American camp, where he was placed upon a litter. Captain Johnny, who
had left them upon the return trip, arrived next morning, bringing
with him the scalp of Chief Winnemac. Logan lingered for a few days,
and then succumbed to his wound. “I have removed all suspicion upon my
honor,” said he. “Now I am willing to die. My two sons must be educated
by the people of Kentucky.”
Thus perished the namesake of the noble-hearted Colonel Logan, who
helped to clear Kentucky of the savage tribes, and who soon afterwards
rounded out his life of splendid activity, and died universally
lamented. To such pioneers the state owes a deep debt of gratitude.
GEORGE ROGERS CLARKE:
FAMOUS LEADER OF THE BORDERLAND OF KENTUCKY
ONE of the foremost of the pioneers: one of the noblest of men: one of
the most daring of fighters: such was George Rogers Clarke of Virginia.
Like Daniel Boone of Kentucky, Clarke was not only a brave warrior in
the rough and ready armies of the Middle West, but was also a potent
factor in the destinies of the American people.
Born in Albemarle County, Virginia, he early made his way to Kentucky.
At twenty-three we find him engaged as a surveyor in this virgin land,
and as he was a large and powerful man like George Washington, he could
easily contend with the difficulties of his profession. So inspiring,
in fact, was his appearance, that he was entrusted with the command
of the militia upon his first visit to the border. He had a soldierly
bearing and a grave and thoughtful mien.
After remaining for a time in Kentucky, this noble borderer returned
to Virginia in order to settle up his affairs. He saw that a conflict
would soon take place for the possession of the Middle West between the
Americans, the French, the English—who had a chain of forts extending
down the Mississippi from Detroit, Michigan, to Vincennes, Indiana—and
the redskins. Which party would win? That remained to be yet settled.
Clarke, of course, sided with the American pioneers who were pressing
westward from Virginia and Tennessee.
[Illustration: GEORGE ROGERS CLARKE.]
“The Indians,” said he, “are incited to burning, scalping, and
murdering our peaceful settlers upon the border, by the tongues of the
British soldiers, who, supplying them with food from their forts, are
continually egging them on to rapine and murder. Our only salvation,
as settlers, lies in organization and military training. We must equip
ourselves with arms and ammunition and must press against them before
they grow so strong that they can crush us.”
He suggested that the Kentuckians assemble in convention, and that
there they should discuss the affairs most dear to the hearts of all.
To this the people readily assented, and at this meeting chose Clarke,
himself, and a man named Jones, as delegates to the Virginia Assembly.
They were to go to the older state and were to ask for five hundred
pounds of gunpowder for purposes of defense against the redskins.
When they expressed their wants they were met with a cold reception.
“We will _lend_ you this important supply,” they were told by those in
authority. “But you must guarantee its repayment and must defray all
expenses connected with its carriage across the mountains.”
Clarke was indignant at these terms.
“This is not the treatment that brave borderers deserve,” he said.
“This should be a free offering to the men who stand as a breastwork
between you yourselves and the redskins. If you allow your outlying
posts to be swept away by the British and Indians, then the tide of
warfare will roll over your own settlements, and you will realize—too
late—the folly of your refusal.”
To this remonstrance the council replied that they could not better
their offer.
But Clarke was a fighter.
“You do not realize the dangers of your position,” he again stated to
them. “We apply to you for aid because you are nearest and dearest to
us. But—if you refuse us—we can go to New York and there obtain our
supplies. We have pushed into this country. We have settled it. We are
of your own blood. We claim it. A country which is not worth defending
is not worth claiming.”
This was the way to talk to the hard-headed Virginians. After an
earnest debate it was decided to recall Clarke and to comply with his
request. An order for five hundred pounds of powder was given to him.
It was to be delivered at Pittsburgh, subject to his demand, and for
use by the borderers of Kentucky.
“I am deeply grateful to you, my brothers,” said Clarke. “This gift
will be well used and my people will be very thankful to you for it.
God bless the noble settlers of Virginia!”
With a small force of seven men, the daring pioneer now went to Fort
Pitt for the powder, and carrying it in canoes, safely transported
it to a place called Limestone, Kentucky. Indians were thick in this
country, and all were hostile. But he came safely through the wild
places and carefully secreted the powder at various points, where it
could be found by the borderers when needed.
Daniel Boone was now an old man and was so modest that he refused to
thrust himself forward and become a leader around whom the settlers
could rally. All eyes, therefore, turned to Clarke, whose merits were
now recognized as a gallant fighter and able commander. The borderers
saw that they here had an unselfish fellow who had their own interests
in view, and who had obtained well-needed assistance for them. They
knew that, without powder, they must be swept back before the storm of
Indian invasion. The time for a leader had now come, and destiny had
sent to the Kentuckians George Rogers Clarke—the brave and the noble.
This soldier now addressed the settlers upon several occasions and
in several different places. He told them that they must assume an
aggressive attitude and must attack the Indian villages, destroy their
crops, burn their habitations, and teach them the horrors of invasion.
“We must not wait to be attacked ourselves,” said he. “We must do the
attacking. We must strike before we are struck, and must hit hard.”
The Kentuckians were stirred by these speeches of Clarke and swore to
follow him to the death.
“Lead on! Lead on!” cried they. “We will follow and will do our best to
clear the land of our red enemies.”
This pleased the leader of the borderers, for he saw that his own
spirit animated his men. He therefore wrote to the Governor of
Virginia, telling him of his plans for border warfare, and requesting
aid. Men and ammunition were sent him. An expedition was speedily
organized at Louisville—then called the Falls of the Ohio—and the
border soldiers started down the stream in boats. At the mouth of the
Tennessee River a party of hunters were met with. From them Clarke
learned that the garrisons at Kaskaskia and Kahokia were fully aware of
his coming and were quite ready to give his men a hot reception.
“The greater portion of the French,” said the guides, “prefer American
to English rule. You will find no difficulty in winning them over to
your cause.”
These men were taken along as scouts, and, creeping quietly through the
wilderness, they surrounded and captured Kaskaskia without shedding a
drop of blood. So kind were Clarke’s followers to the inhabitants that
many accompanied them on the march to Kahokia,—a town just opposite
St. Louis, Missouri. Both places were populated mainly by people of
French extraction who adhered to the cause of France in America.
Clarke was a diplomat. Some one has said that “he eked out the courage
of a lion with the cunning of a fox.” At any rate, he knew enough
to make a firm friend of the parish priest, Monsieur Gerbault, who
consented to go to Vincennes—in the absence of the British commander,
who had gone to Detroit—and induce the garrison there to embrace the
cause of the Kentuckians. He was successful. After a lengthy harangue
the fort went over to the Americans and its command was given to a
Captain Helm, one of Clarke’s Lieutenants.
Clarke had accomplished what was thought to be the impossible. Without
any difficulty whatsoever he had captured three forts and had persuaded
all the inhabitants to join his standard. But these were the French.
There were still the redskinned devils who would soon be burning,
plundering, and massacring upon the borders. Clarke needed more men. So
he promptly organized the French into militia companies with which to
garrison the captured fort, appointed French officers to command them,
and was thus able to use all of his Kentucky backwoodsmen in dealing
with the redskins.
The French and Spaniards never asked for peace from the Indians but
always harshly demanded whatever they might desire. Clarke determined
to adopt their course. This kind of diplomacy is that which usually
wins with the American Indian, for the red man could never comprehend
why the whites would offer peace if they felt at all certain that they
could accomplish their purpose by means of war. The Indians never made
treaties unless they had met with a reverse and were in the presence of
a superior enemy. When Clarke _demanded_ like a warrior it suited their
ideas much better than if he had _asked_ like a squaw.
We now come to the most extraordinary event in his career: an event
which marks him as a man of courage and capacity. When things were
going against him he managed to turn the tide in his own favor with
remarkable ability.
Braving great dangers and privations, he met the redskins in their own
villages and conferred with them. Two attempts were made upon his life,
but he escaped all harm and managed to secure a treaty of peace upon
terms which the red men had first spurned. The treaty was signed and
Clarke’s eyes looked hungrily at Detroit—the great stronghold of the
British. He had not sufficient men to take it.
Two detachments from his small army captured a British post on the
upper Wabash, garrisoned by forty men. This aroused the British to
greater activity. The Kentuckians and French were coming too near for
either pleasure or safety. Besides this, the savages had begun to waver
in their allegiance to the British flag as they saw the success of the
pioneers from across the Ohio River.
Vincennes, as you know, had gone over to the Americans, and there
was but a small force there of French militia. Two Americans were
in charge: a Captain Helm and a Mr. Henry. On the fifteenth day of
December, 1778, the English Governor of Detroit appeared before the
town with a large body of rangers and demanded its surrender. The
French militiamen immediately ran up a white flag.
Hamilton approached the fort, and as he neared it, was surprised to
find himself confronted by a cannon, behind which stood Captain Helm
with a lighted match in his hand.
“Halt!” cried Hamilton. “My foolish fellow, I demand your instant
surrender!”
“I’ll never surrender,” answered Helm, “until you settle upon the terms
with me.”
“You’ll be allowed to march out with all the honors of war,” said the
British Governor. “And you will be held a prisoner until exchanged. The
militia will be disarmed and paroled.”
“All right,” answered Captain Helm. “These terms suit me exactly.”
Imagine the feelings of the good, old Governor. Instead of seeing a
great body of men debouch from the fort, preceded by a brilliant staff,
out marched a few ragged militiamen headed by Captain Helm, with one
solitary private. It is said that the noble soldier could not help
laughing. At any rate, he felt so well over the affair that he did
not attempt the reduction of Kaskaskia and Kahokia—as he should have
done—but was content to send parties of his men on forays against
the settlements along the Ohio River. News was soon brought to Clarke
of the capture of Vincennes. The old war-dog was much disconcerted.
Hamilton in possession of Vincennes! It was almost past belief, yet
runners soon came to him from the frontier, who confirmed the ill
tidings. What was he to do? He had only two hundred men. Hamilton had
three or four times that number. It was the middle of winter and he
was short of all manner of supplies. The entire country was flooded.
He had a single flat-bottomed batteau. Should he wait to be attacked,
or should he attempt the seemingly impossible and endeavor to re-take
Vincennes? He answered the question by turning, one day, to his
compatriots, and saying:
“Whether I stay here or march against Hamilton—if I don’t take him, he
will take me. By Heaven, I’ll take him!”
And to this his men cried:
“Lead on! Where you go we will follow!”
Now was such a march as the world had seldom seen before. The brave
and valiant Arnold, who took his rangers through the depths of the
Maine forest to the attack on Quebec at the outbreak of the American
Revolution, was such a one as this lion-hearted pioneer. Arnold lost a
great many men: Clarke did not lose any; but the difficulties of the
journey were severe. Through the cold of winter, the chilling rain,
the mud and icy water,—the latter often three feet deep,—marched the
Kentucky rangers. They reached a miserable country called “the drowned
lands,” and for miles were waist-deep in the water. The way was full
of crevasses and mud-holes into which some of the men sank up to their
necks. Clarke was always in the front, sharing the hardships of his
followers, and outdoing them in the contempt for peril and suffering.
An occasional spot of dry ground—a few yards in extent—was a welcome
sight to the half-drowned rangers. Still they pressed onward upon their
mission.
“On, boys!” said George Rogers Clarke. “We will take this post or die
in the attempt!”
Splashing forward, the scouts and rangers soon reached the two branches
of the Wabash River. Ordinarily three miles of solid ground lay between
the two streams. Now there was a continuous sheet of water before their
eyes. The command stopped, amazed. They had come to an apparently
unsurmountable obstacle. But there were no obstacles to George Rogers
Clarke.
Striding to the front, and holding his rifle aloft in order to keep
the priming dry, he dashed into the stream. The rest followed with
songs and with cheers. But the chilling water soon made these cease,
for it became an irksome task to breathe. They staggered with fatigue,
but their leader never faltered, and there was not a man who would
have deserted him. On the seventeenth day of February they reached the
eastern shore of the Wabash and came to the lowlands of the Embarrass
River. It was nine miles to their goal: the fortress of Vincennes.
Every foot of the way was covered with deep water.
The situation seemed to be desperate. Clarke, however, was not the one
to despair. Taking a canoe, he made soundings to see if some path might
not be discovered through this inland sea. There seemed to be none—the
water everywhere reached to his neck. The men were alarmed. Their faces
looked blanched and pale. Was their march of untold hardships to end in
death by cold and starvation?
A surprising thing now took place. Whispering to those nearest to him
to follow his example, Clarke poured some powder into his hand, wet it
with water and blackened his face as a sign that he would succeed, or
die in the attempt. Then—uttering a loud whoop—he dashed into the
water. The frontiersmen gazed wonderingly at him. Then they broke into
song, rushed after him, and made for a ridge of high ground, which
was followed until an island was reached. Here they camped, but next
morning the ice had formed to the thickness of three-quarters of an
inch. You can well imagine what were their prospects!
But Clarke was never daunted or dismayed. Making a speech to his
half-starved and half-frozen command, he again plunged into the water.
“We must do or die!” said he. “On to Vincennes!”
With a rousing cheer his followers dashed in after him—pushed through
the broken ice—and waded ahead. The water became more and more deep.
Clarke feared, therefore, that the weaker members of the party would
be drowned. Luckily he had a few canoeists with him, and these picked
up the fainting ones and carried them to hillocks of dry land. The
strongest were sent forward with instructions to pass the word back
that the water was getting shallow, and they were told to cry “Land!
Land!” when they got near the woods.
This cheered the drooping spirits of the faint-hearted. The water
_never_ did get shallow. Woodland was certainly ahead, but when the
men reached it water was up to their shoulders and they had to hang
to the trees, bushes and logs, until rescued by the canoes. Some
gained the shore in safety, some were so exhausted when they reached
a small island that they could not climb up the bank and lay half in
and half out of the water. Luck was with them, for a canoe came down
the river in which were some Indian squaws and their children. They
were captured, and with them was some buffalo meat, tallow, corn, and
cooking utensils. Oh, lucky find! The weak were now rejuvenated by a
hearty meal.
They were upon an island of ten acres. It was truly an Eden for these
half-drowned frontiersmen. A long rest soon strengthened the weakest,
and by means of the Indian canoe, and a few batteaus which had been
brought with them, they ferried over to Warrior’s Island, within two
miles of Vincennes, and within plain view of it. Every man feasted his
eyes upon the log fortress and forgot that he had suffered.
Let me here quote from Clarke himself. He says:
“Every man forgot his troubles. It was now that we had to display our
abilities. The plain between us and the town was perfectly level. The
sunken ground was covered with water full of ducks. We observed several
men out on horseback, shooting them, and sent out many of our active,
young Frenchmen to decoy and take one prisoner,—which they did.
“We learned that the British had that evening completed the wall of the
fort, and that there were a good many Indians in town. Our situation
was now truly critical. There was no possibility of retreat in case
of defeat, and we were in full view of a town with six hundred men in
it,—troops, Indians and inhabitants.
“We were now in the very situation that I had labored to get ourselves
in. The idea of being taken prisoner was foreign to almost every man,
as they expected nothing but torture. We knew that success could be
secured only by the most daring conduct. I knew that a number of the
inhabitants wished us well: that the Grand Chief—Tobacco’s son—had
openly declared himself a friend of the Big Knives (Americans). I
therefore wrote and sent the following Placard.
“TO THE INHABITANTS OF POST VINCENNES:
“GENTLEMEN:—Being now within two miles of your village with my army,
determined to take the fort this night, and not being willing to
surprise you, I take this method to request such as are true citizens
to remain still in your houses. Those, if any there be, that are
friends to the King, will instantly repair to the fort, join the
‘Hair buyer’ general, and fight like men. If any such do not go, and
are found afterwards, they may depend on severe punishment. On the
contrary, those who are true friends to liberty may depend on being
well treated, and I once more request them to keep out of the streets.
Every one I find in arms on my arrival, I shall treat as an enemy.
“G. R. CLARKE.”
This was written by a pioneer general with two hundred half-starved,
half-frozen, and undrilled troops. Behind the walls of the fort were
twice this number of well-drilled, well-fed, well-clad men. We can but
admire his audacity and impudence. But did he fulfil his promises to
his people at home. And did he take Hamilton?
The frontiersmen were soon in motion and marched upon the town. A hill
intervened, and when he reached it, Clarke deployed his men across it
several times. When they would get over, Clarke would run them around
the base to the rear of the knoll—where they would be out of sight of
the people in the fort—and then would march them across again. In this
way he made the inmates of the fortress of Vincennes believe that he
had a much larger force than was really his. The borderers soon seized
all the positions which commanded the fort and waited until dusk before
beginning the assault. “I fear that they will know my numbers, if I
attack during daylight,” said the Kentuckian, “and this I do not want
them to know.”
As night began to draw near, the crashing of rifles awoke the echoes of
the forest and the fort was hotly assailed from every point of vantage.
The Kentuckians were able marksmen and soon silenced the cannon of the
redoubt. No sooner would a porthole be thrown open than the gunners
would be shot down as they stood. After an hour of such work the firing
ceased, and the garrison was summoned to surrender.
Hamilton was dumbfounded at the audacity of the Kentuckians. He was
also much disconcerted by the actions of one hundred of his redskin
allies, who, seeing the boldness of the frontiersmen, immediately
transferred their allegiance to them and were anxious to join in the
assault upon the post. In spite of this he refused to surrender.
A far heavier rifle fire was now opened upon the fort, so that no
defender could look out of a porthole or expose himself in any manner
whatsoever, without being shot down. An assault was determined upon.
At this juncture a couple of figures emerged from the principal gateway
of Vincennes, bearing a flag of truce. When the emissaries arrived
before Clarke, they brought word that Hamilton proposed a three days’
truce and an immediate conference. Clarke did not wish the British to
know his real numbers, so he declined the truce. But he assented to
have a talk with the English commander, some distance from the fort, at
a place where the Englishman’s eyes could not see the small numbers of
the Kentuckians.
After a long interview nothing came of the pow-wow. Hamilton asked to
march out with all the honors of war and to be allowed to depart to
Detroit, after giving the assurance that neither he nor his men would
ever again bear arms against the Americans. Clarke was afraid that the
soldiers would not keep their word and demanded a greater amount of
money and stores than the Britisher was willing to allow him.
“I have sufficient force to take the fort by storm at any time
I choose,” said Clarke. “Furthermore, I propose to capture all
the detached parties that are now in the woods and are headed for
Vincennes. Having put them out of the way, I intend to take the fort
at my leisure. I will thus—at one stroke—put an end to all of those
people that have been harassing the American frontier. In case I take
you by storm, I intend to shut my eyes and let my men do their own
pleasure, for such is the treatment that has been accorded to our own
people by the officers of the Crown.”
The conference broke up, and so terrified was a Major Hay, who
represented the English commander, that he could scarcely make his way
back to Vincennes. As he wobbled along, a party of redskins—led by
a white man painted as an Indian—was seen to approach the town. The
newcomers apparently had no knowledge that the Kentuckians were foes,
for they walked up as if they were nearing their own people.
When they had approached within a few yards of the men under Clarke,
they were fired upon and two were killed. Three others were badly
wounded. The remainder—six in all—turned in flight, but were
soon taken prisoners. They were tomahawked by the red allies of
the Kentuckians; their bodies were thrown into the river; and wild
war-whoops announced this fact to the red men in the fort. These became
enraged and frightened when they discovered that Hamilton was unable to
protect them.
Clarke only smiled, for he had hoped that they would bring on a mutiny
within the walls of Vincennes, and it is exactly what occurred. Seeing
that he was unable to hold the allegiance of his own red adherents, the
once bold Hamilton decided upon capitulation. On February twenty-fourth
a white flag was displayed over the log walls, and, after a short
parley, a truce was decided upon. The Kentuckians secured fifty
thousand dollars’ worth of military stores. Besides this they detached
the Indians from the English and took away from the Britons the entire
northeast territory, which would otherwise have been held by them
when peace was concluded. Clarke, with his two hundred raw Kentucky
riflemen, had won a notable victory.