the dangers of his situation and knew that he could not hope to hold
out against the regular soldiers, trained militia, and hordes of Indian
warriors that Hamilton would bring to the attack. He did not despair,
however, but calmly determined to make the most of circumstances, and
the good fortune which ever attended Clark in his early career here
afforded an opportunity for the exercise of his peculiar genius. In
reviewing the incidents of this important campaign, it will not do to
overlook the fact that only one man in a million would have found an
opening for action in the circumstances that afforded Clark an avenue
to victory.
In January, 1779, a Spanish trader named Vigo came to Kaskaskia. He had
recently been in Vincennes, and he imparted to Clark the news that the
Indians, according to their custom, had repaired to their villages for
the winter, and that Hamilton had but eighty men in the garrison. Vigo
also informed the American leader of the plans made by the British
commandant for the spring advance upon Kentucky. Clark instantly
decided to forestall his opponent by attacking him without delay.
During all this time,--nearly a year,--since his departure, Clark
had received no aid, nor any word, from Governor Henry, or any of
the officials of Virginia. Perhaps his wonderful success was in
large measure due to the freedom from interference that enabled him
to exercise his judgment and daring without trammel. The adventure
which he now entered upon was one that only the stoutest heart could
have contemplated without quailing. If Hamilton, with his greatly
superior resources, deemed the passage of the country between Vincennes
and Kaskaskia impracticable in winter, how much more formidable an
undertaking was it to the ill-provided force of Clark!
On the seventh of February the American leader started at the head of
one hundred and seventy men, nearly half of whom were creoles, for
Vincennes. The distance was two hundred and forty miles, and the way
lay through what was in summer time a beautiful region of woodland and
prairie, but now much of it was what the Indians called “drowned,”
that is, flooded. Fortunately, the weather was unusually mild, or the
troops must have suffered intensely from cold, for they carried little
baggage of any kind and had no tents. During the earlier stages of the
march they secured a sufficient supply of game and made enormous fires
at night, round which they slept in comparative comfort.
For a week the experiences of the party were only such as backwoodsmen
and trappers were commonly accustomed to, but at the end of this time
they reached the branches of the Wabash and the rigors of the journey
began. Their road lay first across the two forks of the Little Wabash.
These were three miles apart and hidden beneath a great lake five miles
in breadth and nowhere less than three feet in depth.
Clark immediately constructed a pirogue, with which he crossed the
first channel and erected a platform on the other side. He then ferried
his men across, and next brought the baggage over and placed it upon
the platform. Last of all, he swam the pack-horses through the stream,
reloaded them beside his temporary landing, and marched the entire
party over the flooded land to the farther fork. This was passed in a
similar manner. The passage of a little more than three miles occupied
as many days.
They had now approached within twenty miles of Vincennes, but every
step of the way hereafter was fraught with dangers and difficulties,
and progress was painfully slow. All day long they labored through
ooze, or water, which was sometimes breast-high. The floods had cleared
the country of game and the pangs of hunger were soon added to the
other privations of the desperate adventurers. Clark and his officers
directed their utmost efforts towards keeping up the spirits of the
men, for they knew that only thus could they hope to tide them over the
terrible last stages of the journey.
On the seventeenth, they reached the Embarrass River, but could find
nothing in which to cross nor a dry spot to camp upon. They passed that
night huddled together, wet and hungry, upon a small hillock that was
just clear of the water. In the morning they were cheered by the sound
of the sunrise gun at the fort, but had they known the weary way that
still lay between them and their objective, some of them must have
abandoned the struggle there and then.
Three days were now spent in building canoes. On the twentieth the men
had been two days without food, and the control that Clark maintained
of these rude levies may be inferred from the fact that they still
had the horses, which he did not propose to eat except in the last
extremity. In the course of the day, they captured a boat containing
five Frenchmen from Vincennes, and were cheered to learn that
conditions in the town remained in the state described by the trader
Vigo. In the evening a deer was caught, and the situation of the party
was thereby materially improved.
The following morning Clark ferried his troops across the river, but
found it impossible to bring his horses any farther. The captive French
were carried along, protesting that it was impossible for human beings
to reach the town by way of the intervening submerged lands. But Clark
was determined to go forward, and he led his men through the chill
waters that often came up to their necks. Thus they advanced slowly and
painfully for three miles, and at night camped upon a little knob of
wet ground.
The following morning the march was resumed, but some of the men
had become too weak to walk and these were conveyed in the canoes.
They now came to a stretch of land where the difficulties of wading
were enhanced by the presence of thick bushes. This was passed after
wearisome effort, but nightfall of the twenty-second found them still
six miles from the fort. Most of the men had clearly approached the
limits of their endurance, and it required all the encouragement of the
leader to keep them up. In this he was materially aided by “a little
antic drummer,” as he calls him in his memoir of the expedition. This
youngster seemed to have the most buoyant spirits and with his merry
quips and pranks made the men laugh in the midst of their misery. One
of the officers closes the entry in his diary for this day with the
words: “No provisions yet. Lord help us!”
This night was bitterly cold. Half an inch of ice formed on the
stagnant water. The miserable adventurers, with empty stomachs and
drenched clothing, who cowered in the open, or moved about to keep
their blood in circulation, suffered intensely. But the morning broke
with a bright sun overhead, and with their leader’s assurance that
the evening would see them at the goal for which they had striven so
valiantly, the almost exhausted men steeled themselves to a final
effort. And, indeed, they needed all the fortitude and determination
that they could summon, for the final stage of the march proved to be
the most trying of all.
Between the advancing force and Vincennes lay a broad sheet of water
without as much as a hand’s-breadth of land visible. It was four miles
across, and on the farther side of it lay dense woods. Clark once more
exhorted his men in fiery words to exert their energies to the utmost.
He then ordered one of the officers to the rear with a guard and
instructions to shoot anyone who should refuse to go forward. Having
provided this sinister rearguard, he assumed the lead and dashed into
the water, which came up to the middle of his breast.
By the time they had reached the middle of the flooded plain, cold
and exhaustion caused the weakest to faint. Their more hardy comrades
held them in their arms until the canoes could take them on board and
carry them to dry land. As long as they were able, men on the verge of
collapse struggled on, those with a little superfluous strength lending
a supporting hand or shoulder where it was sorely needed. Clark was
unceasing in his efforts to animate the poor fellows. Constantly his
voice came to them in cheery tones, joking, exhorting and praising.
Not once by word or sign did he evince the least discouragement or the
slightest thought of turning from his purpose.
When at length they reached the margin of this icy lake, the strongest
had approached the limits of their powers of endurance. Many threw
themselves down with their faces in the water, and but for the
interference of their comrades would have allowed themselves to
drown. Fires were immediately built and had hardly been started when
a providential supply of meat was secured. A party of Indian squaws
was captured in a canoe that proved to contain a large portion of the
carcass of a buffalo. Cheered by this good fortune and revived by the
food, the troops set out again in excellent spirits.
A short march brought them to a grove of trees, in which they halted.
Before them, at a distance of two miles, stood the town and fort of
Vincennes, the prize for which they had endured as much as mortal
men might. In the middle ground lay a plain over which in different
directions rode a number of creole hunters shooting ducks. Clark
despatched a party which succeeded in capturing one of the sportsmen.
From the prisoner Clark learned with some annoyance that a party
of two hundred Indians were then in the town. This would make the
armed force at the command of the British commandant four times the
number of his own men. Still he determined to proceed without delay.
He was particularly anxious to avoid killing any of the inhabitants
or Indians, whose good-will he hoped to gain. He decided, therefore,
not to rely upon the uncertain chance of a surprise but to make his
advance openly and give notice of his intended attack. The creole was
despatched to the town with a message to the inhabitants stating that
if they observed strict neutrality and remained in their houses during
the fighting, no harm would befall them.
At sundown Clark marched his men in regular ranks against Vincennes. As
he had anticipated, the creole population offered no resistance and the
town was occupied without any opposition. The proclamation had not only
induced the inhabitants to passivity but had also caused the Indians,
who were not in a fighting temper, to take their departure. One of the
chiefs offered to support Clark with his band but the American leader
declined the aid, saying that if the Indians would refrain from any
interference he would ask no more of them.
During the night Clark took advantage of the darkness to throw up
intrenchments against the fort, and at sunrise the garrison found
the Americans in a strong position. Firing was at once commenced and
maintained during the next few hours, with the result that six or seven
of the defenders were killed, or wounded, while the attacking party
suffered no loss. Before midday Clark sent forward a flag of truce
with a demand upon the fort to surrender. His troops took advantage of
the short lull in hostilities to eat a hearty breakfast, which was the
first sufficient meal any of them had enjoyed in six days.
Hamilton refused to capitulate but proposed a truce for three days.
This proposition Clark, of course, instantly rejected and hostilities
were resumed. After further losses on the side of the British it became
apparent that the Detroit militia were weakening, although the regulars
held firm. At the approach of evening Hamilton proposed a meeting of
the respective commanders, and they accordingly repaired to an old
French church in the vicinity. After considerable discussion, Hamilton
agreed that his garrison of seventy-nine men should surrender as
prisoners of war.
This was a most notable achievement. Clark had without the loss of a
man taken a strong fort defended by trained soldiers and protected by
cannon. It was also highly important in its results, for it assured to
the infant republic a large territory and saved the Kentuckians from an
attack which would surely have overwhelmed them. In the contemplation
of the exploits of the Revolutionary heroes this splendid performance
of the “Hannibal of the West” is too frequently overlooked or not
properly appreciated.
Clark sent Hamilton and a score or more of the prisoners to Virginia.
The remainder he paroled. Reinforcements soon arrived and strong
garrisons were placed in the captured posts. The Indians were placated
and in many cases friendly relations were established with them. They
soon learned to have the greatest confidence in Clark, and up to the
time of his death he exercised an influence over them to which few
other white men attained.
X.
A FEAT OF STRENGTH
The warriors and their prisoners start for the Indian country--Boone
lightens the journey and puts the captors in good humor--Stephen
Halliwell falls ill of a fever--He is in danger of being tomahawked
by the savages--Boone undertakes the care of the feeble man--“No
Indian shall raise your hair whilst I can raise a hand to prevent
it”--Halliwell is doomed to death but Boone stays the executioners--He
carries the exhausted man over the last stage of the march--The party
arrives at Chillicothe--Boone and others are taken to the British post
at Detroit.
The month of February, 1778, was unusually mild. A few inches of snow
fell during the night following the capture of Boone and his men but
the next day a thaw set in. The condition of the ground rendered
walking tiresome and disagreeable and made it difficult to secure a dry
bed at night. It also obliterated ordinary traces and almost precluded
the possibility of pursuers finding and following the trail of the band
of Indians and their prisoners. Boone noted this circumstance with
satisfaction. His chief anxiety now was lest the men of Boonesborough
should attempt a rescue, which could only end in disaster and might
induce the savages to revert to their original design of attacking
the fort. Before starting upon the march he instructed his men not
to resort to any of the usual devices for creating a trace, such as
leaving scraps of clothing on bushes, breaking off twigs, pieces of
bark, and so on.
The Indians divided their captives into three equal squads of nine
each, and themselves into four bodies of twenty-five warriors,
sandwiching the former between the latter, and this order was
maintained upon the daily march. The whites had, of course, been
deprived of their weapons and could not have made any concerted attack
on their captors with the least chance of success. Any individual
attempt at escape during daylight must have been even more hopeless.
A consignment of salt having been sent to Boonesborough a few days
before the capture, there was but one pack-horse in the camp at the
licks when it fell into the hands of the Indians. This animal was
loaded with as much of the plunder as it could carry and the heavy
rifles were distributed among the Indian ponies, but the arrangement
left a large amount of baggage unprovided with carriage and this was
distributed among the prisoners. Each had a burden of fifty or sixty
pounds, which consisted largely of the blankets and skins with which
he was permitted to cover himself at night. Such a load would tire
the ordinary man in an hour, but these hardy backwoodsmen could carry
it all day and over fifteen miles of heavy ground, not without great
fatigue, of course, but without breaking down. Thus they tramped
along under the dripping boughs of the silent forest, their moccasins
squelching the spongy earth and their long hair hanging wet and stringy
about their necks.
At night the camp was pitched in some place that afforded natural
protection from the wind, and this was, perhaps, supplemented by a
screen of boughs. Game was plentiful that season and they suffered
nothing from lack of food. Whilst the Indians naturally retained for
themselves the choicest portions, the prisoners received sufficient to
satisfy their appetites. In the centre of the camp a large fire was
made and around this the twenty-seven white men stretched themselves
to sleep, with their feet towards the blazing logs. This group was
encircled by a ring of smaller fires at which the hundred savages lay
close together, forming a human belt round the encampment.
The arrangement was a sufficiently comfortable one for the captives,
but it presented little prospect of escape. The prisoners lay in the
full glare of the girdle of flame and could not stir whilst an Indian
remained awake without attracting attention. But even though every one
of them was sunk in slumber it would be a task of the utmost difficulty
to pass through their prostrate ranks undetected, for the savage has
the dog-like habit of sleeping with senses on the alert. The slightest
sound, a strange smell, the lightest touch, will arouse him to full
intelligence in an instant.
No doubt Boone might have effected his escape had he been so minded.
He was one of the few frontiersmen who acquired the peculiarly subtle
qualities of the savages, and even excelled the craftiest of them in
many respects. No redskin could wriggle over the ground more stealthily
than he, nor tread the earth with less disturbance. He knew the
character of the Indians thoroughly, and this knowledge he turned to
account in the several instances that he fell into their hands. From
the first moment of capture, he always turned his attention to arousing
a desirable condition of mind in his captors, and this will account for
the fact that they invariably treated him well.
He knew how to play upon their feelings, how to tickle their sense of
humor, how to excite their self esteem, how to allay their suspicions.
He would interest them with stories of the white folks. He would
entertain them with feats of strength or dexterity. He would gratify
them by imparting some bit of useful knowledge or some practical
suggestion. Or, mindful of their love of debate, he would lead them
into some discussion, taking care, whilst infusing sufficient zest
into his contention, to leave his dusky opponents final masters of the
argument.
And all the while he would maintain a perfect appearance of the utmost
unconcern with regard to himself and his fate. Never by word, look,
or gesture would he display the slightest fear or uneasiness of mind.
As a matter of fact, this attitude was in complete consonance with
the state of his feelings. From his first capture by Indians, during
his expedition to Kentucky in 1769, until the day of his death, Boone
always felt, when in their hands, the utmost confidence in his ability
to influence them and to make his escape from them. No band ever held
him prisoner without coming under the spell of his magnetism and
admiring his calm self-possession. If any other man enjoyed the same
exemption from fear of the redskins, and possessed the same power of
arousing their better natures, it was George Rogers Clark.
As we have intimated, to have given his present captors the slip would
have been no great feat on the part of Boone, but he did not entertain
the idea. In the first place, he was restrained by the conviction that
the loss of their chief prize would arouse the savages to fury and
prompt them to wreak vengeance upon the other captives. Furthermore,
he considered it his duty to remain with his men, who had no one among
them capable of filling his place as leader or counsellor. Had Boone
entertained any different ideas, circumstances which arose at the close
of the first day’s march would have put them to rout.
In the squad of prisoners that included Boone was a young fellow named
Stephen Halliwell, who had been sickening for days previous to the
capture. By almost superhuman effort he got through the first march
and when camp was reached fell upon the ground in a state of collapse.
Boone was seriously concerned about the man, but not so much on account
of his fever as because it was the invariable practice of the Indians
to tomahawk sick or weak prisoners in order that they should not impede
progress. Boone made a comfortable bed for the sufferer beside himself,
using most of his own covering in doing so, and he exerted himself more
than ever that night to put the Indians round the camp fires in good
humor.
The next morning poor Halliwell braced himself for the fearful struggle
of another day. Boone had learned from the Indians that they expected
to reach their town at the close of the third full day’s march. This
prospect alone gave the fever-stricken man the courage to proceed.
Boone carried Halliwell’s pack in addition to his own and the sick
man’s comrades took turns in supporting his tottering steps. Many
a sinister glance was cast by the nearby savages at the evidently
exhausted captive, but Boone was ever ready to avert the impending
doom. He tramped along carelessly, almost jauntily, under his double
load and constantly kept the neighboring redskins entertained--now he
joked with them, offering to match himself against any squaw in their
tribe at carrying a pack; now he pointed to the faint trace of some
game animal that had lately passed that way and started a discussion of
the best manner of tracking it. Anon he gave them a description of one
of the great coast towns of the “Long Knives,” of which he knew only
by hearsay. Again he sang a song or started a contest in mimicry with
some brave, each being required to imitate the cries of certain beasts
and birds. And so the weary day drew to a close and Halliwell, almost
carried by one of his companions, reached the night’s camp.
The sick man was in a sorry plight. He had neither the will nor the
power to make the slightest effort for himself. He dropped almost
inanimate and so lay until Boone and another made his bed and rolled
him in the blankets. A large stone was then heated in the fire and
placed at his feet, with the object of producing a sweat. He was with
difficulty induced to swallow a little broth, and then lay for hours in
a semi-comatose condition, groaning feebly.
Towards midnight Halliwell awoke from a brief and restless slumber and
turned to Boone, who was watching him.
“Captain,” said the sick man, in feeble tones--“Captain, you’ve done
all you could for me and more than I had a right to expect, but I’m
afraid it’s no use. I’ve shot my bolt, Captain.” The last words were
uttered with an air of the deepest despair. A moment after, ashamed at
the show of weakness, he continued, with a pitiful attempt at bravado:
“I’m half minded to ask you to whip my scalp off, Captain, so as to
cheat these red devils.”
“You’ve got to make a better stand than that, Steve,” replied Boone.
“If I’d had any idea of letting you lose your scalp, I shouldn’t
have gone to the trouble of carrying your pack to-day. We haven’t
got to to-morrow yet. Now you go to sleep and don’t worry until
worrying can do you some good, which’ll be never. If it’ll give you
any satisfaction, I’ll say this much. No Indian shall raise your hair
whilst I can raise a hand to prevent it.”
This assurance evidently cheered the wretched man. With a sigh of
relief, he composed himself to sleep, whilst Boone rearranged his
coverings.
The morning of the third and last day’s march opened to find Halliwell
quite incapable of going farther. He could hardly stand, and his legs
bent under him when he attempted to walk. As his dismayed companions
stood around him, at a loss what to do, two warriors approached,
tomahawk in hand. They had been ordered to do away with the unfortunate
man, who had already occasioned sufficient delay in the start to excite
the impatience of the Indians.
Boone stepped between the appointed executioners and their intended
victim, and with upraised hand motioned them to stop. There was
something in the quiet air of command that constrained the savages to
obey the unarmed man. Boone then addressed the five chiefs, who stood
together at a short distance. He said that it would serve no good
purpose to kill the man and might bring great trouble upon themselves.
If their only object was the professed one of avoiding delay, it might
be accomplished without recourse to the measure they contemplated. He
would carry the sick man through the last stage of the journey and
would undertake that they should not impede the march. If he failed to
fulfill his promise, they might tomahawk both himself and his charge.