confronted him. He ran to a large tree for protection, but immediately
afterwards three Indians shot at him from behind, making the bark
fly near his head. He sought a new retreat, but with similar result.
Finding that he was surrounded by the savages and could not secure
effective cover, he determined to run the gauntlet of their fusillade.
Accordingly, he set out for the fort with all the speed he could
command and, like his brothers, arrived unhurt.
The Indians now attacked the stockade, which was but poorly garrisoned.
A hot fight was maintained for more than two hours, the men being aided
in the defence by the women, some of whom stood to port-holes whilst
others loaded spare rifles. Warned by their scouts that reinforcements
were on the way, the Indians abandoned the attack and retreated.
Hardly had the redskins disappeared from before McAfee’s than Major
McGary arrived with forty men from neighboring stations. They
immediately took up the pursuit and came in contact with the enemy
before they had covered two miles. McGary’s men, who had been joined
by the McAfees and others, made a vigorous attack, before which the
savages fled. They were pursued for several miles and completely routed
with heavy loss.
Aptly has 1782 been termed the “bloody year” of Kentucky’s history. It
witnessed the most terrible disasters that ever befell the settlers on
“the dark and bloody ground.” We shall come presently to an account of
the disastrous Battle of the Blue Licks, but will first describe two
affairs that happened in the same year.
The annihilation of Captain Laughrey’s expedition was the more serious,
though the less interesting of these. Laughrey was coming down the Ohio
with a force of one hundred and seven men, designed to reinforce the
Kentuckians. At a point near the mouth of the Miami he was attacked by
a large body of Indians and his entire party was killed or captured.
It is a remarkable fact that when the whites and redskins were
pitted against each other in large bodies, the latter were generally
victorious. The backwoodsman always gave the best account of himself
when alone or when acting with one or two companions. A few men of
the stamp of Boone and Kenton could withstand five times their number
of savages. Thus it was that the Indians held rather a contemptuous
estimate of the whites in general, and had by contrast an exaggerated
opinion of the prowess of Boone and a few others.
In May Estill’s Station was attacked by a party of Wyandots. After
killing one of the settlers and securing a prisoner they slaughtered
the cattle in the neighboring fields and retreated. Captain Estill
assembled twenty-five men and went in pursuit of the Indians. They
had crossed the Licking and entered a narrow valley. He overtook them
as they were about to leave it. As soon as the Indians perceived the
whites, they halted and took up position under cover to await them.
The Wyandots were distinguished for bravery above all the tribes in
that part of the country. They were rendered especially formidable
adversaries from the fact that they would maintain a stand under heavy
loss, which none of the other tribes would do. The Shawnees, Mingos,
and other savages with whom the Kentuckians came in contact, invariably
retreated upon the loss of a few of their number. This was not the
result of cowardice but of calculation. They justly reasoned that their
warriors were so few as compared with the whites that a victory might
easily be too dearly bought at the expense of ten or twenty of them.
The Wyandots, however, would sometimes lose half their number engaged
and still continue the fight.
Estill advanced his men to within eighty yards of the Indians, who
had each taken shelter behind a tree, and made a similar disposition
of them. The Indians slightly outnumbered their adversaries and had
somewhat the advantage of position. They also excelled in the matter of
taking cover, but were inferior to the backwoodsmen in marksmanship.
At the outset the whites gained an advantage by wounding the chief of
the Wyandots. Seeing him fall, his men began to waver but he was almost
instantly upon his feet again and, supporting himself against the trunk
of a tree, he continued to encourage the warriors.
The combat was carried on for upwards of an hour with the utmost
determination on both sides. The whites had lost six or seven men and
several more were wounded, the casualties among the Indians being
about the same. But there was no sign of giving way in their ranks and
Captain Estill began to be impatient to bring the affair to an issue.
Considering how closely contested had been the fight, it is difficult
to understand how Estill could have entertained the idea of weakening
his line. He did, however, decide to detach six men and an officer in a
flanking movement. The party was placed in charge of Lieutenant Miller,
who was instructed to steal round under cover and take the enemy in
flank or rear.
Estill now faced the Indians with only twelve men, four of whom were
wounded. His weakened condition became apparent to the enemy before
Miller had had time to execute his movement. Urged on by their chief,
the Wyandots rushed upon the whites and forced them to retreat.
Pursuing closely, the savages killed eight of the backwoodsmen, and
among them Captain Estill.
Of Miller’s party but two escaped, including that officer, who was
afterwards accused of failure to carry out his instructions. Whether
or not Miller was remiss in his duty, Estill cannot be relieved of the
prime responsibility for the disaster.
The Indians were reported to have lost thirteen of their number.
Shawnees would have retired after three or four men had fallen.
The marked increase of immigration during the two years preceding this
time had wrought the Indians up to a high pitch of resentment. Despite
their successes, they saw that the whites were able to oppose fresh
men to them without apparent abatement of numbers. They realized that
unless the Long Knives were speedily driven from Kentucky they would
become rooted to the soil.
During the winter of 1782 the chiefs of the northwestern tribes held
many councils and debated upon a concerted invasion of Kentucky. They
made the usual appeal to the authorities at Detroit, but on this
occasion found them unwontedly lukewarm. The surrender of Cornwallis in
the previous October had taken the heart out of the British in Canada,
and they were more disposed to think of defence than to consider
aggression.
Two white men had great influence in the councils of the Indians.
These were Alexander McKee and Simon Girty. The former was a British
agent among the tribes, who had gained an unenviable notoriety for
the atrocities committed with his sanction, if not actually at his
instigation. Doubtless, the backwoodsmen of Kentucky, who execrated
his name, exaggerated McKee’s villany, but enough is known on good
authority to stamp him as one of the most cruel and hardened wretches
of his time.
Simon Girty was one of four brothers who were natives of Pennsylvania.
Whilst they were children their father was slain by Indians. The mother
remarried and soon afterwards the entire family was captured by the
redskins, who burnt the stepfather in the presence of his wife and her
children. The woman and the boys were then sent to different towns of
the northwestern Indians.
After many years’ captivity, they all secured their freedom. Simon, as
has been said elsewhere, served as a soldier and scout in Dunmore’s
War. But association with the whites was irksome to the man, who was by
taste, habits, and education a redskin. He soon returned to the Indians
and was readily admitted to a position of leadership among them.
Girty acknowledged allegiance to the British, and although he held no
official position under the Crown, had the protection and countenance
of the authorities in Canada and was permitted to establish a
trading-post in the territory. He was a close companion and confidant
of McKee. In fact they were kindred spirits, and it would be difficult
to say which was the greater scoundrel, or the more inhuman monster.
Girty had all the ferocity and bloodthirstiness of the worst Indians.
He delighted in their most refined cruelties and looked on with glee
whilst helpless white women and children were put to the torture, or
butchered in cold blood. He excited the passions of the savages and
urged them to deeds of violence and barbarism. He frequently led them
in their attacks upon the settlements, and many of the most successful
expeditions were of his planning.
Of such an evil and malignant disposition was this man that it is
difficult to understand his interposition in the case of Kenton. Of
the much that is recorded and rumored of Girty, this is the solitary
act that redounds to his credit. He does not appear to have had the
redeeming quality of courage, but found a substitute for it in cunning
and treachery.
Under the advice of McKee and Girty the Indians formed a plan for
attacking the Kentucky settlements. In the summer of 1782, five hundred
warriors of the Shawnees, Wyandots, Miamis, and other tribes assembled
at Chillicothe, prepared to march under the guidance of the renegade
and his friend, the British agent.
XIX.
SIMON GIRTY, RENEGADE
Hardy goes on a lone scout--He encounters a mysterious stranger--And
recognizes an enemy--“If you make a sound or signal, you are a dead
man”--The ride to the fort and the warning--Hardy reconnoitres
the Indian camp--And makes a long ride to bring aid to Bryan’s
Station--Girty and his Indians invest the stockade--They plan a
stratagem and are caught in their own trap--They attack in force
and are repulsed--Relief from Lexington--Girty tries to cajole the
garrison--The defenders disregard his threats and promises--“You see
this cur? He’s called Simon Girty. We couldn’t think of a better name
for him”--The Indians depart as suddenly as they came.
Kenton and Hardy, who for months had been engaged making reconnoissances,
accompanying expeditions, and guiding settlers, separated early in
August, leaving Boonesborough in different directions. Kenton proposed
to range through the country northward to the Ohio, whilst Hardy should
strike west until reaching Lexington and Bryan’s, and should scout
thence to the river, somewhere upon the southern bank of which the
comrades expected to encounter each other in the course of a few weeks.
They moved lightly, carrying nothing but their arms and ammunition and
a little parched corn in their wallets.
On the morning of the third day after parting with Kenton, Hardy was
passing along the timber-covered ridge that formed the eastern boundary
of the valley in which lay Bryan’s Station. The surrounding open
country had been a favorite resort of buffalo, elk, and other large
game, when the first settlers arrived, but these animals were fast
disappearing. As the scout’s eyes swept the beautiful panorama that
lay spread before them, not a living object presented itself to his
observant gaze.
Presently the scout’s ear caught the soft pad of hoofs upon the grassy
slope and he turned to see a horseman coming towards him at a lope. As
he came nearer, a white man was revealed, mounted upon an unusually
fine animal. On reaching the spot where Hardy stood he drew rein and
sprang to the ground.
“Hallo, young man! Can you tell me where I am?” cried the stranger.
“You are about three miles from Bryan’s. Where did you want to be?”
replied Hardy, a little nettled by something in the other’s manner.
“That’s all right! I am on my way to Bryan’s. Know, the country
hereabouts?”
Hardy admitted that he was tolerably well acquainted with it and, in
response to the stranger’s gestured invitation, sat down on one end of
a fallen tree. The stranger took a seat at the other, with the horse’s
bridle over his arm.
“My name’s Beatty. I’m from Pennsylvania. Came in with a train, but
they’re about ten miles behind. We think of settling hereabouts.”
Hardy was not entirely satisfied with this statement. Neither the man
nor the horse seemed to fit with it. The latter was as fine an animal
as Hardy had ever seen in Kentucky and not at all like the kind of
beast a settler might be expected to ride. As to the stranger, whilst
he wore the usual backwoods costume, it was ornamented with a profusion
of beading and feathers such as adorned the dress of Indian chiefs.
Hardy did not betray the uneasiness excited in him by the stranger’s
appearance and which increased with closer observation. He cautiously
answered the other’s questions whilst closely scrutinizing him.
Beatty, as he called himself, was anxious to know the number and
distribution of the settlers in that part of Kentucky, and to secure
other information such as one contemplating taking up land might
naturally desire. Nevertheless, Hardy’s vague suspicion prompted him to
return deceptive answers whilst simulating the utmost candor.
Truly the appearance of the professed settler was not such as to
inspire confidence. He was an undersized but well-knit man with a small
bullet head. Although he had in reality not reached his thirtieth year,
the seamed countenance gave the impression of much greater age. It was
an evil face. The eyes were black, close set, and snake-like. Their
glance was at once furtive and sinister. The swarthy surface of the
face was startlingly broken by a broad scar extending from the forehead
to the jaw upon the right side. The ears, round and flat, stood out
from the head like those of a bat. High cheek-bones flanked a thin
aquiline nose, beneath which stretched a straight, almost lipless,
mouth.
Hardy was an unusually plucky young man, but he felt cold chills
running up and down his spine as he looked at the stranger. From the
first moment of their encounter he had been repelled by him and the
sensation of distrust and aversion grew with every moment. But more
predominant than any other feeling was a sense of having met the man
before. This he knew was not the case but still the idea that he had
seen this sinister-looking individual somewhere held possession of him.
Suddenly the truth flashed upon his mind. He knew the man seated at the
other end of the log.
Whilst continuing with apparent frankness to reply to the stranger’s
enquiries, Hardy carelessly brought his rifle across his knees and
gradually moved it until his hand was upon the trigger and the muzzle
pointed at the breast of the man beside him.
“Don’t move!” he said in low but determined tones. “No doubt your
Indian friends are within call, but if you make a sound or signal you
are a dead man. Sit still! I ought to kill you, Simon Girty, and I
believe that I would but that you once saved the life of a friend of
mine. I’ll pay that debt, but after this, if ever I get a chance----”
Girty’s hand stole towards his rifle, which rested upon the tree-trunk
beside him, but the action did not escape the sharp eye of the scout.
“Stop it!” cried Hardy. “Now understand me. If you try any tricks,
I’ll blow the top of your head off without hesitation. It would be my
easiest way, anyhow.”
The tone of the scout’s voice and the look in his eyes conveyed to the
other an assurance that the threat was no idle one. He sat rigid and
listened, as Hardy proceeded.
“Leave your rifle where it is. Get up and lead your horse straight
ahead and keep your hand away from your belt. I shall be a yard behind
you.”
Girty rose and walked forward as directed. When they had covered about
one hundred yards, Hardy took the bridle from the renegade.
“Now walk over to that tree,” said Hardy, keeping the rifle
threateningly pointed. “You may be good at throwing the hatchet. A
little farther--that’s it. Now, good-by, Girty, for the present.”
With that Hardy sprang upon the back of the horse, dug his heels into
its flanks, and dashed off down the slope towards Bryan’s Station.
In a few minutes Hardy reached the fort. He warned the settlers that
Girty, doubtless with a large band of redskins at his back, was in the
neighborhood. Immediately the place was in the bustle of preparation.
Runners were despatched in every direction to bring in the people from
the surrounding farms. As many of the cattle and horses as possible
were driven into the stockade. The women and girls busied themselves
carrying water from the spring. Men hastily inspected the defences and
repaired, as well as they could, defective places. At the same time, a
mounted messenger was sent to Lexington with the news and a request for
aid.
In the meanwhile, Hardy was not idle. He surmised that the main body of
the Indians had been some miles behind Girty and he conjectured that,
after the incident which has been described, they would enter into one
of their protracted powwows before continuing the advance. It was quite
probable, therefore, that the attack would be deferred for some hours
or until the next day.
These considerations prompted Hardy to make a reconnoissance
with a view to ascertaining the strength and composition of the
attacking party. The country around Bryan’s was, as has been stated,
comparatively open. Hardy believed, with correctness, as the event
proved, that the Indians were about seven or eight miles distant. In
order to get around to their rear undiscovered it was necessary that
he should make a détour of about twelve miles. Fortunately, he had
Girty’s particularly fine horse, which was quite fresh.
Early in the afternoon, after making a wide circle, Hardy struck the
trail over which the Indians had passed some hours before. He rode
forward upon it until he came within a mile of the party. He then tied
his horse to a tree and advanced cautiously under cover. As he had
anticipated, the redskins had halted and were deliberating a change of
plan. Between five and six hundred warriors were present, but the scout
was relieved to find that they had no artillery.
Having gained all the information that he sought, Hardy made his way
back to the place where he had left his horse and rode away. He reached
Bryan’s in the evening and learned that, whilst Indian scouts had
been observed in the vicinity, no large body of savages had made its
appearance. The little garrison was filled with anxiety on learning the
strength of the attackers and began to look eagerly for reinforcements.
As soon as Hardy had allowed his horse a few hours’ rest, he started
for Boonesborough, fifty-five miles distant, to summon assistance.
Bryan’s Station was a little more than five miles from the larger
settlement of Lexington. It was situated on the southern bank of the
Elkhorn, one side of the stockade being within a few hundred feet
of the river. The fort was formed of two parallel rows of cabins,
containing forty in all, connected by strong palisades and reinforced
by blockhouses at each end. The garrison consisted of fifty men at
this time, besides whom there were at least an equal number of women
and children in the place. There was a good supply of ammunition and
provisions on hand, and the general conditions favored the ability
of settlers to stand a lengthy siege, provided they should not be
overwhelmed by weight of numbers.
On the morning following the alarm the scouts from the garrison
reported large bodies of the Indians to be in the neighborhood, and
the settlers stood to their arms in expectation of the attack. Girty
did not disclose the strength of his force, of which he believed the
garrison to be in ignorance. Instead, he secreted his main body in some
neighboring thickets and attempted a ruse.
A party of about fifty warriors was advanced against the fort with
instructions to feign a determined assault but after a while to retreat
as though in flight. Girty hoped by this stratagem to induce the
defenders to issue in pursuit, when he would advance at the head of
four hundred Indians, seize the stockade, and take the settlers in the
rear.
Had the garrison not been forewarned by Hardy of the number of the
attackers, the plan of the wily renegade might have succeeded. As it
was, the settlers suspected the object of the feint and met it with a
counter-stratagem. Thirteen active young men were sent out in pursuit
of the retiring warriors, whilst the remainder of the garrison stood
ready to repel the attack which they expected upon the other side of
the stockade.
Girty heard the firing and the designedly loud shouts of the young men
as they followed the redskins towards the woods. He supposed that the
garrison had left the fort and confidently advanced to the nearest
gate, anticipating easy possession. There was nothing in the appearance
of the place to undeceive him as he approached, followed by a horde
of painted savages. Not a head was visible; not a muzzle showed from
port-hole.
The redskins were allowed to advance to within fifty yards of the
palisades. Then a staggering fire was poured upon them. They stopped,
amazed, and aimlessly discharged their guns in the direction of the
fort. The garrison replied with another well-directed fusillade, and as
the savages broke and began to run, volley after volley was poured into
their panic-stricken ranks.
The thirteen men who had been despatched in pursuit of the former party
of Indians, now reëntered the stockade. Their presence was needed,
for after a brief interval the main body of the redskins returned in
an attack better sustained than their first essay. The onslaught was
maintained for several hours with a vigor that taxed the defenders to
the utmost. Urged on by Girty and McKee, the redskins rushed upon the
stockade again and again. But the garrison always reserved its fire
until the assailants were so near that every shot told. Never an Indian
passed that fifty-yard line but met his death. Now and again, one,
more determined than his fellows, gained to the palisade and clambered
upon it, only to be stricken down by the tomahawk of the nearest
backwoodsman.
At about one o’clock in the afternoon the redskins withdrew on hearing
from their scouts that a reinforcement was approaching. This timely
succour consisted of a body of fifty men from Lexington. The force
was about equally composed of horsemen and others on foot. When they
approached the station, it was agreed that the mounted contingent
should keep to the beaten trail and charge through the besiegers,
whilst the men on foot should make their way to the fort under cover of
some favoring cornfields.
The former party rode through the waiting Indians under a shower of
bullets and entered the stockade without the loss of a man. They
had succeeded in diverting attention from their companions, who
were well hidden by the standing corn and should have arrived at
their destination with equal safety. By some mischance, however,
they blundered on to the road and were discovered by the savages.
Fortunately the fort was near at hand, but in the rush to that refuge
six men fell.
This accession to the garrison, indicating as it did that further
reinforcements might be looked for ere long, whilst it greatly
heartened the defenders had the reverse effect upon the Indians. The
chiefs were seriously alarmed, and apprehensive lest the expedition
should be cut off from retreat. They were disposed to retire without
delay to their own country. However, Girty diverted them from their
purpose. He harangued them with the greatest earnestness, urging
persistence. He reminded them that it was becoming ever more difficult
for them to muster such a force as was present, whilst the whites were
constantly growing stronger and more numerous. He warned them that
if they forewent this opportunity to drive the Long Knives from the
country, another would never present itself. His vindictive eloquence
prevailed, and the chiefs agreed once more to place the warriors at his
disposal.
The next day Girty endeavored to cajole the garrison into surrender. He
had been wounded by a ball in the thigh, and now he crawled to a stump
near the stockade under protection of a white flag. Captain Robert
Patterson, who had led the reinforcement from Lexington, being the
senior officer present, was in command. He went to the gate with others
to hear what the renegade had to say.