_Indian Warfare._
Alleghany Ridges.--Voyage in a canoe.--Speech of Logan.--Battle at the
Kanawha.--Narrative of Francis Marion.--Important commission of
Boone.--Council at Circleville.--Treaty of Peace.--Imlay's description
of Kentucky.--Settlement right.--Richard Henderson.--Boone's letter.--Fort
at Boonesborough.
The valley of the Clinch river is but one of the many magnificent
ravines amid the gigantic ranges of the Alleghany mountains. Boone,
speaking of these ridges which he so often had occasion to cross, says:
"These mountains in the wilderness, as we pass from the old settlements
in Virginia to Kentucky, are ranged in a south-west and north-east
direction and are of great length and breadth and not far distant from
each other. Over them nature hath formed passes that are less difficult
than might be expected from a view of such huge piles. The aspect of
these cliffs is so wild and horrid that it is impossible to behold them
without terror. The spectator is apt to imagine that nature has formerly
suffered some violent convulsion, and that these are the dismembered
remains of the dreadful shock."
One cannot but regret that no memorials are left of a wonderful journey,
full of romantic interest and exciting adventure, which Boone at one
time took to the Falls of the Ohio, to warn some surveyors of their
danger. He reached them in safety, rescued them from certain death, and
conducted them triumphantly back to the settlements. So long as the
white men, with their rifles, could keep upon the open prairie, they
could defend themselves from almost any number of Indians, who could
only assail them with bows and arrows. But the moment they entered the
forest, or any ravine among the hills, the little band was liable to
hear the war-whoop of a thousand Indian braves in the ambush around, and
to be assailed by a storm of arrows and javelins from unseen hands.
A few days after Boone's arrival at the encampment near the Falls of the
Ohio, and as the surveyors were breaking camp in preparation for their
precipitate retreat, several of their number who had gone to a spring at
a short distance from the camp, were suddenly attacked on the twentieth
of July by a large party of Indians. One was instantly killed. The rest
being nearly surrounded, fled as best they could in all directions. One
man hotly pursued, rushed along an Indian trail till he reached the Ohio
river. Here he chanced to find a bark canoe. He jumped into it and
pushed out into the rapid stream till beyond the reach of the Indian
arrows. The swift current bore him down the river, by curves and
head-lands, till he was far beyond the encampment.
[Illustration]
To return against the strong flood, with the savages watching for him,
seemed perilous, if not impossible. It is said that he floated down the
whole length of the Ohio and of the Mississippi, a distance not less
probably, counting the curvatures of the stream, than two thousand
miles, and finally found his way by sea to Philadelphia, probably in
some vessel which he encountered near the coast. This is certainly one
of the most extraordinary voyages which ever occurred. It was
mid-summer, so that he could not suffer from cold. Grapes often hung in
rich clusters in the forests, which lined the river banks, and various
kinds of nutritious berries were easily gathered to satisfy hunger.
As these men never went into the forest without the rifle and a supply
of ammunition, and as they never lost a bullet by an inaccurate shot, it
is not probable that our adventurer suffered from hunger. But the
incidents of such a voyage must have been so wonderful, that it is
greatly to be regretted that we have no record of them.
The apprehensions of Lord Dunmore, respecting the conspiracy of the
Indians, proved to have been well founded. Though Boone, with his great
sagacity, led his little band by safe paths back to the settlements, a
very fierce warfare immediately blazed forth all along the Virginia
frontier. This conflict with the Indians, very brief and very bloody, is
usually called Lord Dunmore's war. The white men have told the story,
and they admit that the war "arose in consequence of cold-blooded
murders committed upon inoffensive Indians in the region of the upper
Ohio."
One of the provocatives to this war was the assassination by fiendlike
white men of the whole family of the renowned Indian chief, Logan, in
the vicinity of the city of Wheeling. Logan had been the friend of the
white man. But exasperated by these outrages, he seized his tomahawk
breathing only vengeance. General Gibson was sent to one of the
Shawanese towns to confer with Logan and to detach him from the
conspiracy against the whites. It was on this occasion that Logan made
that celebrated speech whose pathetic eloquence will ever move the human
heart:
"I appeal to any white man to say if ever he entered Logan's cabin
hungry, and I gave him not meat; if ever he came cold or naked and I
gave him not clothing. During the course of the last long and bloody
war, Logan remained in his tent, an advocate of peace. Nay, such was my
love for the whites, that those of my own country pointed at me and
said, 'Logan is the friend of white men.' I had even thought to live
with you, but for the injuries of one man. Colonel Cresap, the last
spring, in cool blood and unprovoked, cut off all the relatives of
Logan, not sparing even my women and children. There runs not a drop of
my blood in the veins of any human creature. This called on me for
revenge. I have killed many. I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my
country, I rejoice at the beams of peace. Yet do not harbor the thought
that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on
his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan?"
This war, though it lasted but a few months, was very sanguinary. Every
exposed point on the extensive Virginia frontier was assailed. Cabins
were burned, harvests were trampled down, cattle driven off, and men,
women, and children either butchered or carried into captivity more
dreadful than death. The peril was so dreadful that the most
extraordinary efforts on the part of the Virginian Government were
requisite to meet it. An army of three thousand men was raised in the
utmost haste. This force was in two divisions. One of eleven hundred men
rendezvoused in what is now Green Briar county, and marched down the
valley of the Great Kanawha, to its entrance into the Ohio, at a place
now named Point Pleasant.
Lord Dunmore with the remaining nineteen hundred crossed the Cumberland
mountains to Wheeling, and thence descended the Ohio in boats, to form a
junction with the other party at the mouth of the Great Kanawha. Thence
united, they were to march across the country about forty miles due
west, to the valley of the Scioto. The banks of this lovely stream were
lined with Indian villages, in a high state of prosperity. Corn-fields
waved luxuriantly around their humble dwellings. They were living at
peace with each other, and relied far more upon the produce of the soil,
than upon the chase, for their support.
It was the plan of Lord Dunmore to sweep this whole region with utter
desolation, and entirely to exterminate the Indians. But the savages did
not await his arrival in their own homes. Many of them had obtained guns
and ammunition from the French in Canada, with whom they seem to have
lived on the most friendly terms.
In a well-ordered army for Indian warfare, whose numbers cannot now with
certainty be known, they crossed the Ohio, below the mouth of the Great
Kanawha, and marching through the forest, in the rear of the hills, fell
by surprise very impetuously upon the rear of the encampment at Point
Pleasant. The Indians seemed to be fully aware that their only safety
was in the energies of desperation. One of the most bloody battles was
then fought, which ever occurred in Indian warfare. Though the
Virginians with far more potent weapons repelled their assailants, they
paid dearly for their victory. Two hundred and fifteen of the Virginians
fell dead or severely wounded beneath the bullets or arrows of their
foes. The loss which the savages incurred could never be ascertained
with accuracy. It was generally believed that several hundred of their
warriors were struck down on that bloody field.
The whites, accustomed to Indian warfare and skilled in the use of the
rifle, scarcely fired a shot which did not reach its mark. In the
cautious warfare between the tribes, fighting with arrows from behind
trees, the loss of fifteen or twenty warriors was deemed a great
calamity. Now, to find hundreds of their braves weltering in blood, was
awful beyond precedent, and gave them new ideas of the prowess of the
white man. In this conflict the Indians manifested a very considerable
degree of military ability. Having constructed a breastwork of logs,
behind which they could retreat in case of a repulse, they formed in a
long line extending across the point from the Kanawha to the Ohio. Then
they advanced in the impetuous attack through the forest, protected by
logs, and stumps, and trees. Had they succeeded in their assault, there
would have been no possible escape for the Virginian troops. They must
have been annihilated.
The Indians had assembled on that field nearly all the warriors of four
powerful tribes; the Shawnee, Delaware, Mingo and Wyandotts. After the
repulse, panic-stricken, they fled through the wilderness, unable to
make any other stand against their foes. Lord Dunmore, with his
triumphant army flushed with victory and maddened by its serious loss,
marched rapidly down the left bank of the Ohio, and then crossed into
the valley of the Scioto to sweep it with flame. We have no account of
the details of this cruel expedition, but the following graphic
description of a similar excursion into the land belonging to the
Cherokees, will give one a vivid idea of the nature of these conflicts.
The celebrated Francis Marion, who was an officer in the campaign, and
an eye-witness of the scenes which he describes, gives the following
narrative of the events which ensued:
"Now commenced a scene of devastation scarcely paralleled in the annals
of this continent. For thirty days the army employed themselves in
burning and ravaging the settlements of the broken-spirited Indians. No
less than fourteen of their towns were laid in ashes; their granaries
were yielded to the flames, their corn-fields ravaged, while the
miserable fugitives, flying from the sword, took refuge with their
starving families among the mountains. As the lands were rich and the
season had been favorable, the corn was bending under the double weight
of lusty roasting ears and pods and clustering beans. The furrows seemed
to rejoice under their precious loads. The fields stood thick with
bread. We encamped the first night in the woods near the fields where
the whole army feasted on the young corn, which, with fat venison, made
a most delicious treat. The next morning, by order of Col. Grant, we
proceeded to burn down the Indian cabins.
"Some of our men seemed to enjoy this cruel work, laughing very heartily
at the curling flames as they mounted loud crackling over the tops of
the huts. But to me it appeared a shocking sight. 'Poor creatures!'
thought I, 'we surely need not grudge you such miserable habitations.'
But when we came according to orders to cut down the fields of corn, I
could scarcely refrain from tears; for who could see the stalks that
stood so stately, with broad green leaves and gaily tasseled shocks,
filled with the sweet milky flour, the staff of life,--who, I say, could
see without grief these sacred plants sinking under our swords with all
their precious load, to wither and rot untasted in the fields.
"I saw everywhere around the footsteps of little Indian children, where
they had lately played under shelter of the rustling corn. No doubt they
had often looked up with joy to the swelling shocks, and were gladdened
when they thought of the abundant cakes for the coming winter. 'When we
are gone,' thought I, 'they will return, and peeping through the weeds,
with tearful eyes, will mark the ghastly ruin poured over their homes
and the happy fields where they had so often played.'"
Such was life among the comparatively intelligent tribes in the
beautiful and fertile valley of the Scioto. Such was the scene of
devastation, or of "punishing the Indians," as it was called, upon which
Lord Dunmore's army entered, intending to sweep the valley with fire and
sword from its opening at the Ohio to its head waters leagues away in
the North.
In this campaign the Indians, while with much sagacity they combined
their main force to encounter the army under Lord Dunmore, detached
separate bands of picked warriors to assail the settlements on the
frontier at every exposed point. These bands of painted savages,
emerging from the solitudes of the forests at midnight, would fall with
hideous yells upon the lone cabin of the settler, or upon a little
cluster of log huts, and in a few hours nothing would be left but
smouldering ruins and gory corpses.
To Daniel Boone, who had manifested wonderful skill in baffling all the
stratagems of Indian warfare, was assigned the difficult and infinitely
important task of protecting these frontiers. Three garrisons were
placed under his command, over which he exercised supreme control. He
located them at the most available points; noiselessly passed from one
to the other to see that they were fortified according to the most
approved principles of military engineering then known in the forest.
His scouts were everywhere, to give prompt notice of any approach of
hostile bands. Thus this quiet, silent man, with great efficiency,
fulfilled his mission to universal satisfaction. Without seeking fame,
without thinking even of such a reward for his services, his sagacity
and his virtues were rapidly giving him a very enviable reputation
throughout all those regions.
The discomfited Indians had become thoroughly disheartened, and sent
couriers to Lord Dunmore imploring peace. Comstock, their chief, seems
to have been a man not only of strong native powers of mind, but of
unusual intelligence. With quite a brilliant retinue of his warriors, he
met Lord Dunmore in council at a point in the valley of the Scioto,
about four miles south of the present city of Circleville. Comstock
himself opened the deliberations with a speech of great dignity and
argumentative power. In a loud voice, which was heard, as he intended,
by all in the camp, he portrayed the former prosperous condition of the
Indian tribes, powerful in numbers and abounding in wealth, in the
enjoyment of their rich corn-fields, and their forests filled with game.
With this he contrasted very forcibly their present wretched condition,
with diminished numbers, and with the loss of their hunting grounds. He
reproached the whites with the violation of their treaty obligations,
and declared that the Indians had been forbearing in the extreme under
the wrongs which had been inflicted upon them.
"We know," said he, "perfectly well, our weakness when compared with the
English. The Indians desire only justice. The war was not sought by us,
but was forced upon us. It was commenced by the whites. We should have
merited the contempt of every white man could we have tamely submitted
to the murders which have been inflicted upon our unoffending people at
the hands of the white men."
The power was with Lord Dunmore. In the treaty of peace he exacted terms
which, though very hard for the Indians, were perhaps not more than he
had a right to require. The Indians surrendered four of their principal
warriors as hostages for the faithful observance of the treaty. They
relinquished all claims whatever to the vast hunting grounds which
their bands from time immemorial had ranged south of the Ohio river.
This was an immense concession. Lord Dunmore returned across the
mountains well satisfied with his campaign, though his soldiers were
excited almost to mutiny in not being permitted to wreak their vengeance
upon the unhappy savages.
And here let it be remarked, that deeply wronged as these Indians
unquestionably were, there was not a little excuse for the exasperation
of the whites. Fiends incarnate could not have invented more terrible
tortures than they often inflicted upon their captives. We have no heart
to describe these scenes. They are too awful to be contemplated. In view
of the horrid barbarity thus practised, it is not strange that the
English should have wished to shoot down the whole race, men, women, and
children, as they would exterminate wolves or bears.
This campaign being thus successfully terminated, Daniel Boone returned
to his humble cabin on the Clinch River. Here he had a small and fertile
farm, which his energetic family had successfully cultivated during the
summer, and he spent the winter months in his favorite occupation of
hunting in the forests around. His thoughtful mind, during these long
and solitary rambles, was undoubtedly occupied with plans for the
future. Emigration to his beautiful Kentucky was still his engrossing
thought.
It is not wonderful that a man of such fearless temperament, and a
natural turn of mind so poetic and imaginative, should have been charmed
beyond expression by a realm whose attractions he had so fully
experienced. That the glowing descriptions of Boone and Finley were not
exaggerated, is manifest from the equally rapturous account of others
who now began to explore this favored land. Imlay writes of that region:
"Everything here assumes a dignity and splendor I have never seen in any
other part of the world. You ascend a considerable distance from the
shores of the Ohio, and when you would suppose you had arrived at the
summit of a mountain, you find yourself upon an extensive level. Here an
eternal verdure reigns, and the brilliant sun of latitude 39 degrees,
piercing through the azure heavens, produces in this prolific soil an
early maturity which is truly astonishing. Flowers full and perfect, as
if they had been cultivated by the hand of a florist, with all their
captivating odors, and with all the variegated charms which color and
nature can produce, here in the lap of elegance and beauty, decorate the
smiling groves. Soft zephyrs gently breathe on sweets, and the inhaled
air gives a glow of health and vigor that seems to ravish the
intoxicated senses."
The Virginian government now resolved to pour a tide of emigration into
these as yet unexplored realms, south of the Ohio. Four hundred acres of
land were offered to every individual who would build a cabin, clear a
lot of land, and raise a crop of corn. This was called a settlement
right. It was not stated how large the clearing should be, or how
extensive the corn-field. Several settlements were thus begun in
Kentucky, when there was a new and extraordinary movement which
attracted universal attention.
A very remarkable man, named Richard Henderson, appeared in North
Carolina. Emerging from the humblest walks of life, and unable even to
read until he had obtained maturity, he developed powers of
conversational eloquence and administrative ability of the highest
order.
The Cherokee Indians claimed the whole country bounded by the Kentucky,
the Ohio, and the Cumberland rivers, and we know not how much more
territory extending indefinitely to the South and West. Colonel
Henderson formed an association of gentlemen, which he called the
Transylvania Company. Making a secret journey to the Cherokee country,
he met twelve hundred chiefs in council, and purchased of them the whole
territory, equal to some European kingdoms, bounded by the above
mentioned rivers. For this realm, above a hundred miles square, he paid
the insignificant sum of ten wagon loads of cheap goods, with a few
fire-arms and some spirituous liquors.
Mr. Henderson, to whom the rest of the company seemed to have delegated
all their powers, now assumed the position of proprietor, governor, and
legislator of his magnificent domain, which he called Transylvania. It
seems that Boone accompanied Colonel Henderson to the council of the
Cherokee chieftains which was held at Wataga, the southern branch of the
Holston River. Boone had explored nearly the whole of this region, and
it was upon his testimony that the company relied in endeavoring to
purchase these rich and fertile lands. Indeed, as we have before
intimated, it has been said that Boone in his wonderful and perilous
explorations was the agent of this secret company.
No treaties with the Indians were sure of general acquiescence. There
were always discontented chieftains; there were almost always
conflicting claims of hostile tribes; there were always wandering tribes
of hunters and of warriors, who, exasperated by the treatment which they
had received from vagabond white men, were ever ready to wreak their
vengeance upon any band of emigrants they might encounter.
Colonel Henderson's treaty was made in the month of March, 1775. With
characteristic vigor, he immediately made preparations for the
settlement of the kingdom of which he was the proud monarch. The first
thing to be done was to mark out a feasible path through which emigrants
might pass, without losing their way, over the mountains and through
the wilderness, to the heart of this new Eden. Of all the men in the
world, Daniel Boone was the one to map out this route of five hundred
miles. He took with him a company of road-makers, and in a few months
opened a path which could be traversed by pack-horses, and even by
wagons to a place called Boonesville on the Kentucky river, within about
thirty miles of the present site of Lexington.
The Indian hunters and warriors, notwithstanding the treaties into which
the chieftains of the North and the South had entered, watched the
construction of this road with great solicitude. They knew full well
that it would ere long secure their expulsion from their ancient hunting
grounds. Though no general warfare was organized by the tribes, it was
necessary to be constantly on the watch against lawless bands, who were
determined to harass the pioneers in every possible way. In the
following letter Boone communicated to Colonel Henderson the hostility
which they had, perhaps unexpectedly, encountered. It was dated the
first of April, and was sent back by a courier through the woods:
"Dear Colonel,--
"After my compliments to you, I shall acquaint you with my
misfortunes. On March the Twenty-fifth, a party of Indians fired
on my company about half an hour before day, and killed Mr. Twitty
and his negro, and wounded Mr. Walker very deeply; but I hope he
will recover. On March the Twenty-eighth, as we were hunting for
provisions, we found Samuel Tale's son who gave us an account that
the Indians fired on their camp on the twenty-seventh day. My
brother and I went down and found two men killed and scalped,
Thomas McDowell and Jeremiah McPeters. I have sent a man down to
all the lower companies, in order to gather them all to the mouth
of the Otter Creek. My advice to you, sir, is to come or send as
soon as possible. Your company is desired greatly, for the people
are very uneasy, but are willing to stay and venture their lives
with you. And now is the time to frustrate their (the Indians)
intentions, and keep the country while we are in it. If we give way
to them now, it will ever be the case. This day we start from the
battle ground to the mouth of Otter Creek, where we shall
immediately erect a fort, which will be done before you can come or
send. Then we can send ten men to meet you, if you send for them.
"I am, Sir, your most obedient servant,
"DANIEL BOONE."
Boone immediately commenced upon the left bank of the Kentucky river,
which here ran in a westerly direction, the erection of a fort. Their
position was full of peril, for the road-makers were but few in number,
and Indian warriors to the number of many hundreds might at any time
encircle them. Many of these Indians had also obtained muskets from the
French in Canada, and had become practiced marksmen. Nearly three months
were busily occupied in the construction of this important fort.
Fortunately we have a minute description of its structure, and a sketch
of its appearance, either from the pencil of Colonel Henderson, or of
some one in his employ.
The fort or fortress consisted of a series of strong log huts, enclosing
a large interior or square. The parallelogram was about two hundred and
sixty feet in length and one hundred and fifty in breadth. These cabins,
built of logs, were bullet-proof. The intervals between them were filled
with stout pieces of timber, about twelve feet high, planted firmly in
the ground, in close contact with each other, and sharpened at the top.
The fort was built close to the river, with one of its angles almost
overhanging the water, so that an abundant supply could be obtained
without peril. Each of the corner houses projected a little, so that
from the port-holes any Indian could be shot who should approach the
walls with ladder or hatchet. This really artistic structure was not
completed until the fourteenth day of June. The Indians from a distance
watched its progress with dismay. They made one attack, but were easily
repelled, though they succeeded in shooting one of the emigrants.
Daniel Boone contemplated the fortress on its completion with much
satisfaction. He was fully assured that behind its walls and palisades
bold hearts, with an ample supply of ammunition, could repel any
assaults which the Indians were capable of making. He now resolved
immediately to return to Clinch river, and bring his family out to share
with him his new and attractive home.