IN WHICH NATHAN TAKES PART IN THE BATTLE OF WYOMING
Barnabas and his companions checked their horses, and for several
minutes they sat still in the saddle, gazing with stirring emotions on
the peaceful and beautiful scene. In vain they listened for hostile
shots; in vain they scanned the horizon for the smoke and flames of
burning dwellings.
"We've come in time!" exclaimed Nathan.
"We have, lad; no doubt of it," assented Barnabas. "God grant the rest
of the force get here before the trouble begins. And now let's be
pushing down to the fort."
"Hold on, comrades," said Abel Cutbush. "Here our ways must separate.
I'm a married man, and I'm going to strike fur Wilkesbarre, where my
wife and child will be expecting me."
"They may be yonder at the fort," suggested Barnabas.
"Perhaps, man," was the reply; "but I'll look at home first."
So, with a few words of farewell, Cutbush turned sharply off to
the left. The other four urged their steeds cautiously down the
mountainside, and without mishap they reached the valley. They crossed
the Susquehanna by a fording, spurred up the farther bank, and were
shortly challenged by watchful sentries. A little later they rode
triumphantly through the gates of Forty Fort, which was a large,
stockaded inclosure with double rows of huts inside.
Here thrilling sights were to be seen, and it was evident that a battle
or a siege was shortly expected. The fort was full of men, women, and
children. The former were hard at work, cleaning and loading muskets,
measuring out powder and ball, and repairing clothes and shoes for a
march. Many of these eager defenders ranged in age from fourteen to
sixteen, and there were also a number of very old men. The little
children were prattling and playing as though they had been brought to
the fort for a holiday. Of the women, some had given way to utter grief
and were weeping bitterly; others, more stout of heart, were cheering
and encouraging their husbands.
Barnabas and his companions were joyfully greeted, many friends and
relatives pressing around to clasp their hands. When the first
excitement was over Colonel Zebulon Butler pushed to the spot,
accompanied by his associate officers, Colonels Denison and Dorrance.
"My brave fellows, you are heartily welcome," cried Colonel Butler. "Do
you come from Washington? What news do you bring? Where are the rest of
the Wyoming men?"
"A couple of days' march behind, sir," replied Barnabas, in answer to
the latter question. Then he briefly went on to tell of the battle of
Monmouth, the departure of the Wyoming troops, and the subsequent
adventures of his own little party. Men and women listened to the
narrative with breathless attention, and when they learned of the
uncertain fate of Captain Stanbury--who was known and liked throughout
the valley--Nathan was the recipient of numerous looks and words of
sympathy. But all other news dwindled to insignificance beside the fact
that the relieving force was still miles away, and how sorely the absent
ones were needed Barnabas and his friends soon understood.
It appeared, according to Colonel Butler's hasty account, that the enemy
had entered the head of the valley on the 30th of June. They numbered
more than a thousand in all, six or seven hundred of them being
blood-thirsty Seneca Indians under the terrible half-breed Brandt, and
the remainder consisting of Colonel John Butler's Rangers, Captain
Caldwell's Royal Greens, and Tories from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and
New York. Colonel John Butler, who was in no wise related to the patriot
leader, was in full command.
The enemy were too strong in numbers to be successfully resisted, and
since the first of July they had ruthlessly murdered half a score of
settlers, taken possession of Fort Jenkins, the uppermost one in the
valley, and had advanced to the next fort, called Wintermoot's. Here
they now were, on this morning of the 3d of July, and it was believed
that they were preparing to move on Forty Fort.
"So you see that the situation is critical," Colonel Butler concluded.
"We have not yet decided what to do, but the day can hardly pass without
action of some sort. It is useless to hope for aid from the relieving
force--they cannot arrive in time. The little army assembled here now
under my command, is all we can count upon. They have come mostly from
the neighboring lower part of the valley. A few companies of our home
regiment are unfortunately in the outer settlements, and they can't
reach us inside of twenty-four hours."
"Then we must get along without them, sir," exclaimed Barnabas. "We'll
give the Tories such a lesson as Washington gave Clinton at Monmouth a
few days ago."
"God grant that we may!" Colonel Butler said fervently. "I expect word
shortly concerning the movements of the enemy, and then will be the time
to form our plans. And now, my good men, I want to thank you for your
heroic march. You will be provided with food, and everything else you
may need, and I shall depend on your support in the coming struggle."
"You are sure to have it, sir," declared Barnabas; and this opinion was
eagerly echoed by the rest.
During the next hour the work of preparation went on, fresh recruits
straggling in at intervals. Nathan and his companions, who were already
fully equipped, lent what aid they could, or engaged in conversation
with old friends and neighbors.
About eleven o'clock in the morning a settler named Ingersoll, who had
been captured by the enemy several days before, near Wintermoot's fort,
arrived under a flag of truce, in custody of an Indian and a Tory. He
was the bearer of a message from Colonel John Butler, demanding the
immediate and unconditional surrender of all the forts in the valley and
all public property. This was, of course, refused, and Ingersoll left
with his guards, the latter having taken advantage of their visit to
observe the condition of the fort, and the number and spirit of its
defenders.
Colonel Zebulon Butler now called a council of war, at which opinions
were freely expressed. Many of the settlers were admitted to this,
including Barnabas and his companions. Colonels Denison and Dorrance, as
well as a number of others, were in favor of delaying action, on the
ground that the absent militia companies and the relief force sent by
Washington might yet arrive in time to save the valley. But Colonel
Butler was opposed to delay, and made an eloquent oration against it.
"For three days the enemy have been within the valley," he said, "and
they have steadily carried on their work of destruction and murder. Two
forts are already in their possession, and if we show an inclination to
be idle they will certainly press their advantage. They have boats, and
they can easily cross the river from Wintermoot's to Pittston, and take
the little fort there under Captain Blanchard. They can march or float
from place to place, and will destroy the valley piecemeal. And once the
butchers spread throughout the country, we will no longer be able to
hold our little army together. Each man will fly to protect his own
home. The relief force cannot reach us in time, and it is doubtful if
the absent militia companies will arrive within two days. So we must
clearly depend on God and ourselves, and I assert that to attack and
defeat the enemy is the only hope for the settlement."
These spirited words made an impression, and at once won over a large
majority. The rest were finally induced to assent, and without further
delay the preparations for the advance were begun.
Six companies were available, and of these one consisted of regulars
under Captain Hewitt. The others were as follows: Captain Whittlesey's
company, from Plymouth; Captain McKarrican's, from Hanover; the Lower
Wilkesbarre and Upper Wilkesbarre Companies, commanded respectively by
Captain Bidlack and Captain Geer, and a company from Kingston under
Captain Aholiab Buck. Barnabas and Nathan were assigned to Captain
Whittlesey's company, as were also Reuben Atwood and Collum McNicol. In
all, the force was three hundred strong--two hundred and thirty enrolled
men, and about seventy boys, elderly settlers, judges of the valley
courts, and civil magistrates. And this brave but meager army was about
to attack one thousand Tories and Indians!
It was an hour past noon when the band of defenders filed out through
the gates of Forty Fort, leaving a few sentries behind them to protect
the weeping and well-nigh distracted women and children. It was a clear,
warm day, and never had the Wyoming Valley looked more beautiful and
peaceful. Birds were twittering, and the sun shone brightly on forest
and river.
Forward the column marched, not knowing that their movements were being
watched by vigilant spies. But such was the case, and fleet couriers
bore word of the advance to Colonel John Butler, at Wintermoot's. He at
once sent a message to his rear guard at Fort Jenkins, who were
destroying the defenses of that place, to hasten down to join him and
meet the Yankees.
In the neighborhood of three o'clock the Americans approached
Wintermoot's fort, and from a distance they saw that it was in
flames--the motive for which act on the enemy's part was never fully
understood. At this point there were two plains between the river and
the mountain, the upper and lower flats being divided by a steep bank
fifteen or twenty feet in height. The fort stood on the brow of the
bluff.
Colonel Zebulon Butler sent several officers forward to reconnoiter the
ground, and when they returned with their reports, and with the
intelligence that the foe were close in front, the little army at once
proceeded to form in line of battle. They ascended the dividing bluff,
and deployed across the upper plain. Their right rested on the steep
bank, and the left stretched across the flat to a morass that separated
the bottom land from the mountain. The plain was sparsely wooded with
yellow pine trees and oak scrubs. Captain Whittlesey's company, to which
Nathan and his friends belonged, was on the extreme left, and that flank
was in charge of Colonels Denison and Dorrance. Colonel Butler himself
commanded the right wing.
The enemy's left, under Colonel John Butler, rested on Wintermoot's
fort, which was now on fire, and from which the Susquehanna was distant
about eighty rods. A flanking party of Indian marksmen were hidden in
some logs and bushes near the top of the bank. Next to Colonel John
Butler were more Indian marksmen and Caldwell's Royal Greens, while the
main body of the Senecas under Brandt formed the right wing, which
extended over the plain to the morass.
Thus face to face, the two armies remained inactive for some little
time. At a distance Nathan's keen eyes could make out the glitter of a
uniform here and there, or see the feathered plumes of the Indians
nodding. Through the green of the trees the sun shone on tomahawks and
musket barrels.
"How do you feel, lad?" asked old Barnabas.
"Ready for the fight," was the cool reply.
"But this ain't the battle of Monmouth, lad. There's worse odds ag'in
us."
"All the more reason why we should fight the better," declared Nathan.
"Monmouth was for our country and this is for our homes."
"Ay, that's proper talk," exclaimed Reuben Atwood. "I'm thinkin' we must
all fight to the bitter end, since there's no mercy to be looked for
from them fiends over yonder."
Now a sudden excitement spread throughout the lines, and the men
straightened up at attention. Colonel Zebulon Butler came riding from
right to left, and checking his horse near Captain Whittlesey's company
he repeated the brief address he had just made to his followers on the
right.
"Men, we are about to attack," he cried. "Yonder is the enemy. Slaughter
without mercy is what we must expect if we are defeated. We are here to
fight for liberty, for our homes and families, for life itself. Stand
firm with the first shock, and the Indians will yield. Let every man
remember his duty."
Loud and hearty cheers followed the Colonel as he rode back to his post.
Nathan gripped his musket tight, and as he recalled the massacres of the
preceding days he resolved to make each shot tell. "Hurrah! we're
going!" he shouted.
"Yes, we're at it, lad," cried Barnabas. "Steady, now!"
The signal had been given, and the long line was in forward motion. They
drew nearer and nearer, and suddenly the order to fire came from Colonel
Zebulon Butler. Crash! crash! the deadly volleys rang out. Still the
Americans advanced, firing rapidly and steadily. Crash! Crash! Men began
to fall, some dead and some wounded. The bluish powder smoke rolled over
the field, mingling with the yellow clouds from the burning fort. Louder
and louder blazed the musketry fire. In spite of the pluck of its
officers the British line gave way a little. But it quickly rallied, and
the enemy stood their ground stubbornly.
The American right was now hotly engaged with the Senecas and Rangers,
and soon the fight was waging along the entire line. On both sides the
dead and wounded increased, and as the Indian sharpshooters fired they
uttered fearful and hideous yells. Nathan was surprised at his own
coolness. He loaded and fired like an old soldier, never pulling trigger
until he had a bead drawn on a foe. Some of the men on the left began to
waver as their comrades fell about them, but a few words from Colonel
Dorrance had the effect of closing the broken line up.
For half an hour the battle went on, growing warmer and warmer. As yet
Nathan was unhurt, and so far as he could tell his friends had fared as
fortunately. Animated by the hope of victory, the Americans displayed
the utmost valor and bravery. But now, alas! the enemy began to show the
power that superior numbers gave them. A large force of Indians was
thrown into the swamp, thus completely outflanking the left of the
patriot line. Seeing the danger, Colonel Denison ordered Whittlesey to
wheel his company at an angle with the main line, and thus present a
front to the foe.
It is always difficult to perform such an evolution under a hot fire,
and in this case the result was disastrous. No sooner had Captain
Whittlesey's company made the attempt than the Indians rushed forward
with blood-curdling yells. Some of the Americans understood the order to
fall back on flank to mean a retreat, and by this fatal mistake the
whole of the left line was thrown into confusion. A part stood their
ground, and others fled in panic. Seeing the disorder and confusion
here, and finding that his own men on the right were also beginning to
give way, Colonel Zebulon Butler rode recklessly to and fro between the
fires of the opposing ranks.
"Stand firm!" he cried in ringing tones. "Don't forsake me! Make a
stand, my brave men, and the victory will yet be ours."
But it was too late. In vain did the daring commander harangue his men;
in vain did his officers support him by words and actions, and the
drummers beat the charge. The rout began--a rout that was too
overwhelming and widespread to be checked. The right and left lines of
the Americans fled in all directions, hotly pursued by the vengeful
Tories and Indians. The crack of muskets and the dull crash of the
tomahawk mingled with the shrieks of the dying and the yells of the
victors. Stephen Whiton, a young schoolmaster, was butchered by the side
of the man whose daughter he had just married. Darius Spofford, also
lately married, fell dead in the arms of his brother Phineas. Every
captain that led a company into action was slain. Bidlack, Hewitt,
Whittlesey--all died at the head of their men.
And now, the battle over and the massacre begun, horror was piled on
horror. There was little chance of escape for the fugitives. The
flanking party of Indians pushed hastily to the rear to cut off the
retreat to Forty Fort, and thus the wretched and panic-stricken settlers
were driven in the direction of the river, over the open ground and
through fields of uncut grain. Some few swam to Monockasy Island, which
offered a temporary refuge. But many were speared and tomahawked at the
water's edge, and others, shot while swimming, were borne away lifeless
on the current. A man named Pensil, who had gained the island, was
pursued there and slain by his own Tory brother. Lieutenant Shoemaker,
as he plunged into the river, glanced over his shoulder to see a Tory
named Windecker who had often dined at his table in past times. Swimming
back to shore, he begged his old friend to protect him. The foul
ruffian pretended to consent, but while he helped the officer out of the
water with his left hand, with his right he drove a tomahawk into his
brain. Many others were thus lured to shore by promise of quarter, only
to be ruthlessly butchered. A number of the prisoners were thrown alive
on the burning logs of Fort Wintermoot, and no less than a score were
tomahawked by Queen Esther, an Indian fury in the form of a woman. She
slew them with her own hand while the savages held them, and the bodies
of her victims, scalped and mutilated, were subsequently found lying in
a circle where they had fallen. The carnage would have been greater had
not night intervened. Under cover of darkness a small proportion of the
fugitives escaped, and of the number was Colonel Denison and Colonel
Zebulon Butler. The latter was borne off the field on his horse, and by
a devious route he finally reached the fort at Wilkesbarre.
Good fortune also fell to the lot of Barnabas and Nathan. After standing
their ground until valor had ceased to be a virtue they fled, side by
side, to the river, firing at intervals as they went. At the water's
edge they confronted and killed a Tory and an Indian who had overtaken
them, and then, being good swimmers, they safely reached the opposite
shore some distance below the island. In company with several other
refugees they pushed down the Susquehanna, recrossed the stream, and
safely entered Forty Fort at nightfall. They were rejoiced to learn that
Reuben Atwood and Collum McNicol had arrived some time before.
Pitiful and heartrending were the scenes within the fort as the hours of
darkness dragged on. Women and children wept and wrung their hands as
they called the names of loved ones who would never return. Bleeding and
powder-grimed men stood about in weary and dazed groups. Of the band of
three hundred who started out to battle at noon-time less than one-third
had straggled back. The rest lay dead and mutilated in the woods, on the
sands of Monockasy Island, or were drifting on the rippling tide of the
river. So terrible was the defeat that the survivors had utterly lost
heart; they were ready to submit to any terms to save their lives.
The night was full of horror, for an attack was constantly expected. In
the interval between darkness and dawn, a few settlers with their
families flocked to the fort from the lower part of the valley, and
several sorely-wounded fugitives crept in. Nathan could not sleep, and
for hours he wandered about the stockade. The disaster had stunned him,
unused as he was to the horrors of Indian warfare. The past week, with
its record of bloodshed and battle, had made a man of the lad. How
dreamlike and long ago seemed his happy student life in Philadelphia!
The outcome of the Tory and Indian raid upon the colonists of the
Wyoming Valley may be briefly told. On the morning of the 4th of
July--the day following the massacre--Colonel Zebulon Butler started for
the nearest town on the Lehigh to send a report to the Board of War.
That morning one of the absent militia companies arrived at Forty Fort,
and there was some talk of offering further resistance. But this was
speedily abandoned, as messengers who had been sent out reported that
the panic-stricken inhabitants of the valley were fleeing in every
direction to the wilderness. It was also learned that Fort Brown, at
Pittston, had been surrendered by Captain Blanchard.
So Colonel Denison at once opened negotiations with the leaders of the
enemy, and after hours of suspense and discussion it was decided to
surrender the fort on condition that the lives of the survivors should
be spared. The articles of capitulation were signed, and on the
afternoon of the 5th a sad and bitter ceremony took place on the bluff
of the Susquehanna. The gates of Forty Fort were thrown open, the flag
was hauled down, and to the music of drums and fifes the enemy marched
in behind Colonel John Butler--company after company of Rangers and
Tories, Captain Caldwell's Royal Greens, and the sullen, painted-faced
Indians headed by two human fiends--Brandt and Queen Esther.
Colonel Butler prevented any immediate bloodshed, but the settlers were
ruthlessly plundered as they filed out. Knowing their danger too well
they fled in all directions, some toward the Delaware, others down the
Susquehanna by water and land.
The Senecas and Tories shortly laid waste the valley, destroying what
they could not take away, burning the town of Wilkesbarre and many
cabins, and driving the horses and cattle to Niagara. The relief force
that had started from Washington's army turned back when the news of the
massacre reached them at Stroudsburg, and for a time the lovely Vale of
Wyoming was abandoned to ruin and solitude.