawk in hand, and observed: “ Harper, I am
sorry to find you here!”

“Why are you sorry, Captain Brant?” replied the other.

“Because,” replied the chief, “I must kill you, although we were
schoolmates in our youth ”—at the same time raising his hatchet, and
suiting the action to the word. Suddenly his arm fell, and with a
piercing scrutiny, looking Harper full in the face, he inquired; “ Are
there any regular troops in the fort in Schoharie?” Harper caught
the idea in an instant. To answer truly; and admit there were none,
as was the fact, would but hasten Brant and his warriors forward to
fall upon the settlements at once, and their destruction would have
been swift and sure. He therefore informed him that a reinforce-
ment of three hundred Continental troops had arrived to garrison the
forts only two or three days before. This information appeared very
much to disconcert the chieftain. He prevented the further shedding
of blood, and held a consultation with his subordinate chiefs. Night
coming on, the prisoners were shut up in a pen of logs, and guarded
by the tories, while among the Indians, controversy ran high whether
the prisoners should be put to death or carried to Niagara. The
captives were bound hand.and foot, and were so near the council
that Harper, who understood something of the Indian tongue,
could hear the dispute. The Indians were for putting them to
death, but Brant exercised his authority toveffectually prevent the
massacre.

On the , following morning Harper was brotight before the
Indians for exam®ation. The chief commenced by saying that he
Was suspicious he’ had not told him the truth. Harper, however,
although Brant was ‘eyeing him like a basilisk, repeated his former
statements, ‘without 4he improper movement of a miuscle, or any
betrayal that hg was deceiving. Brant, satisfied of the truth of the
story, resolyed to retrace his steps,to Niagara. But his warriors
were disappointed in their hopes 3 and victory, and it.

      
   
  

 

ee

‘Brant had detached eleven of his warriors, to fall once more up

28 TALES AND TRADITIONS,

 

only with the greatest difficulty that they were prevented from put-
ting the captives to death.

Their march was forthwith commenced, and was full of pain,
peril and adventure. They met on the succeeding day with two
loyalists, who both disproved Harper's story of troops being at Scho-
harie, and the Captain was again subjected to a piercing sertitiny ; but
he succeeded so well in maintaining the appearance of truth and
sincerity as to arrest the upraised and glittering tomahawk. On the +

»

same day an aged man, named Brown, was accidentally fallen in ‘
with and taken prisoner, with two youthful grandsons; the day fol-
lowing, being unable to travel with sufficient speed, and sinking
under the weight of the burden imposed upon him, the old man was
put out of the way with the hatchet. The victim was dragging
behind, and when he saw preparations making for his doom, took an
affectionate farewell of his little grandsons, and the Indians moved
on, leaving one of their number with his face painted black—the
mark of the executioner—behind with him. In a few moments
afterward, the Indian came up, with the old man’s scalp dangling a
from between the ramrod and the muzzle of his gun.
They constructed floats, and sailed down the Susquehanna to
the confluence of the Chemung, at which place their land-trayveling
commenced. Soon after this, a severe trial and narrow escape befell .
the prisoners. During his march from Niagara on this a ~%

the Minisink settlement for prisoners. This detachment, as it subse- ‘ |
quently appeared, had succeeded in taking captive five athletic men,
whom they secured and brought with them as far as Tioga Point.
The Indians slept very soundly, and the five prisoners had resolved,
on the first opportunity, to make their escape. hile encamped at

this place during the night, one of the snaadiles succeeded in
extricating his hands from the binding cords, and*with the utmost

caution, unloosed his four companions. The Indians were locked in

the arms of deep sleep around them. Silently, without causing a

leaf to rustle, they each snatched a tomahawk from the girdles of
their unconscious enemies, and in a moment nine of them were quiv-
ering in the agonies of death. The two others were awakened, and

springing upon their feet, attempted to escape. One of them was
38

7
e

 

 
»

BRANT AND THE BOY 39

struck with a hatchet between the shoulders, but the other fled. The
prisoners immediately made good their own retreat, and the only
Indian who escaped unhurt returned to take care of his wounded
companion. As Brant and his warriors approached this point of
their journey, some of his Indians having raised a whoop, it was
returned by a single voice, with the death yell/ Startled at this
unexpected signal, Brant’s warriors rushed forward to ascertain the
cause. But they were not long in doubt. The lone warrior met
them, and soon related to his brethren the melancholy fate of his
companions. The effect upon the warriors, who gathered in a group
to hear the recital, was inexpressibly fearful. Rage, and a desire of
revenge, seemed to kindle every bosom, and light every eye as with
burning coals. They gathered around the prisoners ing circle, and
began to make unequivocal preparations for hacking them to pieces,
Harper and his men of course gave themselves up for lost. While
their knives were unsheathing, and their hatchets glittering, as they
were flourished in the sunbeams, the only survivor of the murdered
party rushed into the circle and interposed in their favor. With a
wave of the hand, as of a warrior entitled to be heard—for he was
himself a chief—silence was restored, and the prisoners were sur-
prised by the utterance of an earnest appeal in their behalf. He
eloquently and impressively Geclaimed in their favor, upon the ground
that it was not they who murdered their brothers; and to take the
lives of the innocent would not be right in the eyes of the Great
Spirit. His appeal was effective. The passions of the incensed
yarriors were hushed, their eyes no longer shot forth the burning —
glances of revenge, and their gesticulations ceased to menace imag. :
diate and bloody vengeance. 1.068
True, it so happened, that this chief knew all the prisoners—he
having resided in the Schoharie canton of the Mohawks during tle
war. He doubtless felt a deeper interest in their behalf on that
account, Still, it was a noble action, worthy of the proudest era of
chivalry, and in the palmy days of Greece and Rome, would have
crowned him almost with “an apotheosis and rights di * The
interposition of Pocahontas, in favor of Captain Smith, ‘Wefore the
rude court of Powhatan, was, perhaps, more romantic; but when

the motiye which prompted the generous action of the princess is
89

 
  

 

TALES AND TRADITIONS.

 

40

considered, the transaction now under review exhibits the most of
genuine benevolence. Pocahontas was moved by the tender passion
—the Mohawk Sachem by the feelings of magnanimity, and the
eternal principles of justice. It is a matter of regret that the name
of this high-souled warrior is lost, as, alas! have been tooymany that
might serve to relieve the dark and vengeful portraiture of Indian
character, which it has so well pleased the white man to draw !
The prisoners themselves were so impressed with the, manner of their
signal deliverance, that they justly attributed it to a direct interposi-
tion of Providence.

After the most acute sufferings from hunger and exhaustion, the
party at last arrived at Niagara. The last night of their journey,
they encamped a short distance from the fort. In the morning the
prisoners were informed that they were to run the gauntlet, and
were brought out where two parallel lines of Indians were drawn
up, between which the prisoners were to pass, exposed to the whips
and blows of the savages. The course to be run was toward the
fort. Harper was the first one selected, and at the signal, sprung
from the mark with extraordinary swiftness. An Indian ‘near the
end of the line, fearing he might escape without injury, sprung before
him, but a blow from Harper's fist felled him; the Indians, enraged,
broke their ranks and rushed after him, as he fled with the utmost
speed toward the fort. The garrison, when they saw Harper ap-
proaching, opened the gates, and he rushed in, only affording sufii-
cient time for the garrison to close the gates, ere” the Indians rushed
upon it, clamoring for the possession of their victim. The other
prisoners, taking advantage of the breaking up of the Indian ranks,
took different routes, and all succeeded in reaching the fort without
passing through the terrible ordeal which was intended for them.

This was in the April preceding the final attack upon the fort in
the Schoharie valley, which took place in the fall, as described in the
second article of tl.is number ; and at which Murphy, the rifleman,
so distinguished himself.

As further illustrating this magnanimity which—certainly at-times
—distinguished Brant, it is said that at the horrible massacre of
Cherry Valley, Butler—the tory Captain, son of the Butler who ful-
filled his hideous part in the destruction of Wyoming—on entering a

 

4
t

 
BRANT AND THE BOY. 41

house, ordered a woman and child to be killed who were found in
bed. ‘“ What!” exclaimed Brant; “kill a woman and child? No!
that child is not an enemy to the king, nor a friend to Congress,
Long before he will be big enough to do any mischief, the dispute
will be settled.”

The life of Brant was, to say the least, peculiar. An Indian, but
an educated and traveled one, with much of the tact of civilization,
and all the cunning and wild freedom of the savage, he made a
character for himself which always will occupy a niche in history.
Whether the conflicting statements in regard to him ever will be so

reconciled as to decide whether he was a generous and humane

enemy, or a most subtle and ferocious one, we know not; but this
is certain, he was our enemy, and a most efficient ally of the British
in their attempts to put out the rising fires of Liberty which were
kindling in our valleys, over our plains, and upon our hills. It was

a most unfortunate thing for the struggling colonists when Brant

took up the hatchet in behalf of the king, for his arm was more to
be dreaded than that of King George.

Joseph Brant was an Onondaga of the Mohawk tribe, whose
Indian name was Thayendanega—signifying, literally, a brant, or
wild-goose. The story that he was but a half-Indian, the son of a
German, has been widely spread, but is denied by his son, and is
now believed to be false. There are those, however, whuse opinion
is of weight, who assert that he was the’son of Sir William Johnson ;
and such, all circumstances considered, is most likely to have been
the fact. He was of a lighter complexion than his countrymen in
general, and there are other evidences of his havi ng been a half-breed.
He received a very good English education at Moore’s charity-school,
in Lebanon, Connecticut, where he was placed dy Sir William John-
son, in July, 1761. This General Sir William Johnson was British
agent of Indian affairs, and had greatly ingratiated himself into the
esteem of the Six Nations. He lived at the place since named for
him, upon the north bank of the Mohawk, about forty miles from
Albany, Here he had an elegant country-seat, at which he. often
would entertain several hundred of his red friends, sharing all things
in common with them. They so much respected him, that, although

they had the fullest liberty, they would take ngthing which was not

‘ 41
|
|
 

     

45 rALES AND TRADITIONS.

given to them. The faster to rivet their esteem, he would, at certain
seasons, accommodate himself to their mode of dress. He also, being
a widower, took as a companion Molly Brant, (a sister of Brant,)
who considered herself his wife, according to Indian custom, and
whom he finally married, to legitimize her children. He had
received honors and emoluments from the British Government; and
the Indians, through him, obtained every thing conducive to their
happiness. Hence, it is not strange that they should hold in rever-
ence the name of their “great father,” the king; and think the few
rebels who opposed his authority, when the Revolution began, to be
inexcusable and unworthy of mercy.

Brant, by this time a man in the first flush of his strength, and
with as good an education as the majority of his white friends, went
to England in 1775, in the beginning of the great Revolutionary rup-
ture, where he was received with attention. Doubtless his mind

was there prepared for the part he acted in the memorable struggle

which ensued. He had a Colonel’s commission conferred upon him
in the English army upon the frontiers; which army consisted of
such tories and Indians as took part against the country.

Upon his return from England—Sir William Johnson having died
the previous year—Brant attached himself to Johnson’s son-in-law,
Guy Johnson, performing the part of secretary to him when trans-
acting business with the Indians. The Butlers, John and Walter—
whose names, with those of Brant, are associated with the horrid
barbarities of Wyoming and Cherry Valley—lived not far from the
village of Johnstown, and upon the same side of the Mohawk.

After the battle of Bunker Hill, General Schuyler compelled Guy
Johnson, and his brother-in-law, Sir Jolin Johnson, to give their
word of honor not to take up arms against America ; but this did
not prevent Guy from withdrawing into Canada and taking with him
Brant, with. a large body of his Mohawks. it John also fled to
Canada, where he became a powerful adversary. © The Butlers were

also in the train.

Here, having had some disagreement with Johnson, Brant re.
turned to the frontiers with his band of warriors. Some of the
peaceable Mohawks had been confined to prevent their doing injury,

as were some of the.sMassachusetts Indians in King Philip’s war.
42

po S ee

 
———— eS a

BRANT AND THE BOY. . 8

Brant was displeased at this. He came with his band to Unadilla,
where he was met by the American General, Herkimer; and the two
had an interview, in which Brant said that “the king’s belts were
yet lodged with them, and they could not falsify their pledge; that
the Indians were in concert with the king,” etc. It has never been
explained why Herkimer did not then and there destroy the power
of Brant, which he could have done, for his men numbered eight
hundred and eighty, while Brant had but one hundred and thirty
warriors. It is supposed the American General did not believe that
the Mohawks actually would take up arms against the country. It
was a fatal mistake, which deluged hundreds of homes in blood, or
wrapped them in fire.

Thereafter followed a succession of bloody and terrible affairs, in
which Brant and the two Butlers were leaders. It has been said,
and with truth, that of those three, the white men were the most
ferocious; that they out-Heroded Herod ; that Brant often spared
where they refused. Out of these isolated facts it is sought to build
up a reputation for generosity and magnanimity, to which Brant is
not entitled. Some moments of mercy he had; while those arch
fiends, the Butlers, never relaxed into the weakness of mercy; but
the name of Brant, nevertheless, is written too redly in the blood of
our ancestors for us ever to regard him with other feelings than
those of horror and dread. His knowledge of the detestation in
which the whites regarded the Indian modes of warfare, acted upon
his pride; he did not wish to be classed with the wntutored of his
own race; so that his regard for appearances caused him frequently
to forbear the cruelties which his associates practiced,

The first affair of importance in which we hear of him is the bat-
tle of Oriskany. It was on the 6th of August, 1777. Brant was
under the direction of General St. Leger, who detached him, with a
considerable body of warriors, for the investment of Fort Stanwix.
Colonel Butler was commander-in-chief of the expedition, with a
band of tories under his immediate charge. The inhabitants in the
valley of the Mohawk determined to march to the assistance of the
fort, which they did in two regiments, with General Herkimer at
their bead. As is usual with militia, they marched in great disorder,
and through the inadvertence of General Herkimer—who, influenced

 
Ad TALES AND TRADITIONS.

7

by sneers at his cowardice in taking such a precaution, failed to throw
forward scouts as he should have done—were surprised by the In-

dians as they were crossing an almost impassable ravine, upon a sin-
gle track ef logs. The ambush selected by Brant could not have
been better fitted for his purpose. The ravine was semicircular, and

Brant and his forces occupied the surrounding heights.

The first intimation of the presence of the enemy was the terrify-
ing yells of the Indians, and the still more lasting impressions of
their rifles. Running down from every direction, they prevented the
two regiments from forming a junction—one of them not having
entered the causeway. <A part of the assailants fell upon those
without, a part upon those within. The former fared worse than
the latter; for, in such a case a flight almost always proves a dismal
defeat, as was now the case. The other regiment, hemmed in as it
was, saw that

“To fight, or not to fight, was death.”

They therefore, back to back, forming a front in every direction,
‘fought like men in despair. With such bravery did they resist, in
this forlorn condition, that the Indians began to give way, and but
for a reinforcement of tories, they would have been entirely dis-
persed. The sight of this reinforcement increased the rage of the
Americans. The tory regiment was composed of the very men who
had left that part of the country at the beginning of the war, and
were held in abhorrence for their loyalty to the king. Dr. Gordon
says that the tories and Indians got into a most wretched confusion,
and fought one another; and that the latter, at last, thought it was a
plot of the whites to get them into that situation, that they might be
cut off, Géneral Herkimer got forward an express to the fort, when
he was reinforced as soon as possible, and the remnant of his brave
band saved. He beat the enemy from the ground, and carried con-
siderable plunder to the fort; but two hundred Americans were lost,
and among them the General himself, who died, soon after, from the
effects of a wound received at the time.

In the early part of the contest, General Herkimer had been
struck by a ball, which shattered his leg and killed his horse, Un-
daunted by this accident, and indifferent to the severity of the pain,
the braye old General continued on his saddle, which was placed on

 
BRANT AND THE “BOY. 45

a little hillock, near a tree, against which he leaned for support,

while giving his orders with the utmost coolness, though his men
fell in scores about him, and his exposed position made him a
mark for the enemy. Amid the clashing of weapons, the roar of
artillery, and the yells.of the combatants, all mingled in wild confu-
sion, General Herkimer deliberately took his pipe from his pocket,
lit it, and smoked with seeming composure. On being advised to
remove to a place of greater security, he said, “ Wo ; I will face the
enemy.” It is said that Blucher, at the battle of Leipsic, sat on a
hillock, smoking, and issuing his orders; but Blucher was not
wounded.

General Herkimer’s leg was amputated after the battle, but it was
done so unskillfully that the flow of blood could not be stopped.
During the operation he smoked and chatted in excellent spirits ; and
when his departure drew nigh, he called for a Bible, and read aloud,
until his failing strength compelled him to desist. Such is the stuff
of which heroes are made.

The night which followed the battle was one of horror for the
prisoners taken by the enemy. As usual, the Indians slaked their
thirst for blood and torture, which the battle had awakened, in piti-
less cruelties upon their defenseless captives. It does not seem that
Brant here exercised, or caused to be exercised, any clemency.
Some of the doomed creatures begged of Butler, the British officer,
to use his influence with the Indians; and to their appeals were
joined the entreaties of the guard—the tories, in whose breasts some
humanity remained; but this fiend, more savage than the savages,
only cursed them for their folly in pleading for “ infernal rebels.”
All manner of tortures, including roasting, was practiced upon the
captives, as was testified to by one of their number, Dr. Younglove,
who, after enduring every thing but death, finally escaped from his .
tormentors.

In June of the next year, 1778, Brant came upon Springfield,
which he burned, and carried off a number of prisoners. The
women and children were not maltreated, but were left in one house
unmolested. About this time great efforts were made to secure the
wary chief, but none of them were successful.

The next event of importance in which Brant was engaged was
45

 
    

46 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

the destruction of Wyoming, that most heart-rending affair in all the
annals of the Revolutionary war. The events of that awful massacre,
the treachery of Butler, the ferocity of the savages, and the still more
hellish malignity of their white allies, are known to all. The wail
which then arose from innccent women and helpless babes, consumed
in one funeral pyre, together, will never die—its echoes yet ring upon
the shuddering senses of each successive generation. Of late years
an effort has been made to prove that Brant was not even present at
that massacre; but of this there is no proof. Campbell, the author
of “ Gertrude of Wyoming,” was so worked upon by the representa-
tions of a son of Brant, who visited England in 1822, that he recalled

all he said of
‘The foe—the monster Brant,”

and wished him, thereafter, to be regarded as a “ purely fictitious
character.” s

One thing is certain. Brant was at the massacre of Cherry Valley,
which settlement, in the November following the destruction of
Wyoming, met a fate nearly similar. At this terrible affair was
repeated the atrocities of the former. A tory boasted that he killed
a Mr. Wells while at prayer. His daughter, a beautiful and estim-
able young lady, fled from the house to a pile of wood for shelter, but
an Indian pursued her; and composedly wiping his bloody knife on
his leggin, seized her, and while she was begging for her life in the
few words of Indian which she knew, he ruthlessly killed her. But
why speak of one, where hundreds met a similar fate? It is said
that Brant, on this occasion, did exercise clemency; and that he was
the only one who did. It was shortly after this that Sullivan’s army
was organized to march upon the Indian country and put a stop to
such outrages. Brant met it and was repulsed and fled. It has
been made a matter of complaint that our forces destroyed the Indian
villages and crops. But with such wrongs burningedaetheir breasts,
who could ask of them the practice of extract generosity
toward monsters who would not respect nor return’ it? The same
complaint is made to-day against the exasperated Minnesotians, who
claim the fullest vengeance of the law against the stealthy panthers,
and worse than wild beasts, who have recently ravaged their State.
They ask il, and should have it. as

46 :

‘

 

 
BRANT AND THE BOY. 47

In the spring of 1780, Brant renewed his warfare against our set-
tlements. He seems, in almost ‘all cases, to have been successful,
uniting, as he did, the means of civilized warfare with all the art
and duplicity of the savage.

In later years Colonel Brant exerted himself to preserve peace
between the whites and Indians; and during the important treaties
which were made in 1793 he was in favor of settling matters amicably.
He had won from the British Government all the honors it was wil-
ling to bestow upon a savage ally, and what were they ? A. Colonel’s
commission, with liberty to do work for the king which British sol-
diers did not care to do—the slaughter of women and children, and
the sacking of villages. It is quite probable that, after Wayne’s
decisive casligation of the Indians, and British insolence had thereby
also received a blow, Brant retired from a service which he knew
must be worse than fruitless,

Colonel Brant was married, in the winter of 1779, to the daughter
of Colonel Croghan by an Indian woman. He had lived with her
some time, according to the Indian manner; but being present at
the wedding of Miss Moore, (one of the Cherry Valley captives,) he
took a fancy to have the “civilized” ceremony performed between
himself and his partner. King George III. conferred valuable lands
upon him, and he became quite wealthy. He owned, at one time,

. thirty or forty negroes, to whom he was a most brutal master.

Brant professed to be a great admirer of Greek, and intended to study-

that language so as to be able to make an original translation of the
New Testament into Mohawk.
He died in November, 1807, and was said to have been sixty-five
years old at the time of his death, He left several children, some
of whose descendants are wealthy and respectable people. His wife,

at his death, returned to her wild Indian life.

ed

47

ater

 
 

Seg oo a gm: eae ro

RE rN CT
a

    

 

 

TALES AND TRADITIONS.

‘P.,

MRS. AUSTIN AND THE BEAR.
One of the great and almost insurmountable difficulties attendaut
upon the settlement of a new country, is that of rearing farm stock,
and preserving it from the attacks of wild beasts. The experience
of the pioneers of civilization in the valley of the Ohio, on this point,
taught them that, until the country became more fully settled, and
the increase of inhabitants so great as to drive back the denizens of
the forest to more distant lairs, they must depend upon their rifles
alone for a supply of animal food for the table. On the principle
of recompense, perhaps, it was not so hard as it might otherwise
seem, for when pork and beef were scarce, “b’ar meat” was plenty

—and vice versa. But then, it was hard when one took a notion to

raise a pig or two to furnish his table in time of need, to find it miss-
ing some bright morning, and know that all that pork had gone to
fill the greedy stomach of a bear or “ painter.” Many and frequent
were the encounters at the sty between. the settler and bis dusky
neighbor, the bear, in which the contest for the possession of the
pork was maintained with vigor and determination on the one side,
and on the other with a hungry energy, which was deserving of
commendation, if not of success.

Except when he could accomplish his object by stealth, however,
bruin seldom came off the victor. The first note of alarm was suffi- »
cient to call from his pallet the watchful hunter, and the deadly
rifle generally sent the intruder off a cripple, or stretched his carcass
on the greensward, a trophy to the skill of his opponent. The
women, too, were not backward in defense of their porcine friends
when necessity called for exertion on their part to save them from
destruction, as is evidenced by several anecdotes of their intrepidity
on such occasions. :

A Mrs. John Austin, of Geneva Township, one day while her
husband was absent from home, was alarmed by the sound of an

unusual commotion among her pigs, and looking in the direction of
48 ~

‘

 
Spe

MRS. AUSTIN AND THE BEAR. ~~“ 51

the sty, which stood just back of the cabin, she beheld ‘a bear just
in the act of climbing over the inclosure among a group of three or
four promising shotes, which she fondly hoped would one day fill
the pork barrel and serve to supply her table with animal food dur-
ing the long dreary months of the next winter. Fora period of
many weeks had she nursed, watched and fed them, in anticipation
of their future usefulness, and she could not bear the thought of part-
ing with them. But how to save them ?—that was the question.
There was no one near to aid in their salvation, and she must
depend upon herself, or lose her pork, The danger was imminent,
and decisive action necessary. Her mind was soon made up; she’d
save her pigs or perish in the attempt. Calling her children, she
sent them up into the loft and took away the ladder, that they might
be safe in case she was unsuccessful or should be overcome by the
bear. Taking down her husband’s rifle, which hung on its pegs
behind the door of the cabin, she carefully examined it to- see if it
was leaded, but in her haste overlooked the priming. The increas-
ing confusion in the sty warned her that delays were dangerous, and
she sallied forth to encounter bruin, who was already on his way to
the forest with one of the pigs in his arms. The latter was giving
vent to his fears in the most piercing and pitiful tones, while his
captor, intent only on securing his prize, was marching off at a rapid
pace on his hind feet, holding the pig as a mother holds her babe,
and indifferent alike to his struggles and his pathetic appeals for
mercy and relief. A momentary tremor seized upon the frame of
the heroine, and the blood ran chill through her heart, as her gaze
revealed the figure of a bear of the largest size—an antagonist whom
many a stalwart hunter would have hesitated before attacking. No
time was given her, however, to deliberate, for the bear had discoy-
ered her approach almost as soon as she turned the corner of the
cabin. Dropping his burden, he turned to face his enemy, and pre-
sented a front which might have appalled a much stouter heart than
that of our heroine; while the pig—language fails me in the attempt
to describe the emotions which’ filled the breast ‘f that now over-
nis former quar-_
ions, with many
b eS e

joyed pig, as he took his way “_ hasty ool M

   
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
   
  
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

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ee

eine

eer as

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ea eames:

   

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RADITIONS.

 

death. I leave it to the imagination of my reader, with the aid of
the illustration, to supply a deficiency which my pen is utterly in-
capable of doing.

Standing thus at bay, in an attitude which threatened an attack
on his part, the bear awaited the coming of his adversary. For-
tunately, between her and him there was a Virginia worm fence,
which formed a sort of breastwork, and offered a very eligible rest
for her rifle. ‘ Resting her weapon upon the upper rail of the fence,
she kneeled upon one knee, and took deliberate aim at the heart of

her savage enemy. For the space of a minute the two remained in

this position, until, assured of her aim, Mrs. Austin pulled the
trigger. To her horror and dismay, the steel emitted sparks, but no

report followed. The trusty rifle had missed fire. How shall I

- describe the feelings which heaved her bosom, as her eye glanced

‘

along the barrel until it rested upon the dark form of the bear, fear-
ing lest he should spring upon her and tear her limb from limb.
Her own life, and the lives of her children rested upon the success
of her shot, and should he change his position so as to present a less
vulnerable part to her aim, she felt that her hope was void and her
fate certain. The animal still remained in the same position, how-
ever, and with as little movement as possible, she drew back the
hammer, and again aimed full at his breast. Again the piece misséd
fire, and her heart sunk within her as she saw the bear move, as
though he disliked his ambiguous position, and desired, to change it.
Not daring to lower her piece to examine it, and hoping that the
third attempt might be more effectual, she again essayed to discharge
it ; but when, for the third i. it failed to explode, she felt a sensa-
tion of horror creep over her which seemed to curdle the Jife-blood

   

ed palsied with terror as the bear—
rusted with the idea of being made

in her yeins, and her limbs se
who had by this time become |
a target of—and that, too, by & woman—dropped upon all fours, and
as she thought, prepared to spring upon her. Satisfied, however,
with his own exhibition of prowess-or, perhaps, fearful of attacking
one who had shown herself so e, he turned on his heels, and
started off on a sidelong trot for the woods, the deep recesses of
which soon hid him from sight.

Perhaps it was fortunate for Mrs. Austin that her rifle failed to
52 /

 

|
a

a —_——

  
MRS. AUSTIN AND THE BEAR. 53

explode. Had she wounded the animal instead of killing him, or

failed to hit a vital part, no power on earth could have saved her

from his savage vengeance. A wounded bear is one of the most

terrific beasts to encounter, and the hunter will seldom attack one

of these dusky denizens of the forest unless he has other arms to ;
depend upon, should his rifle fail to strike the seat of life. Shedid = = »
not stop to consider the subject, however, but hastening back to her e
cabin, she threw herself upon the floor, and gave vent to her over- | o% A
wrought feelings in a flood of tears. The excitement which had_ & :

 
 
  

gradually wrought her up to a fearful pitch of feeling was gone, anc
the revulsion was so great as to completely unnerve her. She soon ~
rallied again, and her first act, on becoming more calm, was to offer ~
thanks to that Providence which had watched over and protected
her in her hour of need.
One of the most terrible bear-fights on record, which howe the
exploits of Davy Crockett, and even of “old Grizzly Adams” into . *
the shade, was that which took place some thirty years ago, between es
& man by the name of John Minter, and one of the largest and most
ferocious of the species of black bears. Captain Minter was one of ”
the’ settlers of Ohio, and, in his youth, had been a great hunter, f
spending most of his time in the woods in pursuit of game; and such
was his proficiency with the rifle, that he seldom failed to bring. down
the fleetest-winged denizen of the air, or the swiftest-footed ' oer:
His last hunt, however, was the crowning glory of his exploits, gil Z
liant enough to satisfy his ambition, and induce him to “ retire ae
his dignity ;” in fact, his passion for hunting was suddenly changed
to disgust, and he gave up the rifle for the plow.
He had been out one day, as usual, with his rifle, in pursuit of a
flock of turkeys, but had been unsuccessful, and was returning home
in a surly mood, when he came, rather unexpectedly, upon a large
black bear, who seemed disposed to dispute his passage. Quick as
thought his piece was at his shoulder, and the bullet whizzed through
the air, striking the bear full in the breast, and he fell to the ground.
—as Minter supposed—dead. Carefully reloading his rifle, not to
throw away a chance, he approached the bear, and poked his nose — a
with the muzzle, to see if any spark of life remained. Bruin was oe é ;
only “playing ’possum” as it seems, for with far m = ae

 
 

 

54 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

could be anticipated of a beast who liad a rifle-ball through his body,
he reared upon his hind-feet and,made at the hunter. Minter fired
again, but in his haste and trepidation, arising from the sudden and
unexpected attack, he failed to hit a vital part, and a second wound
only served to make the brute more savage and desperate. Drawing
his tomahawk, he threw that; and as the-bear dodged it and sprung
upon him, he clubbed his rifle and struck him a violent blow across
the head with the butt, which resulted in shivering the stock, and,
if possible, increasing his rage. Springing back to avoid the sweep
of his terrible claws, Minter drew his long, keen hunting-knife, and
prepared for the fatal encounter which he knew must ensue. For a
moment the combatants stood gazing at each other, like two experi-
enced duelists, measuring each the other’s strength. Minter was a
man of powerful frame, and possessed of extraordinary muscular
development, which, with his quick eye and ready hand, made him
a very athletic and dangerous enemy. He stood six feet high, and
was beautifully proportioned. The bear was a male of the largest
size, and, rendered desperate by his -wounds, which were bleeding
profusely, was a fearful adversary to encounter under any circum-
stances; more particularly so to Minter, who now had simply-his
knife to depend upon, to decide the contest between them. As Bruin
advanced to seize him, he made a powerful blow at bis heart, which,
had it taken effect, would have settled the matter at once; but the
other was too quick for him, and with a sweep of his tremendous
paw, parried the blow, and sent the weapon whirling through the
air to a distance of twenty feet; the next instant the stalwart hunter
was enfolded in the embrace of those fearful paws, and both were
rolling on the ground in a death-like grapple.

The woods were open, and free from underbrush to a considerable
extent, and in their struggles they rolled about in every direction.
The object of the bear was, of course, to hug his adversary to death,
which the other endeavored to avoid by presenting his body in such
a position as would best resist the vice-like squeeze, until he ld
loosen his grasp; to accomplish which, he seized the bear by the
throat with both hands, and exerted all his energy and muscular
power to throttle him. This had the twofold effect of preventing
ans from using his teeth, and compelling him to release the hug, to

~ §4 ‘%.

 

 

 
    

MRS. AUSTIN AND THE BEAR, 55

knock off the other’s hands with his paws; thus affording Minter an
opportunity to catch his breath, and change his position. Several
times he thought he should be crushed under the immense pressure
to which he was subjected; but was buoyed up with the hope of
reaching his knife, which lay within sight, and toward which he en-
deavored to fall every time they came to the ground. | With the hot
breath of the ferocious brute steaming in his face, and the blood
from his own wounds mingling with that of the bear, and running
to his heels, his flesh terribly cut up and Jacerated by his claws, he
still continued to maintain the struggle against the fearful odds, until
he was enabled to reach the weapon, which he grasped with joy,
and clung to with the tenacity of a death-grip. . With his little re-
maining strength, and at every opportunity between the tremendous
hugs, he plied the knife until the bear showed evident signs of weak-
ness, and finally bled to death from the numerous wounds from
whence flowed, in copious streams, his warm life’s blood, staining
the leaves and greensward of a crimson hue.

Releasing himself from the embrace of the now inanimate brute,
Minter crawled to a decaying stump, against which he leaned, and
surveyed the scene. His heart sickened as “he contemplated his own
person. He had gone into the battle with a stout, heavy hunting-
shirt, and underclothing ; with buckskin leggins and moccasins ; and
had come out of it with scarcely a rag upon him, except the belt
around his waist, which still held a few strips of tattered cloth, and
a moccasin on one foot. His body, from his neck to his heels, was
covered with great gaping wounds, many of which penetrated to the
bone, and the blood was flowing in torrents to the ground, covering
him with gore from head to foot. For a space of more than half an
acre, the ground was torn up, and had the appearance of a butcher’s
shambles.

As soon as he had recovered his breath, he commenced to
crawl toward his’ home, where he arrived after nightfall, looking

e like a slaughtered beef than @ human being. His wounds
were dressed by his family and friends, and after being confined to
his bed for many weeks, thanks to his healthy, rugged constitution,
he’ entirely recovered ; but he bore to the graye the marks of his
terfible contest, in numerous cicatrices and welts which covered his

OG a, 2.

 
  

TALES AND TRADITIONS.

   

back, arms and legs, where the bear’s claws had left ineffaceable
marks of his strength and ferocity.

Speaking of Davy Crockett, reminds us that there was one of his
adventures which deserves to be classed with the “highly exciting ”
experiences of which Captain’ Minter’s was so good in its way. It

a a
.

was during the Colonel’s travels through Texas; he had left his
g g

Rea

party, to give chase to a drove of mustangs over a prairie; he had
pursed them to the banks of the Navasola river, where’ they had
plunged into the stream, and where his own tough little animal had
fallen to the ground, apparently in a state of exhaustion. But we
must give Colonel Crockett’s story in his own words, unless we wish

to rob it ofits peculiar grace. He says:

ee eS

    
  
   
  
  
   
    
  
   
  
   
 
 
   

“ After toiling for more than an hour to get my mustang upon his

eer

feet again, I gave it up as a bad job, as little Van did when he

attempted to raise himself to the moon by the waistband of his

epee

* breeches. Night was fast closing in, and as I began-to think that
‘a Thad just about sport enough for one day, I might as well look
around for a place of shelter for the night, and take a fresh start in
the morning, by which. time I was in hopes my horse would be
recruited. Near the margin of the river a large tree had been blown
down, and I thought of making my lair in its+top, and approached
.it for that purpose. While beating among the branches I heard a
low growl, as much as to say, ‘ Strangér, the apartments are already
taken.” Looking about to see what sort of a bedfellow I was likely
to have, I discovered, not more than five or six paces from me, an
enormous Mexican cougar, eyeing me as an epicure surveys the table
before he selects his dish, for I have no* doubt the cougar looked
upon me as the subject of a future supper. Rays of light darted
from his large eyes, he showed his teeth like a negro in hysterics,
and he was crouching on his haunches ready for a: spring ; all of
which convinced me that unless I was pretty quickmpon the trigger,
posterity would know little of the termination of my eventful career,
and it would be far less glorious and useful than I intend to make it.

“One glance satisfied me that there was no time to be lust, as
Pat thought when falling from a church steeple, and exclaimed,
This would be mighty pleasant now, if it would only last, but

56

 

eer

 
 

MRS. AUSTIN AND THE BEAR. 57

Betsy and blazed away. The report was followed by a furious
growl, (which is sometimes the case in Congress,) and the next mo-
ment, when I expected to find the tarnal critter struggling with death,
I beheld him shaking his head as if nothing more than a bee had
stung him. The ball had struck him on the forehead and glanced
off, doing no other injury than stunning him for an instant, and
tearing off the skin, which tended to infuriate him the more. The
cougar wasn’t long in making up his mind what to do, nor was I
neither; but he would have it all his own way, and vetoed my
motion to back out. I had not retreated three steps before he sprung
at me like a steamboat; I stepped aside, and as he lit upon the
ground, I struck him violently with the barrel of my rifle, but he
didn’t mind that, but wheeled around and made at me again. The
gun was now of no use, so I threw it away, and drew my hunting
knife, for I knew we should come to close quarters before. the fight
would be over. This time he succeeded in fastening on my left arm,
and was just beginning to amuse himself by tearing the flesh off with
his fangs, when I ripped my knife into his side, and he let go his
hold, much to my satisfaction. e

“He wheeled about and came at me with increased fury, occasioned
by the smarting of his wounds. I now tried to blind him, knowing
that if I succeeded he would become an easy prey; so as he ap-
proached me I watched my Opportunity, and aimed a blow at his
eyes with my knife, but unfortunately it struck him on the nose, and
he paid no other attention to it than by a shake of the head and a
low growl. He pressed me close, and as I was stepping backward
my foot tripped in a vine, and I fell to the ground. He was down
upon me like a nighthawk upon a June bug. He seized hold of the
outer part of my right thigh, which afforded him considerable amuse-
ment; the hinder part of his body was toward my face; I grasped
his tail with my left hand, and, tickled his ribs with my hunting-
knife which I held in my right. Still the critter wouldn’t let go
his hold; and as I found that he would lacerate my leg dreadfully,
unless he was speedily shaken off, I tried to hurl him down the bank
into the river, for our scuffle had already brought us to the edge of
the bank. I stuck my knife into his side, and summoned all my

strength to throw him over. He resisted, was desperate heavy ; but a

57

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anna

EO Ty ere seers WOO

ee eee eee pene ete en EET TEENS TD Ne OO ENON SENI ne SS Seen
: ' :

ee

see an nm

   

TALES AND TRADITIONS.

at last I got*him so far down the declivity that he lost his balance,
and he rolled over and over till he landed on the margin of the
river; but in his fall he dragged me along with him. Fortunately,
I fell uppermost, and his neck presented a fair mark for my hunting
knife. Without allowing myself time even to draw breath, I aimed
one desperate blow at his neck, and the knife entered his gullet up
to the handle, and reached his heart. I have had many fights with
bears, but that was mere child’s play ; this was the first fight ever I
had with a cougar, and I hope it may be the last.

“T now returned to the tree-top to see if any one else would dis-
pute my lodging; but now I could take peaceable and quiet posses-

sion. I parted some of the branches, and cut away others to make ..

a bed in the opening; I then gathered a quantity of moss, which
hung in festoons from the trees, which I spread on the litter, and
oyer this I spread my horse-blanket; and I had as comfortable a
bed as a weary man need ask for. I now took another look at my
mustang, and from all appearances, he would not live until morning.
I ate some of the cakes that little Kate of Nacogdoches had made
for me, and then carried my saddle into my tree-top, and threw my-
self down upon my bed with no very pleasant reflections at the
prospect before me.

‘““T was weary, and soon fell asleep, and did not awake until day-
break the next day. I felt somewhat stiff and sore from the wounds
I had received in the conflict with the cougar; but I considered
myself as having made a lucky escape. I looked over the bank,
and as I saw the carcass of the cougar lying there, I thought that it
was aneven chance that we had not exchanged conditions; and I
felt grateful that the fight had ended as it did. I now went to look
after my mustang, fully expecting to find him as dead as the cougar ;
but what was my astonishment to find that he had disappeared
without leaving trace of hair or hide of him! I first supposed that
some beasts of prey had consumed the poor critter ; but then’ they
wouldn’t have eaten his bones, and he had vanished as effectually as
the deposits, without leaving any mark of the course they had
taken. This bothered me amazing ; I couldn’t figure it out by any
rule that I had eyer heard of, so@ concluded to think no more about
it.

a3 58 *

 

. s

 
 

 

MRS. AUSTIN AND THE BEAR. 59

“T felt a craving for something to eat, and looking around for
some game, I saw a flock of geese on the shore of the river. I shot
a fine, fat gander, and soon stripped him of his feathers; and gather-
ing some light wood, I kindled a fire, run a long stick through my
goose for a spit, and put it down to roast, supported by two sticks
with prongs. I had a desire for some coffee; and haying a tin cup
with me, I poured the paper of ground coffee that I had received
from the bee-hunter into it, and made a strong cup, which was very
refreshing. Off of my goose and biscuit I made a hearty meal, and
was preparing to depart without clearing up the breakfast things, or
knowing which direction to pursue, when I was somewhat taken
aback by another of the wild scenes of the West. I heard a sound
like the trampling of many horses, and I thought to be sure the
mustangs or buffaloes were coming upon me again; but on raising
my head, I beheld in the distance about fifty mounted Comanches,
with their spears glittering in the morning sun, dashing toward the
spot where I stood at full speed. As the column advanced, it
divided, according to their usual practice, into two semicircles, and
in an instant I was surrounded. Quicker than thought I sprung to
my rifle, but as my hand grasped it, I felt that resistance against so
many would be of as little use as pumping for thunder in dry
weather.

“The chief was for making love to my beautiful Betsy, but I clung

fast to her, and assuming an air of composure, I demanded whether
their nation was at war with the Americans. ‘No, was the reply.
‘Do you like the Americans? ‘Yes; they are our friends’
‘Where do you get your spear-heads, your rifles, your blankets, and
your knives from? ‘Get them from our friends, the Americans.’
‘Well, do you think, if you were passing through their nation, as I
am passing through yours, they would attempt to-rob,-you of your

property?” ‘No, they would feed me, and protect me; and the

Comanche will do the same by his white brother,’

“T now asked him what it was had directed him to the spot where
I was, and he told me that they had seen the smoke from a great
distance, and had come to see the cause of it. He inquired what
had brought me there alone; and I-told him that I had come to

hunt, and that my mustang had become ‘exhausted and though I
59
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TALBS AND TRADITIONS.

  

thought he was about to die, that he had escaped from me; at
which the chief gave a low, chuckling laugh, and said it was all a
trick of the mustang, which is the most wily and cunning of all
animals. But he said, that as I was a brave hunter, he would fur-
nish me with another; he gave orders, and a fine young horse was
immediately brought forward.

“When the party approached there were three old squaws at their
head, who made a noise with their mouths, and served as trumpeters.

“T now told the chief that, as I now had a horse, I would go for
my saddle, which was in the place where I had slept. As I ap-
proached the spot, I discovered one of the squaws devouring the
remains of my roasted goose, but my saddle and bridle were nowhere
to be found. Almost in despair of seeing them again, I observed,
in a thicket at a little distance, one of the trumpeters kicking and
belaboring her horse to make him move off, while the sagacious
beast would not move a step from the troop. I followed her, and
thanks to her restive mustang, secured my property, which the
chief made her restore to me. Some of the warriors had by this
time discovered the body of the cougar, and had already commenced
skinning it; and seeing how many stabs were about it, I related to
the chief the desperate struggle I had had; he said, ‘ Brave hunter,
brave man, and wished me to be adopted into his tribe, but I
respectfully declined the honor. He then offered to see me on my
way; and I asked him to accompany me to the Colorado river, if
he was going in that direction, which he agreed to do. I put my
saddle on my fresh horse, mounted, and we darted off, at a rate not
much slower than I had rode the day previous with the wild herd,
the old squaws at the head of the troop braying like young jackasses
the whole way.”

The more we study the history of frontier life, the more we ure
surprised at the characters of such men as Simon Kenton in one way
and David Crockett in another. It would seem as if they were made
to command the circumstances in which they were placed—indige-
nous to the soil in which they grew—with traits which sprung up
to meet every emergency of their times and places. They were of
a new race, the like of which no other sun nor age had looked upon

—Americans, indeed, in. the broadest sense—men sent to prepare the
60

 

 

in
: ing through the woods in search of game, when he heard the bark-—

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MRS. AUSTIN AND E BEAR. 61

soil of civilization for the rich fruit an wers which already cover
the furrows turned by their brave and vigorous arms.

David Crockett’s grandparents were murdered by Indians; and he
was born and reared in the midst of those privations which helped
to make him what he was. It is quite delightful, in reading his “ life”
to see with what ease and nonchalance he dispatches a few bears in
the course of a day, or does any other work which is thrown in his
way. As in the specimen we have quoted, he conquers his cougar,
and ingratiates himself with a roving band of Comanches, and “ does
up” enough adventures in a chapter to satisfy any ordinary man, if
stretched through a long lifetime. Let us treasure up the records
of “ Davy Crockett,’ for we shall never have another like him.

To show the perfect isolation in which some of the pioneers lived,
and the manner of their lives, we will give an anecdote of a Mr.
Muldrow, one of the settlers of Kentucky, whose name is still
attached to a range of savage precipices in the central part of the
State, called Muldrow’s hill. The individual referred to settled here
at a time when there was not a single white man but himself in this
vicinity, and here he had resided for a year with his wife, without
having seen the face of any other human being. Perhaps, as it was his
choice to reside in a wilderness, isolated from his own species, he
might have thought it prudent to conceal his place of abode. from
the Indians, by erecting his cabin in an inhospitable waste, difficult
of access, where there were no pastures to invite the deer or buffalo,
and no game to allure the savage hunter, and where his family
remained secure, while he roved with his gun over some hunting-
ground at a convenient distance.

After passing a year in this mode of life, he was one day wander-

ing of a dog, and supposing that an Indian was near, concealed him
self. Presently a small dog came running along his track, with hi
nose to the ground, as if pursuing his footsteps, and had
reached his hiding-place, when it stopped, snuffed the air, and
uttered a low whine, as if to admonish its master that the object of —
pursuit was near at hand. In a few minutes the owner of the dog
came stepping cautiously along, glancing his eyes jealously around,
and uttering low signals to the dog. But the dog st 0d;

   
   

  

 

 

  
 
  
    

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62 TA -_ TRADITIONS.

and the owner halted within a few yards of our hunter and exposed
to view.

The new-comer was a tall, athletic man, completely armed with
rifle, tomahawk and knife; but whether he was a white-man or an
Indian, could not be determined either by his complexion or dress.
He wore a hunting-shirt and leggins, of dressed deer-skin, and a hat
from which the rim was entirely worn away, and the crown elon-
gated into the shape of a sugar-loaf. The face, feet and hands,
which were exposed, were of the tawny hue of the savage; but
whether the color was natural, or the effect of exposure, could not
be ascertained even by the keen eye of the hunter; and the features
were so disguised with dirt and gunpowder, that their expression
afforded no clue by which the question could be decided whether

the person was a friend or foe. There was but a moment for scru-

tiny ; the pioneer, inclining to the opinion that the stranger was an
Indian, cautiously drew up his rifle, and took deliberate aim; but
the bare possibility that he might be pointing his weapon at the
bosom of a countryman induced him to pause.

Again he raised his gun, and again hesitated ; while his opponent,
with his rifle half-raised toward his face, and bis finger on the trig-
ger, looked eagerly around. Both stood motionless and silent—one
searching for the object of his pursuit, the other in readiness to fire.
At length the hunter, having resolved to delay no longer, cocked
his rifle—the eléck reached the acute ear of the other, who instantly
sprung behind a tree; the hunter imitated his example, and they
were now fairly opposed, each covered by a tree, from behind which
he endeavored to get a shot at his adversary without exposing his
own person.

And now a series of stratagems ensued, each secking to draw the
fire of the other, until the stranger, becoming weary of suspense,
called out: »

“Why don’t you shoot, you etarnal cowardly varmint ?”

“Shoot, yourself, you bloody red-skin !” retorted the other,

“No more a red-skin than yourself !”

“ Are you a while man ?”

“To be surelam. Are you?”
“Yes; no mistake in me !”

 

ep.

 
 

 

MRS. AUSTIN AND THE BEAR. >

Whereupon, each being undeceived, they threw down their guns,
rushed together with open arms, and took a hearty hug. The
hunter now learned that the stranger had been settled, with his fam-
ily, about ten miles from him, for several months past, and that
each had frequently roamed over the same hunting-ground, suppos-
ing himself the sole inhabitant of that region. On the following day
the hunter saddled his horse, and taking up his good wife behind
him, carried her down to make a call upon her new neighbor, who
doubtless received the visit with far more sincere joy than usually
attends such ceremonies.

There is a well-accredited bear-story which belongs to the early
history of Ohio, and which is of a little different type from most of the
adventures with these ugly animals. Anold pilot of the Ohio was
once obliged to give a bruin a free ride—but he could hardly blame
the bear, after stopping so kindly to take him in. But we must let
him tell his own story. “ Twenty odd year ago,” said the pilot,
“there warn’t a great many people along the Ohio, except Injing and
b’ars, and we didn’t like to cultivate a clust acquaintance with either
of ’em; fer the Injins were cheatin’, scalpin’ critters, and the bears
had an onpleasant way with them. Ohio warn’t any great shakes
then, but it had a mighty big pile of the tallest kind of land layin’
about, waitin’ to be opened to the sunlight. ’Arly one mornin’ when
my companions was asleep, I got up and paddled across the river
after a deer, for we wanted venison for breakfast. I got a buck and
was returnin', when what should I see but a b’ar swimmin’ tne Ohio,
and I put out in chase right off. I soon overhauled the critter and
picked up my rifle to give him a settler, but the primin’ had got wet
and the gun wouldn’t go off. I didn’t understand b’ar as well then
as I do now, and I thought ’'d run him down and drown him or
knock him in the head. So I put the canoe right eend on toward
him, thinkin’ to run him under, but when the bow teched him, what
did he do but reach hisggreat paws up over the side of the canoe and
begin to climb in. I hadn’t bargained for that. I felt mighty on-
pleasant, you m: ay believe, at the prospect of sech a passenger. I
hadn’t time to get at him with the butt of my rifle, till he came

tumbling into the dugout, and, as he seated himself on his sta nee ;

showed as pretty a set of ivory as you'd wish to see. Thar we sc

  
    
 

 

 

64 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

he in one end of the dugout, I in other, eyein’ one another in a
mighty suspicious sort of way. He didn’t seem inclined to come
near my eend of the canoe, and I was principled agin goin’ toward
his. I made ready to take to the water, but at the same time made

up my mind I’d paddle him to shore, free gratis for nothin’ if he'd

behave hisself. Wal, I paddled away, the b’ar every now and then
grinnin’ at me, skinnin’ his face till every tooth in his head stood
right out, and grumblin’ to hisself in a way that seemed to say, ‘I
wonder if that chap’s good to eat.’ I didn’t offer any opinion on
the subject; I didn’t say a word to him, treatin’ him all the time
like a gentleman, but kept pullin’ for the shore. When the canoe-
touched ground, he clambered over the side, climbed up the bank,
and givin’ me an extra grin, made off for the woods. I pushed the
dugout back suddenly, and give him, as I felt safe agin, a double
war whoop, that astonished him. I learned one thing that morning
—never to try to drown a b’'ar—specially by running him down with

?

a dugout—it wont pay !