Logan to his followers. "They must be defeated. I wished to live at
peace with my white brothers, and I bore them no ill will, until they
murdered my relatives. I fear that we shall not have strength enough to
beat off these palefaces, but have courage, ye red men, and we shall
have many a scalp of these fringed shirts to hang in our wigwams."
"We will be ready," shouted his followers, and soon their wild war
cries echoed through the forests as they leaped about in a circle and
prepared their spirits for the coming battles.
Meanwhile the sturdy pioneers were collecting on the frontier and
preparing for the advance into the wilderness. General Andrew Lewis
was a stout backwoodsman who little feared the savages and had a
contempt for danger that was extraordinary. His army soon gathered
in the western mountains of Virginia, and a hardier, more energetic
body of fighters it would have been difficult to find. With droves of
pack-horses to carry their light equipment, and numbers of beef cattle
to feed upon, the men in buckskin and fringed hunting shirts finally
moved off in the direction of Ohio and the Great Kanawha. There were
one hundred and sixty miles of wilderness to pass through before the
objective point would be reached, and deep forests lay in the path
of the little army. But in the front was a veteran scout, who knew
the dense wilderness like a book, and piloted the soldiers surely and
directly to the river which they searched for.
As the small force moved through the forest, the men presented a most
picturesque appearance. The straggling sunbeams glistened upon their
long rifles and sheath knives, while their powder horns swung jauntily
from long cords across their bodies and tapped against the wooden butts
of their guns, as they were held carelessly under the right shoulders.
The twigs and branches crashed as the pack train pushed its way through
the unbroken forest, the horses snorting and whinnying, the oxen and
cows lowing and grunting, while the baaing of a few sheep added to
the general disturbance. The men marched silently, without singing or
laughing, for they were on gruesome business, and they knew that many
of their numbers would not return. In the front was Colonel Charles
Lewis--a brother of the General in charge. He was resplendent in a
scarlet coat, and this one bit of color was the only bright spot among
the yellow buckskin hunting shirts and the dark coonskin caps of the
Rangers. Surely, carefully, and courageously they moved onward upon
their mission of death, while the startled deer sped from their path
like the shadows of those departed.
Upon the last day of September the army of invasion reached its
destination and speedily formed an intrenched camp. Lewis waited for a
week for the arrival of Lord Dunmore and his men. "Egad," said he at
length, "I believe that the old fox has deserted us, and we Virginians
must fight the redskins on our own hook."
Hardly had he made the remark when a scout came running into the camp
with news that startled the vigilant commander.
"While hunting deer with Tom Briscoe," said he, "we suddenly came upon
a camp of Cornstalk's men, all of them in war paint. They fired upon us
before we could get away and killed my companion. Now I am come to tell
you that they are advancing upon you, and you will be attacked before
another sun."
"Is that so?" drawled General Lewis, lighting his pipe. "Then we must
get ready for the varmints and fight them without Lord Dunmore and his
men."
Not long after this he rose from the stump upon which he was seated and
gave orders that his brother Charles Lewis should take two regiments
and march in the direction of the Indians to reconnoitre next morning,
while he made a proper disposition of the rest of the army, in order
to support them. The two regiments had barely advanced a quarter of a
mile from the camp, when loud war whoops sounded from their front and
flanks, and they were suddenly set upon by a howling, yelping mob of
redskins. It was just about daylight, and, dropping immediately behind
stumps and fallen logs, the soldiers awaited the attack of the Indians
with calm determination. Remembering past battles with the children
of the forest, the Rangers did not heedlessly expose themselves, and
fired only when they saw the head or portion of the body of a warrior.
The firing grew hot. The yelling and screeching of the savages was
discordant and fierce, while the steady "crack, crack" from their
rifles soon began to tell upon the crouching ranks of the Virginian
volunteers. Colonel Charles Lewis was most conspicuous in his red
coat and so became an easy target for the guns of the savages. Soon,
pierced by several balls, he was obliged to leave the firing line, and,
staggering back to the camp, he perished with his face towards the foe,
still urging on the Rangers with his dying breath.
At this moment it seemed as if the redskins would triumph. Above the
din of battle Cornstalk's voice could be heard, calling, "Be strong!
Be strong!" And when a savage showed symptoms of flight, he is said to
have immediately struck him down with his tomahawk. A warrior named
Red Hawk, too, was conspicuous among his own men, urging them on to
resistance with stern voice and determined gestures. The right wing
of the Americans began to give way, the Rangers began to fall back
from the murderous bullets, but at this time reinforcements rushed
to the threatened point, and, with a yell as fierce as that of the
savages, the fresh troops crept up to the oncoming foe. The two lines
were more than a mile in length, the combatants were so close together
that they often grappled in a hand-to-hand combat, using their knives
and tomahawks freely. The crack of the rifles was mingled with the
groans of the wounded, the jeers of the Indians, the shouts of the
backwoodsmen, and the wild yells of the chiefs and commanding officers.
It was now about twelve o'clock, and the savages began to give way
before the assaults of the entire army of Virginians, who had just come
up. But, instead of retreating to a great distance, the Indians hid
behind a breastwork of fallen logs and branches which extended clean
across a neck of land which ran between the Ohio and Kanawha Rivers.
Not only had they had forethought enough to prepare this, but they had
placed men on both sides of the stream, in the rear of the Virginians,
so that if they had been defeated not one would have been able to
escape. The warriors retreated stubbornly, contesting each inch of the
way, and soon--from the protection of the stout breastwork--easily held
at bay the victorious white men. Colonel Fleming, who commanded the
left wing, was twice hit, but kept his command and continually cheered
on his men with words of confidence. When the reinforcements had
arrived at the critical moment, he was again shot--this time through
the lungs--but he still refused to give way to any other officer, and
led his men right up to the breastwork, behind which fifteen hundred
Shawanoe, Delaware, Mingo, Wyandot, and Cayuga warriors poured a rain
of bullets at the oncoming Virginians. The Rangers lay down behind the
trees and boulders of the forest and eagerly waited further orders.
General Lewis saw that he had to cripple the enemy or they would
be claiming a victory and would thus get aid from other tribes.
Seventy-five of his men had been either killed or mortally wounded,
and over one hundred were slightly disabled. It was time for action,
so, sending three companies to the rear of the breastwork, he ordered
the backwoodsmen to dash into the Indians from that direction, while
the rest of the army would swarm over the front of the fortification.
Unseen by the savages, the soldiers were soon in the forest behind
the supposedly impregnable position of the red warriors, but scouts
brought news of their advance to Cornstalk, and, believing them to be
reinforcements from Lord Dunmore, and not part of the very troops which
he had been just engaged with, the Indian War Chief ordered a retreat.
As the sun sank upon the field of battle, the Indian fighting men fell
back across the river in the direction of their towns along the Ohio
River, while cheer after cheer went up from the Virginians, as they
realized that the day of bloodshed had been ended.
The battle was over, at last, and it had been a severe struggle.
Fifty-two graves had to be dug for the dead backwoodsmen of the forest,
while half the commissioned officers were lifeless upon that bloody
field. The Indians' loss is unknown--thirty-three were found dead on
the ground which had been contended for, but, as many of their stricken
had been thrown into the river, it was impossible to ascertain exactly
how many had fallen. The probabilities are that they lost about as many
as did the whites, and thus the battle of Point Pleasant or the Great
Kanawha, in the autumn of 1774, seems to justify the assertion that it
was the most severe Indian battle that had taken place upon the soil of
America up to that time. The whites were eager for another fight, as
they wished to revenge the death of their comrades, and so, as soon as
burial services were over for those who had fallen, they again took up
the march in the direction in which the Indians had disappeared. There
were many curses against Lord Dunmore for not having joined them, as he
had promised, and several of the Virginian Rangers called him "coward"
and "traitor."
So near, indeed, had this British Governor been to the Virginians at
Point Pleasant, during the battle, that his men could easily hear
the sound of fighting when they placed their ears to the ground. He
had advanced from Pittsburg with a strong force and could certainly
have fallen upon the rear of the Indians had he so wished, but, as he
did not hurry his course, it is evident that he had no intention of
co-operating with the troops of General Lewis, as he had proposed to
do. Some have contended that he wished to sacrifice the Virginians
so as to defeat the savages himself, and secure reputation for great
prowess. This is an absurd contention, for he would speedily have been
denounced as a treacherous dog and would have suffered death from his
own men. Others have stated that he felt that the Indians' cause was
a just one, that he knew that the Virginians were soon going to rebel
against England, and thus he wished to bring peace with as little
destruction of life as possible. It is probable that he was anxious
to keep the good will of the Indians, with a view of gaining them as
allies to the mother country later on. In fact, after the American
Revolution broke out, he sent emissaries to these very savages,
asking their assistance against the people of Virginia, so his lack
of aggression in advancing to the aid of General Lewis is, therefore,
partly explained. We must remember that he was an Englishman, was
patriotic, and wished to do nothing that would hurt the interests of
the mother country.
The troops under Lord Dunmore, numbering as many as those of General
Lewis, passed through the Blue Range at Potomac Gap, and crossed into
Ohio near Wheeling, West Virginia. As the British advanced into the
Indian country, scouts came in from the Senecas and Delawares, and, on
October sixth, Lord Dunmore had a conference with them, offering terms
of peace. The savages carried his words back to the retreating warriors
who had fought at Point Pleasant, as Lord Dunmore's army pushed on
to the left bank of Sippo Creek, Ohio. Here the soldiers soon made a
fortified camp, called Camp Charlotte, and waited for emissaries from
the warlike Indians. A messenger was also sent to intercept the march
of General Lewis, telling him not to fight again, until his commanding
officer--Lord Dunmore--had had a conference with the red men, but,
smarting from the loss of his brother, and fired with the zeal for a
signal victory, Lewis felt little desire to heed the command of the
Governor, and pressed on to Congo Creek, which was within striking
distance of the Indian towns near Chillicothe, Ohio. Again Dunmore
sent him a command not to attack the Indians, and, seeing that the
Rangers were bent upon further bloodshed, he went in person to find the
Virginian leader. Drawing his sword when he met him, he said: "Sir, if
you persist in your obstinacy in disobeying my commands, I shall run
you through with this weapon. I am your commanding officer, sir." "I
will retire," answered Lewis, "but your conduct, sir, is cowardly and
treacherous to the interests of Virginia."
The Indians were now thoroughly cowed by the show of force which
the whites presented and were, therefore, contemplating peace. At a
conference at their chief town, Cornstalk arose and upbraided them
because they had not listened to his and Logan's suggestions for peace
before the bloody battle of Point Pleasant. "What will you do now?"
said he. "The Big Knife is coming on us, and we shall all be killed.
Now you must fight or we are undone." He paused for a reply, and then
added, "Now let us kill all our women and children and go out and fight
the palefaces until we die?" Still there was no answer to this brave
proposal. So, rising from the seat upon the ground, the Great Chief
struck his tomahawk into a post of the council house with a sharp,
resounding blow, exclaiming, "I will then go and make peace." "Ough!
Ough!" came from all sides. "Go and make peace." So the noted warrior
hastened to Dunmore's camp to settle the difficulties between them
immediately.
Logan was not with him; in fact, he had taken no part in these
councils, but had remained alone in the Mingo village, brooding over
the wrongs, and upon the cruel vengeance which he had taken upon the
whites for the murder of his relatives. "He is like an angry dog," said
a Delaware warrior. "His bristles are all up, but they are gradually
falling." When urged to attend the peace conference, he muttered: "I am
a warrior and not a counsellor. I will not come to the meeting, for my
people have not followed my advice."
At the conference at Camp Charlotte Cornstalk spoke for his red
brethren, and he is said to have delivered a great oration, which was
quite equal to the speeches of Patrick Henry, the great orator of the
Virginia House of Burgesses. "I have heard many orators," said Colonel
Wilson of Dunmore's staff, "but none whose power of delivery surpassed
that of Cornstalk on this occasion. His looks when addressing Dunmore
were truly grand and majestic, yet peaceful and attractive. When he
arose, he was in no wise confused or daunted, but spoke in a distinct
and audible voice, without stammering or repetition, and with peculiar
emphasis." Such was the impression which he created that a speedy
peace was agreed upon, which was to insure some years of quiet to the
frontiers of Virginia and Pennsylvania. The Indians retired to their
towns, and the army of invasion made preparations for returning to the
settlements of tide-water Virginia.
Although Logan had refused to attend the conference, Lord Dunmore
considered it most important to learn what were his future intentions
towards the whites, as he was a renowned chieftain and had quite a
following. He could, in fact, easily stir up another rebellion, should
he so wish, and thus it would be of considerable value to the whites
to obtain from him a statement to the effect that he would keep the
peace in future. Therefore, a messenger named John Gibson was sent to
the Mingo camp in order to interview the savage warrior and persuade
him to sign the peace pact. Gibson was a frontier veteran who had lived
for a long time near the Indians and knew their manners, customs,
and language as well as that of his own race. And he proved to be an
excellent emissary, for Logan talked freely to the sturdy backwoodsman.
For some time they discussed the war and its outcome, and then, weeping
bitterly, the Mingo Chieftain made a speech which will always live
as one of the finest examples of Indian eloquence recorded in the
history of the conquest of America by the whites. Gibson took the words
of Logan down in writing, bade the sad old warrior farewell, and,
turning towards the English camp, soon had presented the answer of the
noble red man to Lord Dunmore. The Governor read it in council before
the entire frontier army, among whom were Clark and Cresap, the two
backwoods soldiers to whom Logan ascribed the murder of his family.
"I appeal to the white man to say if he ever entered Logan's cabin
hungry and he gave him no meat; if ever he came cold and naked and he
clothed him not?" were the words of Logan. "During the course of the
last long and bloody war (the French and Indian War, and the Conspiracy
of Pontiac) Logan remained idle in his camp, an advocate for peace.
Such was my love for the whites that my countrymen pointed as I passed,
and said: 'Logan is the friend of the white man.' I had even thought
to have lived with you, but for the injuries of one man. Colonel
Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood and unprovoked, murdered all the
relations of Logan, not even sparing my women and children. There runs
not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. This called
on me for revenge. I have sought it. I have killed many. I have fully
glutted my vengeance. For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace;
but do not harbor a 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? Not one."
To the sad and sober thoughts of the Mingo Chief, the frontiersmen
listened with respectful attention, and in the hearts of some, no
doubt, came feelings of remorse that the lives of his own people
had been so cruelly taken. At the conclusion of the reading of this
address, Clark turned to Cresap and said: "You must be a very great
man that the Indians hold you guilty for every mean thing that has
happened." "It was not I who did this deed, but Daniel Greathouse,"
answered Cresap, "and I have half a mind to put an end to him when next
we meet, because of this brutal murder." It would have indeed been
well if someone would have made the guilty frontiersman suffer for this
cruel deed, which had wrecked the life and hopes of an Indian Chief,
who, at heart, was a friend of the pioneers, and not an enemy. The
triumph of the Anglo-Saxons had dealt a heavy blow to the one red man
of friendly intentions who resided in the country of the Ohio.
The troops under Lord Dunmore soon returned to Virginia, and, at
the outbreak of the American Revolution, took part in many of the
engagements of the first year of warfare. Proud, gloomy Logan never
recovered from the grief which the loss of his family had inspired.
His life was spent among his own people, and frequently he was engaged
in the various skirmishes and uprisings of the border. We know that he
became intemperate, and, like so many other red men of noble qualities,
became a victim of drink--a habit which lowered him in the estimation
of both the whites and those of his own race. At last, when returning
from Detroit to his own country, after assisting in making a treaty of
peace, he was murdered by a party of whites, but the details of his
death are not known.
Thus perished one of the few redskins who, at heart, was friendly
to those of a different color. One can forgive his fierce outburst
of passion against the whites, for who of us would not have been
constrained to do likewise, after the murder of our entire family,
and in cold blood? His features were noble, his form was majestic,
his words bore evidence of a mind in which only the loftiest thoughts
resided. His speech to the emissary of Lord Dunmore has been favorably
compared with the best efforts of Demosthenes and Cicero, the great
orators of Greece and Rome, and the annals of Indian warfare have
never brought to light a character of similar grandeur and majesty of
disposition. The muse of history smiles brightly upon the spirit of
Logan: the Friend of the White Man, the Great Chieftain of the Mingoes.
RED JACKET, OR SA-GO-YE-WAT-HA:
THE GREAT ORATOR OF THE SENECAS
A little schooner was about to be launched in a port of the eastern
seaboard of the United States, and crowds of people gathered around to
see the vessel take to the water. It was an event of more than usual
interest, for a tall Indian chief of majestic bearing stood at the prow
in order to speak a word of parting to the new-made hull. He placed one
hand upon the planking, and, turning to the expectant onlookers, spoke
with great feeling.
"You have a great name given to you," he said, pointing to the ship.
"Your name is Red Jacket. Strive to deserve this name. Be brave and
daring. Go boldly into the troublesome waters of the great sea and fear
neither the swift wind nor the strong waves. Be not frightened nor
overcome by them, for it is in resisting storms and tempests that I,
whose name you bear, obtained my renown. Let my great example inspire
you to courage and lead you to glory. Strike, you men! Break the
underpinning from this favored vessel and let us see it plough into the
surging ocean!" As he ceased, the stanchions which held the schooner
were knocked away, and proudly and serenely she dipped into the waters
of the blue Atlantic.
The great chief who had christened this little vessel was one of the
most famous orators who has ever existed among the Indians of America.
His birth is supposed to have taken place about the year 1750, under
a great tree which formerly stood near the spring of crystal water
at Canoga Point, on the western shores of Lake Cayuga, in western
New York. His parents were Senecas--a powerful tribe that lived at
Can-e-de-sa-ga, at the present site of Geneva, New York, and they were
members of the Iroquois confederation of Indian people. His father,
although a member of this tribe, was by birth a Cayuga--a thoughtful
and far-seeing race, who were the scholars and thinkers of the northern
Indians--and, although learned, was not a man of any prominence or
distinction. His mother is said to have had white blood in her veins,
and so the remarkable ability to express himself in a logical manner
may be traced to this taint in the blood of the eloquent Red Jacket,
who in infancy was called O-te-tiana, which signifies, "The Always
Ready."
Tradition has it that when a young man Red Jacket was remarkably fleet
of foot, so fleet, in fact, that he was employed by his people as a
"runner" or messenger. But his ambition was to become a great orator
and speaker, and thus leaving the active participation in warfare to
spirits more bold than his own, he endeavored to become the greatest
counsellor among his people. This ability to sway the thoughts and
feelings of others made him chief--a position to which he aspired, and
of which he was very jealous--and, when he came to this honor, he took
another name, according to the custom of his nation. This was the
euphonious one of Sa-go-ye-wat-ha, which means "The Keeper Awake."
But how came it that he was called Red Jacket, when these other names
were so much more distinguished and musical? This is explained by a
chronicler of this period of history, who says: "During the war of
the Revolution this Seneca warrior made himself very useful to the
British officers as a messenger. He was doubtless of great value to
them because of his intelligence and gift for oratory, and, in return
for his services, the officers presented the young man with a scarlet
jacket, very richly embroidered. He took much delight in this coat of a
flaming red, and this peculiar dress became a mark of distinction and
gave him the name by which he was afterwards best known. Even after the
war, when the Americans wished to particularly ingratiate themselves
with him, they would present him with a red jacket. The young Prince
of the wolf den would don the bright raiment with a look of immense
pride, and he was much admired by his followers as he strutted about
attired in this attractive dress." Thus Sa-go-ye-wat-ha became known by
the title of Red Jacket, a name which clung to him through life, and by
which he has been known to historians.
[Illustration: RED JACKET, OR SA-GO-YE-WAT-HA.]