Adventure of the Spies White and M'Clelland--Daring Defence of her
Home by Mrs. Merrill--Exploits of Kennan the Ranger.
The block-house garrison at the mouth of Hocking River was thrown into
considerable alarm on one occasion by the discovery that an unusual
number of Indians were swarming in their town in the valley. Such a
state of affairs, as a rule, means that the savages are making, or have
made, preparations for a serious movement against the whites.
To ascertain the cause of the presence of so many warriors in that
section, two of the most skillful and daring rangers of the West
were sent out to spy their movements. These scouts were White and
McClelland, and the season on which they ventured upon their dangerous
expedition was one of the balmy days in Indian summer.
The scouts made their way leisurely to the top of the well-known
prominence near Lancaster, Ohio, from whose rocky summit they looked
off over the plain spreading far to the west, and through which the
Hocking River winds like a stream of silver.
From this elevation, the keen-eyed scouts gazed down upon a curious
picture--one which told them of the certain coming of the greatest
danger which can break upon the frontier settlement. What they saw, and
the singular adventures that befell them, are told by the Reverend J.
B. Finley, the well-known missionary of the West.
Day by day the spies witnessed the horse-racing of the assembled
thousands. The old sachems looked on with their Indian indifference,
the squaws engaged in their usual drudgery, while the children indulged
unrestrainedly in their playful gambols. The arrival of a new war
party was greeted with loud shouts, which, striking the stony face of
Mount Pleasant, were driven back in the various indentations of the
surrounding hills, producing reverberations and echoes as if so many
fiends were gathered in universal levee. On several occasions, small
parties left the prairie and ascended the mount from its low and grassy
eastern slope. At such times, the spies would hide in the deep fissures
of the rocks on the west, and again leave their hiding-places when
their unwelcome visitors had disappeared. For food, they depended on
jerked venison and corn-bread, with which their knapsacks were well
stored. They dare not kindle a fire, and the report of one of their
rifles would have brought upon them the entire force of Indians. For
drink, they resorted to the rain-water which still stood in the hollows
of the rocks; but, in a short time, this source was exhausted, and
McClelland and White were forced to abandon their enterprise, or find a
new supply. To accomplish this, M'Clelland, being the oldest, resolved
to make the attempt. With his trusty rifle in hand and two canteens
slung over his shoulders, he cautiously descended, by a circuitous
route, to the prairie skirting the hills on the north.
Under cover of the hazel thicket, he reached the river, and turning the
bold point of a hill, found a beautiful spring within a few feet of
the stream now known by the name of Cold Spring. Filling his canteens,
he returned in safety to his watchful companion. It was now determined
to have a fresh supply of water every day, and the duty was performed
alternately.
On one of these occasions, after White had filled his canteens, he
sat watching the water as it came gurgling out of the earth, when the
light sound of footsteps fell on his ear. Upon turning around he saw
two squaws within a few feet of him. The eldest gave one of those
far-reaching whoops peculiar to Indians.
White at once comprehended his perilous situation. If the alarm should
reach the camps or town, he and his companion must inevitably perish.
Self-preservation compelled him to inflict a noiseless death on the
squaws, and in such a manner as, if possible, to leave no trace behind.
Ever rapid in thought and prompt in action, he sprang upon his victims
with the rapidity and power of the lion, and grasping the throat of
each, sprang into the river. He thrust the head of the eldest under the
water, and while making strong efforts to submerge the younger (who,
however, powerfully resisted him), to his astonishment, she addressed
him in his own language, though in almost inarticulate sounds.
Releasing his hold, she informed him she had been a prisoner ten years,
and was taken from below Wheeling; that the Indians had killed all
the family; that her brother and herself were taken prisoners, but
he succeeded, on the second night, in making his escape. During this
narrative, White had drowned the elder squaw, and had let the body
float off down the current, where it was not likely soon to be found.
He now directed the girl to follow him, and, with his usual speed and
energy, pushed for the mount.
They had scarcely gone half way, when they heard the alarm-cry, some
quarter of a mile down the stream. It was supposed some party of
Indians, returning from hunting, struck the river just as the body of
the squaw floated past. White and the girl succeeded in reaching the
mount, where M'Clelland had been no indifferent spectator to the sudden
commotion among the Indians. Parties of warriors were seen immediately
to strike off in every direction, and White and the girl had scarcely
arrived before a company of some twenty warriors had reached the
eastern slope of the mount, and were cautiously and carefully keeping
under cover. Soon the spies saw their foes, as they glided from tree
to tree and rock to rock, till their position was surrounded, except
on the west perpendicular side, and all hope of escape was cut off. In
this perilous position, nothing was left but to sell their lives as
dearly as possible.
This they resolved to do, and advised the girl to escape to the Indians
and tell them she had been taken prisoner. She said, "No! Death in the
presence of my own people is a thousand times better than captivity and
slavery. Furnish me with a gun, and I will show I know how to die. This
place I will not leave. Here my bones shall lie bleaching with yours,
and, should either of you escape, you will carry the tidings of my
death to my few relatives."
Remonstrance proved fruitless. The two spies quickly matured their
means of defence, and vigorously commenced the attack from the front,
where, from the very narrow backbone of the mount, the savages had to
advance in single file, and without any covert. Beyond this neck, the
warriors availed themselves of the rocks and trees in advancing, but,
in passing from one to the other, they must be exposed for a short
time, and a moment's exposure of their swarthy forms was enough for the
unerring rifles of the spies. The Indians, being entirely ignorant of
how many were in ambuscade, grew very cautious as they advanced.
After bravely maintaining the fight in front, and keeping the enemy
in check, the scouts discovered a new danger threatening them. The
foe made preparation to attack them on the flank, which could be most
successfully done by reaching an isolated rock, lying in one of the
projections on the southern hill-side. This rock once gained by the
Indians, they could bring the whites under point-blank range without
the possibility of escape. The spies saw the hopelessness of their
situation, which it appeared nothing could change.
With this impending fate resting over them, they continued calm and
calculating, and as unwearied as the strongest desire of life could
produce. Soon M'Clelland saw a tall, swarthy figure preparing to
spring from a covert, so near to the fatal rock that a bound or two
would reach it, and all hope of life would then be gone. He felt that
everything depended on one single advantageous shot; and, although
but an inch or two of the warrior's body was exposed, and that at the
distance of eighty or a hundred yards, he resolved to fire.
Coolly raising his rifle, shading the sight with his hand, he drew a
bead so sure that he felt conscious it would do the deed. He touched
the trigger with his finger; the hammer came down, but, in place of
striking fire, it broke his flint into many pieces! He now felt sure
that the Indian must reach the rock before he could adjust another
flint, yet he proceeded to the task with the utmost composure. Casting
his eye toward the fearful point, suddenly he saw the warrior stretch
every muscle for the leap, and with the agility of a panther he made
the spring, but, instead of reaching the rock, he uttered a yell and
his dark body fell, rolling down the steep to the valley below.
Some unknown hand had slain him, and a hundred voices from the valley
below echoed his death cry. The warrior killed, it was evident, was a
prominent one of the tribe, and there was great disappointment over the
failure of the movement, which, it was considered, would seal the doom
of the daring scouts.
Only a few minutes passed, when a second warrior was seen stealthily
advancing to the covert, which had cost the other Indian his life in
attempting to reach. At the same moment the attack in front was renewed
with great fierceness, so as to require the constant loading and
firing of the spies to prevent their foes from gaining the eminence.
Still the whites kept continually glancing at the warrior, who seemed
assured of the coveted position.
Suddenly he gathered his muscles and made the spring. His body was
seen to bound outward, but instead of reaching the shelf, for which it
started, it gathered itself like a ball and rolled down the hill after
his predecessor.
The unknown friend had fired a second shot!
This caused consternation among the Shawanoes, and brave as they
unquestionably were, there was no one else who tried to do that which
had cost the others their lives. Feeling that they had no ordinary foe
to combat on the hill, the savages withdrew a short distance to consult
over some new method of attack.
The respite came most opportunely to the spies, who had been fighting
and watching for hours and needed the rest.
It suddenly occurred to M'Clelland that the girl was not with them,
and they concluded that she had fled through terror and most probably
had fallen into the hands of the Indians again, or what was equally
probable, she had been killed during the fight.
But the conclusion was scarcely formed, when she was seen to come
from behind a rock, with a smoking rifle in her hand. Rejoining the
astonished and delighted spies, she quickly explained that she was the
unsuspected friend who shot the two warriors when in the very act of
leaping to the point from which they expected to command the position
of the defenders.
While the fight was at its height, she saw a warrior advance some
distance beyond the others, when a rifle-ball from the scouts stretched
him lifeless. Without being seen, the girl ran quickly out to where he
lay and possessed herself of his gun and ammunition.
Subsequent events showed what good use she made of the weapon. Her life
among the Indians taught her to see on the instant the point which
the warriors would strive to secure, and, which secured, would place
the spies at their mercy. She crawled under some brush, and carefully
loading the rifle, held it ready for the critical moment.
It was a singular coincidence, in which the girl must have perceived
the hand of Providence, that the second warrior who advanced to the
spot was recognized by her as the identical wretch who led the company
which killed nearly all her family and who carried her away a prisoner.
She made sure, when she pulled trigger upon him, that the bullet should
go straight to the mark!
M'Clelland and White appreciated the value of the ally who had joined
them, for, without those well-aimed shots of hers, the two must have
fallen before the rifles of the Shawanoes. They congratulated her on
her nerve and skill, and assured her, that her achievements alone had
placed them in a position in which they could feel there was some hope
of escape.
As night approached, dark and tumultuous clouds rolled up from the
horizon, and overspreading the skies rendered the night like that of
Egypt. As the spies felt that their withdrawal from the dangerous spot
must be effected, if effected at all, before the rise of the morning's
sun, they saw how much the inky blackness of sky and earth was likely
to embarrass them.
However, as the girl was intimately acquainted with the topography
of the country immediately surrounding them, it was decided that she
should take the lead, the others following close after her.
The great advantage likely to accrue from such an arrangement was
that, if they encountered any Indians, as they were more than likely
to do, her knowledge of their tongue would enable her to deceive them.
They had not gone a hundred yards when the wisdom of this course was
demonstrated.
A low "whist" from the guide admonished the spies of danger, and, as
agreed beforehand, they sank flat upon their faces and waited for the
signal that all was right, before going further. Peering cautiously
through the dense gloom, they became aware that the girl was missing,
and she was gone so long that they were filled with serious misgivings.
Finally her shadowy figure came out of the gloom, and she told them she
had succeeded in having two sentinels removed whose position was such
that it would have been impossible for them to get by undiscovered.
In the same noiseless manner the flight was resumed, and the three
phantoms, moved along through the gloom for a half hour, when they
were startled by the barking of a dog close to them. Instantly White
and M'Clelland cocked their guns, but their guide whispered that they
were now in the very middle of the village, and their lives depended
on the utmost silence and secrecy. They needed hardly to be assured
of that, and they signified that her directions would be followed
implicitly.
A minute later they were accosted by a squaw from an opening in her
wigwam; the guide made appropriate reply, in the Indian tongue, and
without pause, moved on. Her voice and manner disarmed suspicion, and
the three were not disturbed.
Only a short distance further was passed, when the girl assured them
they were beyond the limits of the village, and the great danger
was ended. She had shown extraordinary wisdom and shrewdness in
leading the spies out of their great peril. She knew the Shawanoes
had their sentinels stationed at every avenue of escape, and instead
of taking those which it would seem most natural to follow under
the circumstances, she adopted the bold plan of disarming all these
precautions by passing directly through the center of the village. The
very boldness of the plan proved its success.
The fugitives now made for the Ohio River, and, at the end of three
days' hard travel, they safely reached the block-house. Their escape
prevented the contemplated attack by the Indians, and the adventure
itself is certainly one of the most remarkable of the many told of the
early days of Ohio and Kentucky.
Among the members of Mr. Finley's church was a quiet, plain-looking
woman who was mild, gentle, and consistent in her talk and
conversation. And yet this Mrs. Merril was the heroine of the following
wonderful exploit:
In 1791, the house of Mr. Merril, in Nelson county, was assaulted
by Indians. He was fired upon and fell wounded into the room. The
savages attempted to rush in after him, but Mrs. Merril and her
daughter succeeded in closing the door. The assailants began to hew a
passage through it with their tomahawks; and, having made a hole large
enough, one of them attempted to squeeze into the room. Undismayed,
the courageous woman seized an axe, gave the ruffian a fatal blow as
he sprang through, and he sunk quietly to the floor. Another, and
still another, followed till four of their number met the same fate.
The silence within induced one of them to pause and look through the
crevice in the door. Discovering the fate of those who had entered,
the savages resolved upon another mode of attack. Two of their number
clambered to the top of the house, and prepared to descend the broad
wooden chimney. This new danger was promptly met. Mrs. Merril did not
desert her post; but directed her little son to cut open the feather
bed, and pour the feathers upon the fire. This the little fellow did
with excellent effect. The two savages, scorched and suffocated, fell
down into the fire, and were soon dispatched by the children and the
wounded husband. At that moment a fifth savage attempted to enter the
door; but he received a salute upon the head from the axe held by Mrs.
Merril, that sent him howling away. Thus seven of the savages were
destroyed by the courage and energy of this heroic woman. When the sole
survivor reached the town, and was asked, "What news?" a prisoner heard
his reply: "Bad news! The squaws fight worse than long knives."
William Kennan, a noted scout and ranger, was the hero of many
extraordinary incidents.
He had long been remarkable for strength and activity. In the course
of the march from Fort Washington, he had repeated opportunities of
testing his astonishing powers in those respects, and was admitted to
be the swiftest runner of the light corps. On the evening preceding
the action, his corps had been advanced in front of the first line of
infantry, to give seasonable notice of the enemy's approach.
As day was dawning, he observed about thirty Indians within one hundred
yards of the guard-fire, approaching cautiously toward the spot
where he stood, in company with twenty other rangers, the rest being
considerably in the rear. Supposing it to be a mere scouting party, and
not superior in number to the rangers, he sprang forward a few paces in
order to shelter himself in a spot of peculiarly rank grass, and, after
firing with a quick aim at the foremost Indian, fell flat upon his
face, and proceeded with all possible rapidity to reload his gun, not
doubting for a moment that his companions would maintain their position
and support him.
The Indians, however, rushed forward in such overwhelming masses, that
the rangers were compelled to flee with precipitation, leaving young
Kennan in total ignorance of his danger. Fortunately, the captain of
his company had observed him, when he threw himself in the grass,
and suddenly shouted aloud: "Run, Kennan, or you are a dead man!" He
instantly sprang to his feet, and beheld the Indians within ten feet of
him, while his company were more than one hundred yards in front.
Not a moment was to be lost. He darted off, with every muscle strained
to the utmost, and was pursued by a dozen of the enemy with loud yells.
He at first pressed straight forward to the usual fording-place in the
creek, which ran between the rangers and the main army; but several
Indians, who had passed him before he arose from the grass, threw
themselves in his way and completely cut him off from the rest.
By the most powerful exertions, he had thrown the whole body of
pursuers behind him, with the exception of one young chief, probably
Meeshawa, who displayed a swiftness and perseverance equal to his own.
In the circuit which Kennan was obliged to make, the race continued
for more than four hundred yards. The distance between them was about
eighteen feet, which Kennan could not increase, nor his adversary
diminish. Each for the time put his whole soul in the race.
Kennan, as far as he was able, kept his eye upon the motions of his
pursuer, lest he should throw the tomahawk, which he held aloft in a
menacing attitude, and, at length, finding that no other Indian was at
hand, he determined to try the mettle of his pursuer in a different
manner, and felt for his knife in order to turn at bay. It had escaped
from its sheath, however, while he lay in the grass, and his hair
almost lifted the cap from his head when he found himself wholly
unarmed.
As he had slackened his space for a moment, the Indian was almost
within reach of him when he started ahead again; but the idea of being
without arms lent wings to his flight, and for the first time he saw
himself gaining ground. He had watched the motions of his pursuer too
closely to pay proper attention to the nature of the ground before him,
and suddenly found himself in front of a large tree, which had been
blown down, and upon which had been heaped brush and other impediments
to the height of eight or nine feet.
The Indian, heretofore silent, now gave utterance to an exultant shout,
for he must have felt sure of his victim. Not a second was given to
Kennan to deliberate. He must clear the obstacle in front or it was
all over with him. Putting his whole soul into the effort, he bounded
into the air with a power which astonished himself, and, clearing
limbs, brush, and everything else, alighted in perfect safety on the
other side. An exclamation of amazement burst from the band of pursuers
bringing up the rear, not one of whom had the hardihood to attempt the
same feat.
Kennan, however, had no leisure to enjoy his triumph. Dashing into the
creek, where the high banks would protect him from the fire of the
enemy, he ran up the edge of the stream until he found a convenient
crossing place, and rejoined the rangers in the rear of the encampment,
panting from the fatigue of exertions which had seldom been surpassed.
But little breathing time was allowed him. The attack instantly
commenced, and was maintained for three hours with unabated fury.
When the retreat took place, Kennan was attached to Major Clark's
battalion, which had the dangerous service of protecting the rear. The
corps quickly lost its commander, and was completely disorganized.
Kennan was among the hindmost when the flight commenced, but exerting
those same powers which had saved him in the morning, he quickly gained
the front, passing several horsemen in his flight.
Here he beheld a private in his own company, lying upon the ground with
his thigh broken, who, in tones of distress, implored each horseman as
he hurried by to take him up behind. As soon as he beheld Kennan coming
up on foot, he stretched out his hands and entreated him to save him.
Notwithstanding the imminent peril of the moment, his friend could not
reject such an appeal, but, seizing him in his arms, placed him upon
his back, and ran in this manner several hundred yards.
At length the enemy was gaining upon them so fast, that Kennan saw
their death was certain unless he relinquished his burden. He
accordingly told his friend that he had used every exertion possible
to save his life, but in vain; that he must relax his hold about his
neck, or they would both perish. The unhappy man, heedless of every
remonstrance, still clung convulsively to Kennan's back, until the
foremost of the enemy, armed with tomahawks alone, were within twenty
yards of them. Kennan then drew his knife from its sheath, and cut the
fingers of his companion, thus compelling him to relinquish his hold.
The wounded man fell upon the ground in utter helplessness, and Kennan
beheld him tomahawked before he had gone thirty yards. Kennan, relieved
from his burden, darted forward with the activity which once more
brought him to the van. Here again he was compelled to neglect his own
safety to attend to that of others.
The late Governor Madison, of Kentucky, who afterward commanded the
corps which defended themselves so honorably at the River Raisin,
was at that time a subaltern in St. Clair's army. Being a man of
feeble constitution, he was totally exhausted by the exertions of the
morning, and was found by Kennan sitting calmly upon a log, awaiting
the approach of his enemies. Kennan hastily accosted him, and inquired
the cause of his delay. Madison, pointing to a wound which had bled
profusely, replied he was unable to walk further, and had no horse.
Kennan instantly ran back to the spot where he had seen an exhausted
horse grazing, caught him without difficulty, and having assisted
Madison to mount, walked by his side till they were out of danger.
Fortunately, the pursuit ceased soon after, as the plunder of the camp
presented irresistible attractions to the Indians. The friendship thus
formed between these two young men continued through life. Kennan never
entirely recovered from the immense exertions he was constrained to
make during this unfortunate expedition.