A secret expedition had been planned by Col. Bowman, of Kentucky, against
an Indian town on the little Miama. Simon Kenton and two young men,
named Clark and Montgomery, were employed to proceed in advance, and
reconnoiter. Kenton was a native of Fauquier county, Virginia, where he
was born the fifteenth of May, 1755; his companions were roving
backwoodsmen, denizens of the wood, and hunters like himself.
These adventurers set out in obedience to their orders, and reached the
neighborhood of the Indian village without being discovered. They
examined it attentively, and walked around the cabins during the night
with perfect impunity. Had they returned after reconnoitering the place,
they would have accomplished the object of their mission, and avoided a
heavy calamity. They fell martyrs, however to their passion for
horseflesh.
Unfortunately, during their nightly promenade, they stumbled upon a
pound, in which were a number of Indian horses. The temptation was not
to be resisted. They severally seized a horse and mounted. But there
still remained a number of fine animals; and the adventurers cast
longing, lingering looks behind. It was melancholy--the idea of
forsaking such a goodly prize. Flesh and blood could not resist the
temptation. Getting scalped was nothing to the loss of such beautiful
specimens of horseflesh. They turned back, and took several more. The
horses, however, seemed indisposed to change masters, and so much noise
was made, in the attempt to secure them, that at last the thieves were
discovered.
The cry rang through the village at once, that the Long-Knives were
stealing their horses right before the doors of their wigwams. A great
hubbub ensued; and Indians, old and young, squaws, children, and
warriors, all sallied out with loud screams, to save their property from
the greedy spoilers. Kenton and his friends saw that they had overshot
their mark, and that they must ride for their lives. Even in this
extremity, however, they could not reconcile their minds to the
surrender of a single horse which they had haltered; and while two of
them rode in front and led a great number of horses, the other brought
up the rear, and, plying his whip from right to left, did not permit a
single animal to lag behind.
In this manner, they dashed through the woods at a furious rate with
the hue and cry after them, until their course was suddenly stopped by
an impenetrable swamp. Here, from necessity, they paused a few minutes,
and listened attentively. Hearing no sounds of pursuit, they resumed
their course, and, skirting the swamp for some distance in the vain hope
of crossing it, they bent their course in a straight direction to the
Ohio. They rode during the whole night without resting a moment. Halting
a brief space at daylight, they continued their journey throughout the
day, and the whole of the following night; and, by this uncommon
celerity of movement, they succeeded in reaching the northern bank of
the Ohio on the morning of the second day.
Crossing the river would now insure their safety, but this was likely to
prove a difficult undertaking, and the close pursuit, which they had
reason to expect, rendered it expedient to lose as little time as
possible. The wind was high, and the river rough and boisterous. It was
determined that Kenton should cross with the horses, while Clark and
Montgomery should construct a raft, in order to transport their guns,
baggage, and ammunition, to the opposite shore. The necessary
preparations were soon made, and Kenton, after forcing his horses into
the river, plunged in himself, and swam by their side.
In a few minutes the high waves completely overwhelmed him, and forced
him considerably below the horses, who stemmed the current much more
successfully than he.
The horses, being left to themselves, turned about and made for the Ohio
shore, where Kenton was compelled to follow them. Again he forced them
into the water, and again they returned to the same spot, until Kenton
became so exhausted by repeated efforts, as to be unable to swim. What
was to be done?
That the Indians would pursue them was certain. That the horses would
not and could not be made to cross the river in its present state, was
equally certain. Should they abandon their horses and cross on the raft,
or remain with their horses and brave the consequence? The latter
alternative was adopted unanimously. Death or captivity might be
tolerated, but the loss of such a beautiful lot of horses, after working
so hard for them, was not to be thought of for a moment.
Should they move up or down the river, or remain where they were? The
latter plan was adopted, and a more indiscreet one could hardly have
been imagined. They supposed that the wind would fall at sunset, and
the river become sufficiently calm to admit of their passage; and, as it
was thought probable that the Indians might be upon them before night,
it was determined to conceal their horses in a neighboring ravine, while
they should take their stations in the adjoining wood.
The day passed away in tranquility; but at night the wind blew harder
than ever, and the water became so rough, that they would hardly have
been able to cross on their raft. As if totally infatuated, they
remained where they were until morning; thus wasting twenty-four hours
of most precious time in idleness. In the morning, the wind abated, and
the river became calm; but, it was now too late. Their horses had become
obstinate and intractible, and positively and repeatedly refused to take
to the water.
Their masters at length determined to do what ought to have been done at
first. They severally resolved to mount a horse, and make the best of
their way down the river to Louisville. But their unconquerable
reluctance to lose their horses overcame even this resolution. Instead
of leaving the ground instantly, they went back upon their own trail, in
the vain effort to regain possession of the rest of their horses, which
had broken from them in their last effort to drive them into the water.
They literally fell victims to their love for horseflesh.
They had scarcely ridden one hundred yards when Kenton, who had
dismounted, heard a loud halloo. He quickly beheld three Indians and one
white man, all well mounted. Wishing to give the alarm to his
companions, he raised his rifle, took a steady aim at the breast of the
foremost Indian, and drew the trigger. His gun had become wet on the
raft, and flashed.
The enemy were instantly alarmed, and dashed at him. Kenton took to his
heels, and was pursued by four horsemen at full speed. He instantly
directed his steps to the thickest part of the wood, and had succeeded,
as he thought, in baffling his pursuers, when, just as he was entering
the wood, an Indian on horseback galloped up to him with such rapidity
as to render flight useless. The horseman rode up, holding out his hand,
and calling out "Brother! brother!" in a tone of great affection. Kenton
observes, that if his gun would have made fire, he would have
"brothered" him to his heart's content, but, being totally unarmed, he
called out that he would surrender if they would give him quarter and
good treatment.
Promises were cheap with the Indian, who, advancing, with extended hands
and a withering grin upon his countenance, which was intended for a
smile of courtesy, seized Kenton's hand and grasped it with violence.
Kenton, not liking the manner of his captor, raised his gun to knock him
down, when an Indian, who had followed him closely through the
brushwood, sprung upon his back, and pinioned his arms to his side. The
one, who had been grinning so amiably, then raised him by the hair and
shook him until his teeth rattled, while the rest of the party coming
up, fell upon Kenton with their tongues and ramrods, until he thought
they would scold or beat him to death. They were the owners of the
horses which he had carried off, and now took ample revenge for the loss
of their property. At every stroke of their ramrods over his head, they
would exclaim in a tone of strong indignation, "Steal Indian hoss! hey!"
Their attention, however, was soon directed to Montgomery, who, having
heard the noise attending Kenton's capture, very gallantly hastened up
to his assistance, while Clark prudently took to his heels. Montgomery
halted within gunshot, and appeared busy with the pan of his gun, as if
preparing to fire. Two Indians instantly sprang off in pursuit of him,
while the rest attended to Kenton. In a few minutes Kenton heard the
crack of two rifles in quick succession, followed by a halloo, which
announced the fate of his friend. The Indians returned, waving the
bloody scalp of Montgomery, and with countenances and gestures which
menaced him with a similar fate.
They then proceeded to secure their prisoner by pinioning him with stout
sticks, and fastening him with ropes to a tree. During the operation
they cuffed him from time to time with great heartiness, and abused him
for a "tief!--a hoss steal!--a rascal!"
Kenton remained in this painful position throughout the night, looking
forward to certain death, and most probably torture, as soon as he
should reach their town. Their rage against him displayed itself the
next morning, in rather a singular manner.
Among the horses which Kenton had taken, was a wild young colt, wholly
unbroken, and with all his honors of mane and tail undocked. Upon him
Kenton was mounted, without saddle or bridle, with his hands tied behind
him, and his feet fastened under the horse's belly. The country was
rough and bushy, and Kenton had no means of protecting his face from the
brambles, through which it was expected that the colt would dash. As
soon as the rider was firmly fastened to his back, the colt was turned
loose with a sudden lash, but, after curvetting and capricoling for
awhile, to the great distress of Kenton, but to the infinite amusement
of the Indians, he appeared to take compassion on his rider, and,
falling into a line with the other horses, avoided the brambles
entirely, and went on very well. In this manner he rode through the day.
At night he was taken from the horse, and confined as before.
On the third day, they came within a few miles of Chillicothe. Here the
party halted, and sent forward a messenger to prepare for their
reception. In a short time, Blackfish, one of their chiefs, arrived, and
regarding Kenton with a stern countenance, thundered out in very good
English: "You have been stealing horses?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did Captain Boone tell you to steal our horses?"
"No, sir, I did it of my own accord."
Blackfish made no reply to this frank confession; but, brandishing a
hickory switch, he applied it so briskly to Kenton's naked back and
shoulders, as to bring the blood freely, and occasion acute pain.
Thus, alternately scolded and beaten, Kenton was conducted to the
village. All the inhabitants, men, women, and children, ran out to feast
their eyes with a sight of the prisoner; and all, down to the smallest
child, appeared in a paroxysm of rage. They whooped, they yelled, they
hooted, they clapped their hands, and poured upon him a flood of
abuse, to which all that he had yet experienced was courteous and civil.
With loud cries, they demanded that their prisoner should be tied to the
stake. The hint was instantly complied with; but, after being well
thrashed and tormented, he was released for the purpose of furnishing
further amusement to his captors.
[Illustration: DEATH OF MONTGOMERY.]
Early in the morning, he beheld the scalp of Montgomery stretched upon a
hoop, and drying in the air, before the door of one of their principal
houses, he was led out, and ordered to run the gauntlet. A row of boys,
women, and men, extended to the distance of a quarter of a mile. At the
starting-place, stood two grim warriors with butcher knives in their
hands. At the extremity of the line, was an Indian beating a drum; and a
few paces beyond the drum was the door of the council-house. Clubs,
switches, hoe-handles, and tomahawks, were brandished along the whole
line, and, as Kenton saw these formidable preparations, the cold sweat
streamed from his pores.
The moment for starting arrived, the great drum at the door of the
council-house was struck; and Kenton sprang forward in the race. He,
however, avoided the row of his enemies, and, turning to the east, drew
the whole party in pursuit of him. He doubled several times with great
activity, and at length observing an opening he darted through it, and
pressed forward to the council-house with a rapidity which left his
pursuers far behind. One or two of the Indians succeeded in throwing
themselves between him and the goal, and from these alone he received a
few blows, but was much less injured than he could at first have
supposed possible.
After the race was over, a council to decide his fate was held, while he
was handed over, naked and bound, to the care of a guard in the open
air. The deliberation commenced. Every warrior sat in silence, while a
large warclub was passed round the circle. Those who were opposed to
burning the prisoner on the spot, were to pass the club in silence to
the next warrior. Those in favor of burning were to strike the earth
violently with the club before passing it.
A teller was appointed to count the votes. This dignitary reported that
the opposition had prevailed; and that it was determined to take the
prisoner to an Indian town on Mad river, called Waughcotomoco. His fate
was announced to him by a renegado white man, who acted as interpreter.
Kenton asked "what the Indians intended to do with him upon reaching
Waughcotomoco."
"Burn you!" replied the renegado, with a ferocious oath.
After this pleasant assurance, the laconic and scowling interpreter
walked away.
The prisoner's clothes were restored to him, and he was permitted to
remain unbound. Thanks to the intimation of the interpreter, he was
aware of the fate in reserve for him, and resolved that he would never
be carried alive to Waughcotomoco. Their route lay through an unprimed
forest, abounding in thickets and undergrowth. During the whole of the
march, Kenton remained abstracted and silent; often meditating an effort
for the recovery of his liberty, and as often shrinking from the peril
of the attempt.
At length he was aroused from his reverie by the Indians firing off
their guns, and raising the shrill scalp-halloo. The signal was soon
answered, and the deep roll of a drum was heard far in front, announcing
to the unhappy prisoner, that they were approaching an Indian town,
where the gauntlet, certainly, and perhaps the stake awaited him.
The idea of a repetition of the dreadful scenes he had just encountered,
overcame his indecision, and, with a sudden and startling cry, he sprung
into the bushes, and fled with the speed of a wild deer. The pursuit was
instant and keen. Some of his pursuers were on horseback, some on foot.
But he was flying for his life. The stake and the hot iron, and the
burning splinters were before his eyes, and he soon distanced the
swiftest hunter in pursuit.
But fate was against him at every turn. Thinking only of the enemy
behind, he forgot that there might be an enemy before; and he suddenly
found that he had plunged into the center of a fresh party of horsemen,
who had sallied from the town at the firing of the guns, and happened,
unfortunately, to stumble upon the poor prisoner, now making a last
effort for freedom. His heart sunk at once from the ardor of hope to the
lowest pit of despair, and he was again haltered and driven into
captivity like an ox to the slaughter.
On the second day he arrived at Waughcotomoco. Here he was again
compelled to run the gauntlet, in which he was severely hurt.
Immediately after this ceremony, he was taken to the council-house, and
all the warriors once more assembled to determine his fate.
He sat silent and dejected upon the floor of the cabin, when the door of
the council-house opened, and Simon Girty, James Girty, John Ward, and
an Indian, came in with a woman as a prisoner, together with seven
children and seven scalps. Kenton was immediately removed from the
council-house, and the deliberations of the assembly were protracted to
a very late hour, in consequence of the arrival of the last-named party
with a fresh drove of prisoners.
At length he was again summoned to attend the council-house, being
informed that his fate was decided. Upon entering, he was greeted with a
savage scowl, which, if he had still cherished a spark of hope, would
have completely extinguished it. Simon Girty threw a blanket upon the
floor, and harshly ordered him to take a seat upon it. The order was not
immediately complied with, and Girty impatiently seizing his arm, jerked
him roughly upon the blanket, and pulled him down.
In a menacing tone, Girty then interrogated him as to the condition of
Kentucky.
"How many men are there in Kentucky?"
"It is impossible for me to answer that question," replied Kenton; "but
I can tell you the number of officers, and their respective ranks, and
you can judge for yourself."
"Do you know William Stewart?"
"Perfectly well; he is an old and intimate acquaintance."
"What is your own name?"
"Simon Butler!" replied Kenton, who had been known formerly by that
name.
Never did the announcement of a name produce a more powerful effect.
Girty and Kenton had served as spies together in Dunmore's expedition.
The former had not then abandoned the society of the whites for that of
the savages, and had become warmly attached to Kenton during the short
period of their services together. As soon as he heard the name, he
threw his arms around Kenton's neck, and embraced him with much emotion.
Then turning to the assembled warriors, who had witnessed this scene
with much surprise, Girty informed them that the prisoner, whom they had
just condemned to the stake, was his ancient companion and bosom-friend;
that they had traveled the same war-path, slept upon the same blanket,
and dwelt in the same wigwam. He entreated them to spare him the anguish
of witnessing the torture, by his adopted brothers, of an old comrade;
and not to refuse so trifling a favor as the life of a white man to the
earnest intercession of one, who had proved, by three years' faithful
service, that he was zealously devoted to the cause of the Indians.
The speech was listened to in silence, and some of the chiefs were
disposed to grant Girty's request. But others urged the flagrant
misdemeanors of Kenton; that he had not only stolen their horses, but
had flashed his gun at one of their young men; that it was in vain to
suppose that so bad a man could ever become an Indian at heart, like
their brother Girty; that the Kentuckians were all alike, very bad
people, and ought to be killed as fast as they were taken; and, finally,
they observed that many of their people had come from a distance, solely
to assist at the torture of the prisoner; and pathetically painted the
disappointment and chagrin, with which they would hear that all their
trouble had been for nothing.
Girty continued to urge his request, however, with great earnestness,
and the debate was carried on for an hour and a half, with much energy
and heat. The feelings of Kenton during this suspense may be imagined.
At length the warclub was produced, and the final vote was taken. It was
in favor of the prisoner's reprieve. Having thus succeeded in his
benevolent purpose, Girty lost no time in attending to the comfort of
his friend. He led him into his own wigwam, and, from his own store,
gave him a pair of moccasins and leggins, a breechcloth, a hat, a coat,
a handkerchief for his neck, and another for his head.
For the space of three weeks, Kenton lived in tranquility, treated with
much kindness by Girty and the chiefs. But, at the end of that time, as
he was one day with Girty and an Indian named Redpole, another Indian
came from the village toward them, uttering repeatedly a whoop of
peculiar intonation. Girty instantly told Kenton it was the
distress-halloo, and that they must all go instantly to the
council-house. Kenton's heart fluttered at the intelligence, for he
dreaded all whoops, and heartily hated all council-houses, firmly
believing that neither boded him any good. Nothing, however, could be
done, to avoid whatever fate awaited him, and he sadly accompanied Girty
and Redpole back to the village.
On entering the council-house, Kenton perceived from the ominous scowls
of the chiefs, that they meant no tenderness toward him. Girty and
Redpole were cordially received, but when poor Kenton offered his hand,
it was rejected by six Indians successively, after which, sinking into
despondence, he turned away, and stood apart.
The debate commenced. Kenton looked eagerly toward Girty, as his last
and only hope. His friend seemed anxious and distressed. The chiefs from
a distance rose one after another, and spoke in a firm and indignant
tone, often looking sternly at Kenton. Girty did not desert him, but his
eloquence was wasted. After a warm discussion, he turned to Kenton and
said, "Well, my friend, _you must die!_"
One of the stranger chiefs instantly seized him by the collar, and, the
others surrounding him, he was strongly pinioned, committed to a guard,
and marched off. His guard were on horseback, while he was driven before
them on foot, with a long rope round his neck. In this manner they had
marched about two and a half miles, when Girty passed them on horseback,
informing Kenton that he had friends at the next village, with whose aid
he hoped to be able to do something for him. Girty passed on to the
town, but finding that nothing could be done, he would not see his
friend again, but returned to Waughcotomoco by a different route.
The Indians with their prisoner soon reached a large village upon the
headwaters of the Scioto, where Kenton, for the first time, beheld the
celebrated Mingo chief, Logan, so honorably mentioned in Jefferson's
Notes on Virginia. Logan walked gravely up to the place where Kenton
stood, and the following short conversation ensued:
"Well, young man, these people seem very mad at you?"
"Yes, sir, they certainly are."
"Well; don't be disheartened. I am a great chief. You are to go to
Sandusky. They speak of burning you there. But I will send two runners
to-morrow to help you."
Logan's form was manly, his countenance calm and noble, and he spoke
the English language with fluency and correctness. Kenton's spirits
revived at the address of the benevolent chief, and he once more looked
upon himself as providentially rescued from the stake.
On the following morning, two runners were despatched to Sandusky as the
chief had promised. In the evening they returned, and were closeted with
Logan. Kenton felt the most burning anxiety to know the result of their
mission, but Logan did not visit him until the next morning. He then
walked up to him, accompanied by Kenton's guard, and, giving him a piece
of bread, told him that he was instantly to be carried to Sandusky; and
left him without uttering another word.
Again Kenton's spirits sunk. From Logan's manner, he supposed that his
intercession had been unavailing, and that Sandusky was to be the scene
of his final suffering. This appears to have been the truth. But fortune
had not finished her caprices. On being driven into the town, for the
purpose of being burnt on the following morning, an Indian agent, from
Canada, named Drewyer, interposed, and once more was he rescued from the
stake. Drewyer wished to obtain information for the British commandant
at Detroit; and so earnestly did he insist upon Kenton's being
delivered to him, that the Indians at length consented, upon the express
condition that, after the required information had been obtained, he
should be again restored to their possession. To this Drewyer consented,
and, with out further difficulty, Kenton was transferred to his hands.
Drewyer lost no time in removing him to Detroit. On the road, he
informed Kenton of the condition upon which he had obtained possession
of his person, assuring him, however, that no consideration should
induce him to abandon a prisoner to the mercy of such wretches.
At Detroit, Kenton's condition was not unpleasant. He was obliged to
report himself every morning to an English officer; and was restricted
to certain boundaries through the day. In other respects he scarcely
felt that he was a prisoner. His wounds were healed, and his emaciated
limbs were again clothed with a fair proportion of flesh. He remained in
this state of easy restraint from October, 1777, until June, 1778, when
he meditated an escape.
He cautiously broached his project to two young Kentuckians, then at
Detroit, who had been taken with Boone at the Blue Licks, and had been
purchased by the British. He found them as impatient as himself of
captivity, and resolute to accompany him. He commenced instant
preparations. Having formed a close friendship with two Indian hunters,
he deluged them with rum, and bought their guns for a mere trifle. These
he hid in the woods, and returning to Detroit, managed to procure powder
and ball, with another rifle.
The three prisoners then appointed a night for their attempt, and agreed
upon a place of rendezvous. They met at the time and place appointed,
without discovery, and, taking a circuitous route, avoiding pursuit by
traveling only during the night, they at length arrived safely at
Louisville, after a march of thirty days.