THE RIFLEMEN OF THE MIAMI.
There they sat and chatted gayly, while the flickering of the blaze
Led the shadows on their faces in a wild and devious maze;
And among them, one I noted, unto whom the rest gave place,
Which was token he was foremost in the fight or in the chase.
DR. ENGLISH.
One cold, drizzly, sleety day, in a winter toward the latter part of
the last century, a party of Shawnee Indians crossed from the Kentucky
cane-brakes into Ohio. Penetrating its deep, labyrinthine forests, they
came upon a double cabin, where dwelt two widows, with several
children. These they inhumanly massacred, and burnt their dwellings to
the ground. Then, laden with their plunder, they set out on their
return to Kentucky.
It so happened that two brothers, George and Lewis Dernor, who were
upon a hunting expedition in this section, came upon the burning cabin
within an hour after the savages had left it. They saw by the numerous
tracks that the party was too large for them to think of attacking;
nevertheless, they took the trail with the resolution of ascertaining
to what tribe the savages belonged; and, if possible, to pick off one
or two, as a slight payment for the outrage they had committed.
Following on for several miles, they gained a glimpse of them, as they
crossed a ridge, and discovered, as they had suspected all along, that
they were a party of Shawnees returning to Kentucky, although the
majority of this tribe of Indians at this time had their towns in Ohio.
A half-hour later, by signs known only to experienced woodmen, they
became convinced that some one else was also upon the trail of the
Indians. After a great amount of maneuvering and stratagetic
reconnoitering, they learned that it was a hunter like themselves, and
no other but their old friend Dick Allmat. Accompanied by him, they
continued the pursuit, and a mile further on, discovered that still
another person was dogging the Shawnees. Pretty certain that this must
also be a friend, they managed to make themselves known to him without
the tedious ceremony which had characterized their introduction to
Allmat. He proved to be Tom O'Hara, whose utmost exertions were
necessary to keep pace with the retreating savages. He was in a perfect
fury that they should proceed so fast, when he could see no necessity
for it, and was half tempted to expend some of his wrath upon those of
his friends who laughed at his discomfiture.
The party, now numbering four experienced hunters, felt considerable
confidence in their strength, and the proposition was made to attack
the Shawnees. The latter numbered seven or eight, and from their
deliberate and incautious movements, it was manifest, had not learned
that they were pursued. Perhaps they believed no white man could brave
the blinding, seething storm then raging, for they neglected those
precautions which seem to be second nature with the North American
Indian.
The proposition made by Lewis Dernor was agreed to, and the plan
matured. The conflict took place in a sort of open hollow, and probably
was one of the most sanguinary personal conflicts that ever occurred on
the frontier. The hunters came out of it with no wounds worth
mentioning, while only two of the savages escaped. These plunged into
the woods, and disappeared with the speed of the wind, and the whites
were left undisputed masters of the field.
This was by no means the first outrage which had been committed by
similar bands of Indians, and just at this particular time the arm of
the General Government was so weakened from the repeated disastrous
campaigns against them, that they insulted the whites with impunity,
and entertained, in reality, no fear at all of punishment or
retribution. This was the subject of conversation with the hunters, and
so impressed them, that Lewis Dernor proposed that they should bind
themselves together for an indefinite period, (which was not intended
to be over a couple of years or so at the most,) to do their utmost to
check the monstrous outrages which were becoming so common along the
border. The four hunters mentioned were well known to each other, and
had the reputation of being the best riflemen and woodmen of any then
known. In addition to this, they were all unmarried, and without any
prospects of changing their condition; consequently they were at
perfect liberty to wander whither they pleased.
The proposition was considered, and received a unanimous and
enthusiastic response from all. The brothers Dernor, in their hunting
expeditions, had spent several nights in a cave along the Miami, which
they had discovered by accident, and which afforded them not only a
comfortable, but also a perfect concealment. It was agreed that this
should be their rendezvous, and in order that all might learn its
locality, and the manner of approach to it, the following night was
spent within it.
Now commences the history of the Riflemen of the Miami, as they were
christened by the settlers, to whom their exploits soon became known,
and as they were proud to acknowledge themselves. Instead of disbanding
at the end of two years, as was originally contemplated, this
confederation had an existence for over a dozen years. They
participated in Anthony Wayne's great battle with the Indians, in 1794,
where two of the members fell, and which concluded their history, as
the surviving members retired to private life, and were too old to
participate in the Tecumseh's war of 1812.
It would require a volume to detail the exploits of these Riflemen.
Unlike many other confederations that were formed about this period,
their only object was that of self-defense, and of offering protection
to the settlers who were constantly penetrating the Great West. No
innocent Indians ever suffered at their hands, and many was the one
they befriended and assisted in his extremity. But woe betide the
offender that fell into their hands. To the cruel they were unsparing;
to the merciless they showed no mercy. While their name was loved and
revered by the whites, it was feared and execrated by the savages. The
Shawnees were unusually active and vindictive at this time, and it was
with them that the most frequent encounters took place. The incident
detailed in the first chapter was but one among many that were
constantly occurring, and it scarcely equaled in importance numerous
exploits that they had before performed.
There was a fifth member, who joined the Riflemen only a year or two
previous to the period in which we design to notice their actions more
particularly. He was known as Ferdinand Sego, and became a member from
a part which he performed one night on the Ohio, when the Riflemen were
attacked by three times their number. He displayed such activity, skill
and courage, that he was importuned to unite with them, although, up to
this time, they had refused to receive any accessions to their number.
He consented, and from that time forward the Riflemen of the Miami
numbered five hunters.
Sego joined them, however, with the understanding that he should be
obliged to absent himself from time to time. At regular intervals he
left them, and was gone sometimes for over a week. As he had no rifle,
the cause of these excursions remained a mystery to his friends until
he chose to reveal it himself. It then turned out that it was nothing
less than a female that exercised such a potent influence upon him.
Sego, as he became intimately acquainted with his friends, often spoke
of this girl, and of the great affection he bore her. One day he gave
her name--Edith Sudbury. This excited no unusual interest, until Lewis
Dernor learned, on the day that he encountered the emigrants, that he
and Sego loved the same girl!
This was the cause of his unusual agitation, and the pain he felt at
hearing her name pronounced. He entertained the strongest friendship
for Sego, but, until he had met Edith, he had never known any thing, by
experience, of the divine power of our nature. When he did love,
therefore, it was with his whole soul and being. His companions, less
sagacious in sentimental affairs than worldly, failed to divine the
cause of the singular actions of their leader, who did his utmost to
conceal it from them. Little did he dream, as he listened to the
enthusiastic praises of Edith by Sego, that it was the being who
constantly occupied his thoughts. But the truth had broken upon him
like a peal of thunder at midday.
On the day succeeding Lewis' departure from the settlers, three of his
men, O'Hara, Dernor and Allmat, stood on the banks of the Miami,
several hundred yards above their rendezvous. The sky was clear and
sunshiny, and they were making ready for a trial of skill with their
rifles. From where they stood, the most practiced eye would have failed
to discover any spot which could possibly afford shelter for one of
their number, much less for them all. But beneath a cluster of bushes,
projecting from the upper edge of the bank, was an orifice, barely
sufficient to admit the passage of a man's body. Entering this, on his
hands and knees, he was ushered into a subterranean cave, dark, but of
ample dimensions to accommodate a dozen men. It was furnished with
blankets and the skins of different animals, and each of the Riflemen
took especial pride in decorating and fixing it up for their
convenience.
Dick paced off two hundred yards, and then chipped a small piece from
the trunk of a beech tree along the river-bank, as a target for their
weapons. As he stepped one side, O'Hara raised his piece, and scarcely
pausing to take aim, fired. Instead of striking the mark, he missed it
by fully two inches. When this was announced, he turned round, and with
an impatient exclamation, demanded:
"Who fired that gun last?"
"I believe I did," replied Dernor.
"You just touch it again, and you'll never touch another rifle. Do you
know what you have done?"
"Know what I've done? Of course I do. I've fired it."
"_You've put a spell on it._"
"The deuce! Try it again!"
O'Hara shook his head.
"It would never miss such a mark as that unless it was bewitched. I've
got to melt up that money of mine, or the thing will never be worth a
half-penny again."
When a Kentuckian's gun is bewitched, or has a "spell upon it," the
only way in which he can free it of its enchantment, is by firing a
silver bullet from it. Unless this is done, they steadfastly believe it
can never be relied upon afterward.
O'Hara, accordingly, produced his bullet-mould, kindled a fire, which
required much more blowing and care to fuse the metal than it did to
melt lead or pewter. But he succeeded at last, melting down all his
spare change to make the small, shining bullet. This was rammed down
his gun, a deliberate aim taken, and Dick announced that it had struck
the mark plumb in the center. The charm was gone!
It would be uninteresting to narrate the different methods by which
each of the three men demonstrated his remarkable skill with his
favorite weapon. They fired at different distances, at objects in the
air, and in each others' hands, and then discharged their pieces on a
run, wheeling as quick as thought. Although the weapon used was the old
flint-lock rifle, the dexterity exhibited by each could scarcely be
excelled by that of the most famous sharp-shooters of the present day,
with their improved guns. The exercise was continued for over two
hours, when, as O'Hara was reloading his piece, the report of a rifle
was heard upon the opposite side of the Miami, and the bullet whizzed
within an inch of O'Hara's face. As all three looked across the river,
they saw a faint, bluish wreath rising from the shrubbery, but no signs
of the one who had fired the shot.
"I guess his gun has had a spell put on it," said O'Hara, sneeringly.
"And I guess you'll get a spell put on you, if he tries that again,"
remarked Dick, carefully scrutinizing the opposite bank.
"Why doesn't he show himself, the coward? Like enough there is a whole
party of Shawnees----"
"Sh! Something moved over there."
"He's going to cross, I'll be shot if he isn't."
A splash was now heard, as though something had been cast upon the
surface of the water, and a moment later, a small Indian canoe, in
which was seated a single person, shot from beneath the shrubbery,
skimming over the river like a swallow, and headed directly toward the
spot where the Riflemen were standing. Dick raised his rifle, but
instantly lowered it with a laugh.
"It's nobody but Lew himself. He just fired to scare us."
Propelled by a single paddle, the frail boat sped onward with great
celerity, and its prow, in a few moments, grated lightly against the
shingle at the feet of the hunters, and their leader stepped forth.
"Been practicing, I see," he remarked.
"A little; _you_ tried your hand, also."
Lewis smiled, as he replied:
"A little fun, of course; but we've got better business on hand."
"Let's hear it, for we are ready for any thing."
"A lot of settlers are going through the woods, down below, and they
need company, for the Shawnees have scented them as sure as the world.
I've promised them that we will see them through--where's Sego?"
suddenly asked the leader, looking around, as if searching for the one
mentioned.
"He went off yesterday."
"That's unlucky, for we shall need him, too. Will he be back to-day?"
"He said he expected to return this afternoon."
"We will wait for him, then, though they need us, most certainly."
"It's the first time Sego has been off in a good while," said Dick,
"and I don't know what started him this time."
Lewis thought that he would give a good deal if he knew, although he
chose to say nothing about it. An hour or more was spent in
conversation, when the four sauntered carelessly toward the cave, the
canoe first having been pulled high enough upon the bank to make it
secure against being washed away by the current. They did not enter the
cave, but passed it, and returned after it was fairly dark, when they
were certain that no prying eyes had seen them.
When morning dawned, Sego had not returned, and Lewis was undetermined
whether to wait longer for him, or to go on at once. The case was
urgent, but the need of Sego's arm was also urgent, and he concluded to
wait still further. The forenoon, the afternoon, and finally the night
came and went, without bringing any signs of the absentee, and at
daylight on this day, Lewis and his men made ready to start, resolved
not to lose another moment. As they passed down to the river's edge,
the delinquent made his appearance and joined them. They crossed the
Miami in the canoe--its lightness rendering it necessary to make the
passage twice--and plunging in the forest, made all haste toward the
settlers.
Meanwhile, the prolonged absence of the Riflemen, was the occasion of
much speculation and anxiety upon the part of the emigrants. When Lewis
had named the period at which he expected to join them with his men,
they all knew he had allowed himself the widest limit, and fully
intended to return within the time specified.
When, therefore, this hour passed, they certainly had sufficient
grounds for their anxiety and uneasiness, and some of the men did not
hesitate to express their conviction that the Riflemen would not come
at all. Not that they would willingly fail to keep their appointment,
but it was more than probable that circumstances had arisen which
prevented it.
The settlers remained encamped until thirty hours beyond the time of
the expected arrival of the Riflemen, when every one had given up all
hope of seeing them, and it was agreed to move on to the banks of the
creek. The scouts, who had been constantly busy, reported that no signs
of Indians were visible in the vicinity, and strong hopes were
entertained that they would be able to cross without disturbance.
"Before venturing into that same piece of water," said Smith, "I
propose that another examination of the woods be made, and that some of
us wade over first to see how deep the stream is."
The latter suggestion had already been acted upon by the scouts several
times, but, as all shared the feeling of Smith, the scouts, joined this
time by the old man's two sons, set out to act upon his proposal. After
examining the bank upon which they stood, with the greatest care, for
several hundred yards both above and below, they returned with the
report that no signs of danger had been discovered.
Two of them now entered the creek in front of the oxen, and commenced
wading across. It would be impossible to depict the anxiety, intense
apprehension, and almost terror with which they were regarded by their
friends upon the shore. One was Laughlin and the other Harry Smith, and
mixed with the parents' natural uneasiness, was a pride which glowed
upon his face at seeing his son so unhesitatingly facing danger. Had he
known that the most imminent peril threatened him, the wealth of the
Indias would not have tempted him to call him back.
Step by step the two men advanced across the creek, the water in no
place being above their knees, until they stepped upon dry land once
more. This was the culminating point of anxiety with their friends.
This apprehension now became so intense as to be painful and almost
unbearable. Some ten or fifteen minutes (which seemed hours to the
waiting friends) was spent in reconnoitering the shore, after which the
two stepped into the station and set out on their return. They had
taken but a step or two, when they suddenly drew back, and Laughlin
made a signal of danger to the settlers, the cause of which was
instantly seen by all.