CHERRY VALLEY
The next occurrences in Brant's life are even more
deplorable than those narrated in the preceding chapter.
The Cherry Valley episode can only be regarded as a sad
instance of what the use of Indian allies sometimes
involved. A peaceful farming district was devastated;
peasants were plundered and slain. It is true that some
of them were in arms against British rule, but as a whole
they were quietly engaged in farming operations, striving
to build up homes for themselves on the outskirts of
civilization. In this work of devastation and death Brant
was only second in command; the leader was a white man
and a British officer. But neither Brant nor Butler, who
commanded the expedition, was able to restrain the cruelty
and ferocity of the Indian warriors until much havoc had
been wrought.
A haze was now brooding over the Susquehanna, and the
autumn leaves were being tinged with red. The struggle
of the year 1778 seemed over and Brant decided to spend
the winter at Niagara. Accordingly he set out with a band
of warriors from his entrenched position at Unadilla and
went forward by easy stages along the old and well-beaten
Indian trail leading towards Lake Ontario. He had proceeded
well on his way when, to his surprise, a party of former
allies crossed his path in the forest. Led by Captain
Walter N. Butler, a son of Colonel John Butler, the
victorious leader at Wyoming, a body of the Tory Rangers
who had been with Brant at Oriskany were going eastward.
In 1777 their youthful officer had suffered harsh
imprisonment among the enemy, and, burning for vengeance,
he was making a late-season tramp into the rebels' country.
He had asked for a number of his father's rangers, and
his request had been granted. He was also allowed the
privilege of taking Brant along with him, should the
chieftain be found willing to join his force.
On meeting with Brant so opportunely by the way, he gave
him an outline of the measures of retaliation which he
proposed to adopt. As the scheme was unfolded, the
war-scarred chief of the Mohawks saw that he was meant
to serve under this youth of small experience. Brant
was ready for almost any work that might be of service
to his king, but he was at first reluctant to serve under
Butler. The situation between the two leaders became
strained, but at last Brant gave in; their differences
were patched up, and the two men came to friendly terms.
Orders were issued by Brant to his motley throng of
redskins, and five hundred of them reversed their march.
The united contingent of seven hundred men first headed
for the banks of the Tioga river, one of the branches of
the Susquehanna. Here a conference was held, and it was
agreed that they should make a combined attack upon the
settlers of Cherry Valley. To Butler this was more than
pleasing, eager as he was to pay off what he considered
a heavy score. The heart of the War Chief throbbed with
savage delight. A flaunting challenge still rang in his
ears; the settlers had invited him to enter their valley,
and now he would answer their gibing call. Little did
the inhabitants of Cherry Valley dream what was in store
for them. During the summer they had carried most of
their movable property to a well-built fortress. But as
everything had now grown tranquil, they had taken it back
to their homes again. Yet hardly had this been accomplished
before Colonel Ichabod Alden, commandant of the fort,
received a note from an official source telling him that
enemies were near at hand.
In spite of the trustworthy source from which it came,
Colonel Alden gave barely any heed to this warning message.
He declared that the threatened danger was but an idle
rumour, that all would be well, and that he would take
every precaution for the safety of his people. On November
9 spies were sent out in different directions with a view
to getting fuller information. One body of these went
boldly down the Susquehanna, where their own carelessness
brought about their undoing. At nightfall they lit a
fire, and, wrapping themselves up snugly, had gone fast
asleep. But to their astonishment, as they rubbed their
eyes in the light of morning, they were surrounded by a
party of Indians, were bundled off as prisoners of war,
and hurried into the presence of Brant and Butler, who
extracted much useful information from them. In the light
of this information plans were made for an immediate
attack on the settlement in Cherry Valley. The settlers
were still unsuspecting, when, on the evening of November
10, the enemy arrived within a mile of the fort and crept
to the summit of a hill densely shaded by evergreens,
and hid themselves from sight. The snow was fluttering
down, but towards morning this had changed to a drizzling
rain, and the air was thick and murky. Groping their way
forward as silently as possible, they stole upon the
slumbering cluster of habitations. Just as they came near
the edge of the village, a settler was seen riding in on
horseback. An Indian fired and wounded him. But the man
clung to his horse and pressed on heroically to sound
the alarm. Before rushing to the onslaught, the Rangers,
under the immediate command of Butler, paused a moment
to see what damage their powder had taken through the
wet. This moment was fatal for the settlement, for the
Indians now rushed on in advance and sped into the doomed
village like hounds let slip from their leashes.
The savages were now beyond control, and Brant knew that
even he could not stay the slaughter. Fiercest of all
were the Senecas, who tomahawked and slew with the
relentless fury of demons. But the War Chief thought of
the family of a Mr Wells, whom he knew and hoped that he
might save. He took a short cut for this settler's house,
but the way lay across a ploughed field, and as he ran
the earth yielded under his feet and he made slow progress
through the heavy soil. When he came to the house, he
saw that it was already too late. The Senecas and other
Indians with them had done their work. Not one of the
inmates had escaped the tomahawk.
While the attack upon the houses was in progress, the
Indians made several assaults upon the fort, but to no
avail. Their work of destruction, however, went on
unchecked among the habitations of the settlers. It was
not long before flames were mounting in every quarter.
Butler, dismayed to see the Indians so completely beyond
control, was forced to hold his regular troops in readiness
to oppose a sally from the garrison. Brant meanwhile
exerted himself in performing numerous acts of kindness,
and did what he could to check the rude violence of his
savage band. In one house he found a peasant woman working
calmly at her daily toil.
'Are you thus engaged,' he questioned, 'while all your
neighbours are murdered around you?'
'We are the king's people,' was the simple response.
'That plea will not avail you to-day,' said the chieftain.
'They have murdered Mr Wells's family, who were as dear
to me as my own.'
'But,' replied the woman, 'there is one Joseph Brant: if
he is with the Indians, he will save us.'
'I am Joseph Brant,' came the rapid answer, 'but I have
not the command, and I know not that I can save you.'
No sooner had he done speaking than his sharp eye detected
a group of Senecas coming to the house. 'Get into bed
quick,' he said abruptly, 'and feign yourself sick.' The
woman did his bidding, and the Indians when they entered
were completely deceived by her pretence. Then, as they
departed, Brant gave a piercing signal, and some of his
Mohawks gathered into the room. He had called them to
help him save this woman and her family. His mark on them
would, he believed, make them safe even in this time of
general slaughter. He had no colouring matter with him
and he asked the Mohawks to use theirs. With deft fingers
the Indians then placed the chief's own mark upon the
woman and her children in order to protect them.
'You are now probably safe,' said Brant and moved out
again into the smoke of fire and battle.
When the massacre was over, it was found that thirty or
forty settlers had escaped death and had been made
prisoners. From one of these Brant made inquiries respecting
the whereabouts of Captain McKean. He learned that this
officer had taken his family away to the Mohawk valley.
'He sent me a challenge once,' remarked Brant; 'I have
now come to accept it. He is a fine soldier thus to
retreat.'
'Captain McKean,' was the rejoinder, 'would not turn his
back upon an enemy where there was a possibility of
success.'
'I know it,' said Brant, with open generosity. 'He is a
brave man, and I would have given more to take him than
any other man in Cherry Valley. But,' he added, 'I would
not have hurt a hair of his head.'
On the evening of the day of carnage the prisoners were
led down the valley to the loyalist encampment, several
miles to the south of the fort. Fires had been lighted
on every side, and within the extensive range of these
fires the luckless captives were corralled for the night.
But the air was chill, and many who were clothed in scanty
fashion passed the hours of darkness in helpless agony
on the cold, bare ground. During the night the shrill
cries of the Indians, as they gloated over the scene of
their triumph, resounded through the forest. The spoils
were divided among the raiders, and with the dawning of
another day they set out in the direction of Niagara.
The captives were separated into small parties, and
apportioned among the different sections of the force.
They had expected little mercy from the victors, but to
their surprise clemency was shown to them. Butler had
now succeeded in reasserting his authority on their
behalf. As the marching bands came to a standstill, they
were collected together and the women and children were
released. Only the wives of two colonial officers with
their families were held captive and carried away into
the western forests. In Cherry Valley heaps of smoking
debris were all that remained. Groups of redskins still
hovered about the unhappy village until, on the following
day, they saw that an enemy was approaching. A body of
militia had come from the Mohawk river, but they were
too late; the savages, avoiding an encounter, departed,
and the scene was one of havoc and desolation. As one
chronicler has written: 'The cocks crowed from the tops
of the forest trees, and the dogs howled through the
fields and woods.'