One bright summer morning, a lad by the name of M'Kown was engaged in
raking hay in a field some distance from any house, and—as was the
custom with all who labored abroad in those days of danger and sudden
surprise—was armed with a musket, which, however, he had stood against a
tree; but in the progress of his work had advanced beyond its immediate
proximity. While busily occupied, and intent upon his work, he heard a
slight jingling behind him, and turning suddenly around, he beheld an
Indian within three feet of him, who bore in his mien and costume the
appearance of a chief; and although his position indicated peaceful
intentions, the tomahawk in his right hand betokened his readiness for
hostilities if occasion required it. Startled at this sudden and
unexpected apparition, the youth, with a natural impulse, raised his
rake to defend himself, thoughtless of the insufficiency of his weapon.
His fears were dissipated by the Indian, who remarked:
[Illustration:
Brant and young M'Kown—_Page_ 35.
]
"Do not be afraid, young man; I shall not hurt you."
He then inquired of the lad if he could direct him to the residence of a
noted loyalist by the name of Foster. Young M'Kown gave him the
necessary directions to enable him to find that personage, and then,
emboldened by the apparent peaceable intentions of the other, asked him
if he knew Mr. Foster.
"I am partially acquainted with him," was the reply, "having once met
him at the half-way creek."
The Indian then entered into a familiar conversation with his
interrogator, in the course of which he asked him his name, and upon
being informed, he added:
"You are a son, then, of Captain M'Kown, who lives in the north-east
part of the town, I suppose. I know your father very well; he lives
neighbor to Captain M'Kean. I know M'Kean very well, and a very fine
fellow he is, too."
Thus the parties conversed together in a social manner for some time,
until the boy—emboldened by the familiarity which had been established
between them—ventured to ask the Indian his name in turn. This he did
not seem disposed to give him, hesitating for a moment, but at length
replied:
"My name is Brant."
"What! Captain Brant?" eagerly demanded the youth.
"No; I am a cousin of his," replied the Indian, at the same time
accompanying his assertion with a smile and expression of countenance
which intimated his attempt to deceive his interlocutor. It was indeed
the terrible Thayendanega himself, who was associated, in the mind of
the youth, with every possible trait of a fiendlike character; and it is
not to be wondered at, that he trembled as he felt himself to be in the
presence of one whose delight, it had been represented to him, was to
revel in slaughter and bloodshed. He was somewhat reassured, however, by
the thought, that, if his intentions had been hostile toward him, he
could easily have executed them before; but he did not feel fully
assured of his safety until the Indian had taken his departure, and he
had reached his home with his life and scalp intact.
This little incident is but one of many, told to prove that Brant was
not the bloodthirsty monster which, for many years after the Revolution,
he had the reputation of being. He was a Freemason: and on several
occasions, during the war, his fraternal feelings were called into play,
in behalf of prisoners who belonged to that order. Among others we are
told:
Jonathan Maynard, Esq.—afterward a member of the Massachusetts
Senate—who was actively engaged in the Revolutionary war, was taken
prisoner at one time by a party of Indians under the command of Brant.
The younger warriors of the party seemed disposed to put him to death,
in accordance with their determination to exterminate the whites, as
agreed upon by the tories and Indians in that section of the country.
Preparations had been made to carry out their intentions, when, having
been partially stripped of his clothing, Brant observed the emblems of
Masonry indelibly marked upon the prisoner's arms, and feeling bound to
him by a tie which none but a _brother_ can appreciate, he interposed
his authority, saved his life, and sent him to Canada, to keep him out
of harm's way; and he remained in durance for several months, until
exchanged and allowed to return home.
There is another incident, where Brant met one of his old schoolmates;
but where the circumstances of their early intimacy would not have
interfered between the white officer and death, had he not saved himself
by means of justifiable duplicity.
In the month of April, in 1780, it was the intention of Captain Brant,
the Indian chieftain, to make a descent upon the upper fort of
Schoharie, but which was prevented by an unlooked-for circumstance.
Colonel Vrooman had sent out a party of scouts to pass over to the
head-waters of the Charlotte river, where resided certain suspected
persons, whose movements it was their duty to watch. It being the proper
season for the manufacture of maple sugar, the men were directed to make
a quantity of that article, of which the garrison were greatly in want.
On the 2d of April this party, under the command of Captain Harper,
commenced their labors, which they did cheerfully, and entirely
unapprehensive of danger, as a fall of snow, some three feet deep, would
prevent, they supposed, the moving of any considerable body of the
enemy, while in fact they were not aware of any body of the armed foe
short of Niagara. But on the 7th of April they were suddenly surrounded
by a party of about forty Indians and tories, the first knowledge of
whose presence was the death of three of their party. The leader was
instantly discovered in the person of the Mohawk chief, who rushed up to
Captain Harper, tomahawk in hand, and observed: "Harper, I am sorry to
find you here!"
"Why are you sorry, Captain Brant?" replied the other.
"Because," replied the chief, "I _must_ kill you, although we were
schoolmates in our youth"—at the same time raising his hatchet, and
suiting the action to the word. Suddenly his arm fell, and with a
piercing scrutiny, looking Harper full in the face, he inquired: "Are
there any regular troops in the fort in Schoharie?" Harper caught the
idea in an instant. To answer truly, and admit there were none, as was
the fact, would but hasten Brant and his warriors forward to fall upon
the settlements at once, and their destruction would have been swift and
sure. He therefore informed him that a reinforcement of three hundred
Continental troops had arrived to garrison the forts only two or three
days before. This information appeared very much to disconcert the
chieftain. He prevented the further shedding of blood, and held a
consultation with his subordinate chiefs. Night coming on, the prisoners
were shut up in a pen of logs, and guarded by the tories, while among
the Indians, controversy ran high whether the prisoners should be put to
death or carried to Niagara. The captives were bound hand and foot, and
were so near the council that Harper, who understood something of the
Indian tongue, could hear the dispute. The Indians were for putting them
to death, but Brant exercised his authority to effectually prevent the
massacre.
On the following morning Harper was brought before the Indians for
examination. The chief commenced by saying that he was suspicious he had
not told him the truth. Harper, however, although Brant was eyeing him
like a basilisk, repeated his former statements, without the improper
movement of a muscle, or any betrayal that he was deceiving. Brant,
satisfied of the truth of the story, resolved to retrace his steps to
Niagara. But his warriors were disappointed in their hopes of spoils and
victory, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that they were
prevented from putting the captives to death.
Their march was forthwith commenced, and was full of pain, peril and
adventure. They met on the succeeding day with two loyalists, who both
disproved Harper's story of troops being at Schoharie, and the Captain
was again subjected to a piercing scrutiny; but he succeeded so well in
maintaining the appearance of truth and sincerity as to arrest the
upraised and glittering tomahawk. On the same day an aged man, named
Brown, was accidentally fallen in with and taken prisoner, with two
youthful grandsons; the day following, being unable to travel with
sufficient speed, and sinking under the weight of the burden imposed
upon him, the old man was put out of the way with the hatchet. The
victim was dragging behind, and when he saw preparations making for his
doom, took an affectionate farewell of his little grandsons, and the
Indians moved on, leaving one of their number with his face painted
black—the mark of the executioner—behind with him. In a few moments
afterward, the Indian came up, with the old man's scalp dangling from
between the ramrod and the muzzle of his gun.
They constructed floats, and sailed down the Susquehanna to the
confluence of the Chemung, at which place their land-traveling
commenced. Soon after this, a severe trial and narrow escape befell the
prisoners. During his march from Niagara on this expedition, Brant had
detached eleven of his warriors, to fall once more upon the Minisink
settlement for prisoners. This detachment, as it subsequently appeared,
had succeeded in taking captive five athletic men, whom they secured and
brought with them as far as Tioga Point. The Indians slept very soundly,
and the five prisoners had resolved, on the first opportunity, to make
their escape. While encamped at this place during the night, one of the
Minisink men succeeded in extricating his hands from the binding cords,
and with the utmost caution, unloosed his four companions. The Indians
were locked in the arms of deep sleep around them. Silently, without
causing a leaf to rustle, they each snatched a tomahawk from the girdles
of their unconscious enemies, and in a moment nine of them were
quivering in the agonies of death. The two others were awakened, and
springing upon their feet, attempted to escape. One of them was struck
with a hatchet between the shoulders, but the other fled. The prisoners
immediately made good their own retreat, and the only Indian who escaped
unhurt returned to take care of his wounded companion. As Brant and his
warriors approached this point of their journey, some of his Indians
having raised a whoop, it was returned by a single voice, with the
_death yell_! Startled at this unexpected signal, Brant's warriors
rushed forward to ascertain the cause. But they were not long in doubt.
The lone warrior met them, and soon related to his brethren the
melancholy fate of his companions. The effect upon the warriors, who
gathered in a group to hear the recital, was inexpressibly fearful.
Rage, and a desire of revenge, seemed to kindle every bosom, and light
every eye as with burning coals. They gathered around the prisoners in a
circle, and began to make unequivocal preparations for hacking them to
pieces. Harper and his men of course gave themselves up for lost. While
their knives were unsheathing, and their hatchets glittering, as they
were flourished in the sunbeams, the only survivor of the murdered party
rushed into the circle and interposed in their favor. With a wave of the
hand, as of a warrior entitled to be heard—for he was himself a
chief—silence was restored, and the prisoners were surprised by the
utterance of an earnest appeal in their behalf. He eloquently and
impressively declaimed in their favor, upon the ground that it was not
they who murdered their brothers; and to take the lives of the innocent
would not be right in the eyes of the Great Spirit. His appeal was
effective. The passions of the incensed warriors were hushed, their eyes
no longer shot forth the burning glances of revenge, and their
gesticulations ceased to menace immediate and bloody vengeance.
True, it so happened, that this chief knew all the prisoners—he having
resided in the Schoharie canton of the Mohawks during the war. He
doubtless felt a deeper interest in their behalf on that account. Still,
it was a noble action, worthy of the proudest era of chivalry, and in
the palmy days of Greece and Rome, would have crowned him almost with
"an apotheosis and rights divine." The interposition of Pocahontas, in
favor of Captain Smith, before the rude court of Powhatan, was, perhaps,
more romantic; but when the motive which prompted the generous action of
the princess is considered, the transaction now under review exhibits
the most of genuine benevolence. Pocahontas was moved by the tender
passion—the Mohawk Sachem by the feelings of magnanimity, and the
eternal principles of justice. It is a matter of regret that the name of
this high-souled warrior is lost, as, alas! have been too many that
might serve to relieve the dark and vengeful portraiture of Indian
character, which it has so well pleased the white man to draw! The
prisoners themselves were so impressed with the manner of their signal
deliverance, that they justly attributed it to a direct interposition of
Providence.
After the most acute sufferings from hunger and exhaustion, the party at
last arrived at Niagara. The last night of their journey, they encamped
a short distance from the fort. In the morning the prisoners were
informed that they were to run the gauntlet, and were brought out where
two parallel lines of Indians were drawn up, between which the prisoners
were to pass, exposed to the whips and blows of the savages. The course
to be run was toward the fort. Harper was the first one selected, and at
the signal, sprung from the mark with extraordinary swiftness. An Indian
near the end of the line, fearing he might escape without injury, sprung
before him, but a blow from Harper's fist felled him; the Indians,
enraged, broke their ranks and rushed after him, as he fled with the
utmost speed toward the fort. The garrison, when they saw Harper
approaching, opened the gates, and he rushed in, only affording
sufficient time for the garrison to close the gates, ere the Indians
rushed upon it, clamoring for the possession of their victim. The other
prisoners, taking advantage of the breaking up of the Indian ranks, took
different routes, and all succeeded in reaching the fort without passing
through the terrible ordeal which was intended for them.
This was in the April preceding the final attack upon the fort in the
Schoharie valley, which took place in the fall, as described in the
second article of this number; and at which Murphy, the rifleman, so
distinguished himself.
As further illustrating this magnanimity which—certainly at
times—distinguished Brant, it is said that at the horrible massacre of
Cherry Valley, Butler—the tory Captain, son of the Butler who fulfilled
his hideous part in the destruction of Wyoming—on entering a house,
ordered a woman and child to be killed who were found in bed. "What!"
exclaimed Brant; "kill a woman and child? No! that child is not an enemy
to the king, nor a friend to Congress. Long before he will be big enough
to do any mischief, the dispute will be settled."
The life of Brant was, to say the least, peculiar. An Indian, but an
educated and traveled one, with much of the tact of civilization, and
all the cunning and wild freedom of the savage, he made a character for
himself which always will occupy a niche in history. Whether the
conflicting statements in regard to him ever will be so reconciled as to
decide whether he was a generous and humane enemy, or a most subtle and
ferocious one, we know not; but this is certain, he _was_ our enemy, and
a most efficient ally of the British in their attempts to put out the
rising fires of Liberty which were kindling in our valleys, over our
plains, and upon our hills. It was a most unfortunate thing for the
struggling colonists when Brant took up the hatchet in behalf of the
king, for his arm was more to be dreaded than that of King George.
Joseph Brant was an Onondaga of the Mohawk tribe, whose Indian name was
Thayendanega—signifying, literally, a brant, or wild-goose. The story
that he was but a half-Indian, the son of a German, has been widely
spread, but is denied by his son, and is now believed to be false. There
are those, however, whose opinion is of weight, who assert that he was
the son of Sir William Johnson; and such, all circumstances considered,
is most likely to have been the fact. He was of a lighter complexion
than his countrymen in general, and there are other evidences of his
having been a half-breed. He received a very good English education at
Moore's charity-school, in Lebanon, Connecticut, where he was placed
_by_ Sir William Johnson, in July, 1761. This General Sir William
Johnson was British agent of Indian affairs, and had greatly ingratiated
himself into the esteem of the Six Nations. He lived at the place since
named for him, upon the north bank of the Mohawk, about forty miles from
Albany. Here he had an elegant country-seat, at which he often would
entertain several hundred of his red friends, sharing all things in
common with them. They so much respected him, that, although they had
the fullest liberty, they would take nothing which was not given to
them. The faster to rivet their esteem, he would, at certain seasons,
accommodate himself to their mode of dress. He also, being a widower,
took as a companion Molly Brant, (a sister of Brant,) who considered
herself his wife, according to Indian custom, and whom he finally
married, to legitimize her children. He had received honors and
emoluments from the British Government; and the Indians, through him,
obtained every thing conducive to their happiness. Hence, it is not
strange that they should hold in reverence the name of their "great
father," the king; and think the few rebels who opposed his authority,
when the Revolution began, to be inexcusable and unworthy of mercy.
Brant, by this time a man in the first flush of his strength, and with
as good an education as the majority of his white friends, went to
England in 1775, in the beginning of the great Revolutionary rupture,
where he was received with attention. Doubtless his mind was there
prepared for the part he acted in the memorable struggle which ensued.
He had a Colonel's commission conferred upon him in the English army
upon the frontiers; which army consisted of such tories and Indians as
took part against the country.
Upon his return from England—Sir William Johnson having died the
previous year—Brant attached himself to Johnson's son-in-law, Guy
Johnson, performing the part of secretary to him when transacting
business with the Indians. The Butlers, John and Walter—whose names,
with those of Brant, are associated with the horrid barbarities of
Wyoming and Cherry Valley—lived not far from the village of Johnstown,
and upon the same side of the Mohawk.
After the battle of Bunker Hill, General Schuyler compelled Guy Johnson,
and his brother-in-law, Sir John Johnson, to give their word of honor
not to take up arms against America; but this did not prevent Guy from
withdrawing into Canada and taking with him Brant, with a large body of
his Mohawks. Sir John also fled to Canada, where he became a powerful
adversary. The Butlers were also in the train.
Here, having had some disagreement with Johnson, Brant returned to the
frontiers with his band of warriors. Some of the peaceable Mohawks had
been confined to prevent their doing injury, as were some of the
Massachusetts Indians in King Philip's war. Brant was displeased at
this. He came with his band to Unadilla, where he was met by the
American General, Herkimer; and the two had an interview, in which Brant
said that "the king's belts were yet lodged with them, and they could
not falsify their pledge; that the Indians were in concert with the
king," etc. It has never been explained why Herkimer did not then and
there destroy the power of Brant, which he could have done, for his men
numbered eight hundred and eighty, while Brant had but one hundred and
thirty warriors. It is supposed the American General did not believe
that the Mohawks actually would take up arms against the country. It was
a fatal mistake, which deluged hundreds of homes in blood, or wrapped
them in fire.
Thereafter followed a succession of bloody and terrible affairs, in
which Brant and the two Butlers were leaders. It has been said, and with
truth, that of those three, the white men were the most ferocious; that
they out-Heroded Herod; that Brant often spared where they refused. Out
of these isolated facts it is sought to build up a reputation for
generosity and magnanimity, to which Brant is not entitled. Some moments
of mercy he had; while those arch fiends, the Butlers, never relaxed
into the weakness of mercy; but the name of Brant, nevertheless, is
written too redly in the blood of our ancestors for us ever to regard
him with other feelings than those of horror and dread. His knowledge of
the detestation in which the whites regarded the Indian modes of
warfare, acted upon his pride; he did not wish to be classed with the
_untutored_ of his own race; so that his regard for appearances caused
him frequently to forbear the cruelties which his associates practiced.
The first affair of importance in which we hear of him is the battle of
Oriskany. It was on the 6th of August, 1777. Brant was under the
direction of General St. Leger, who detached him, with a considerable
body of warriors, for the investment of Fort Stanwix. Colonel Butler was
commander-in-chief of the expedition, with a band of tories under his
immediate charge. The inhabitants in the valley of the Mohawk determined
to march to the assistance of the fort, which they did in two regiments,
with General Herkimer at their head. As is usual with militia, they
marched in great disorder, and through the inadvertence of General
Herkimer—who, influenced by sneers at his _cowardice_ in taking such a
precaution, failed to throw forward scouts as he should have done—were
surprised by the Indians as they were crossing an almost impassable
ravine, upon a single track of logs. The ambush selected by Brant could
not have been better fitted for his purpose. The ravine was
semicircular, and Brant and his forces occupied the surrounding heights.
The first intimation of the presence of the enemy was the terrifying
yells of the Indians, and the still more lasting impressions of their
rifles. Running down from every direction, they prevented the two
regiments from forming a junction—one of them not having entered the
causeway. A part of the assailants fell upon those without, a part upon
those within. The former fared worse than the latter; for, in such a
case a flight almost always proves a dismal defeat, as was now the case.
The other regiment, hemmed in as it was, saw that
"To fight, or not to fight, was death."
They therefore, back to back, forming a front in every direction, fought
like men in despair. With such bravery did they resist, in this forlorn
condition, that the Indians began to give way, and but for a
reinforcement of tories, they would have been entirely dispersed. The
sight of this reinforcement increased the rage of the Americans. The
tory regiment was composed of the very men who had left that part of the
country at the beginning of the war, and were held in abhorrence for
their loyalty to the king. Dr. Gordon says that the tories and Indians
got into a most wretched confusion, and fought one another; and that the
latter, at last, thought it was a plot of the whites to get them into
that situation, that they might be cut off. General Herkimer got forward
an express to the fort, when he was reinforced as soon as possible, and
the remnant of his brave band saved. He beat the enemy from the ground,
and carried considerable plunder to the fort; but two hundred Americans
were lost, and among them the General himself, who died, soon after,
from the effects of a wound received at the time.
In the early part of the contest, General Herkimer had been struck by a
ball, which shattered his leg and killed his horse. Undaunted by this
accident, and indifferent to the severity of the pain, the brave old
General continued on his saddle, which was placed on a little hillock,
near a tree, against which he leaned for support, while giving his
orders with the utmost coolness, though his men fell in scores about
him, and his exposed position made him a mark for the enemy. Amid the
clashing of weapons, the roar of artillery, and the yells of the
combatants, all mingled in wild confusion, General Herkimer deliberately
took his pipe from his pocket, lit it, and smoked with seeming
composure. On being advised to remove to a place of greater security, he
said, "_No; I will face the enemy_." It is said that Blucher, at the
battle of Leipsic, sat on a hillock, smoking, and issuing his orders;
but Blucher was not wounded.
General Herkimer's leg was amputated after the battle, but it was done
so unskillfully that the flow of blood could not be stopped. During the
operation he smoked and chatted in excellent spirits; and when his
departure drew nigh, he called for a Bible, and read aloud, until his
failing strength compelled him to desist. Such is the stuff of which
heroes are made.
The night which followed the battle was one of horror for the prisoners
taken by the enemy. As usual, the Indians slaked their thirst for blood
and torture, which the battle had awakened, in pitiless cruelties upon
their defenseless captives. It does not seem that Brant here exercised,
or caused to be exercised, any clemency. Some of the doomed creatures
begged of Butler, the British officer, to use his influence with the
Indians; and to their appeals were joined the entreaties of the
guard—the tories, in whose breasts some humanity remained; but this
fiend, more savage than the savages, only cursed them for their folly in
pleading for "infernal rebels." All manner of tortures, including
roasting, was practiced upon the captives, as was testified to by one of
their number, Dr. Younglove, who, after enduring every thing but death,
finally escaped from his tormentors.
In June of the next year, 1778, Brant came upon Springfield, which he
burned, and carried off a number of prisoners. The women and children
were not maltreated, but were left in one house unmolested. About this
time great efforts were made to secure the wary chief, but none of them
were successful.
The next event of importance in which Brant was engaged was the
destruction of Wyoming, that most heart-rending affair in all the annals
of the Revolutionary war. The events of that awful massacre, the
treachery of Butler, the ferocity of the savages, and the still more
hellish malignity of their white allies, are known to all. The wail
which then arose from innocent women and helpless babes, consumed in one
funeral pyre, together, will never die—its echoes yet ring upon the
shuddering senses of each successive generation. Of late years an effort
has been made to prove that Brant was not even present at that massacre;
but of this there is no _proof_. Campbell, the author of "Gertrude of
Wyoming," was so worked upon by the representations of a son of Brant,
who visited England in 1822, that he recalled all he said of
"The foe—the monster Brant,"
and wished him, thereafter, to be regarded as a "purely fictitious
character."
One thing is certain. Brant _was_ at the massacre of Cherry Valley,
which settlement, in the November following the destruction of Wyoming,
met a fate nearly similar. At this terrible affair was repeated the
atrocities of the former. A tory boasted that he killed a Mr. Wells
while at prayer. His daughter, a beautiful and estimable young lady,
fled from the house to a pile of wood for shelter, but an Indian pursued
her; and composedly wiping his bloody knife on his leggin, seized her,
and while she was begging for her life in the few words of Indian which
she knew, he ruthlessly killed her. But why speak of one, where hundreds
met a similar fate? It is said that Brant, on this occasion, did
exercise clemency; and that he was the only one who did. It was shortly
after this that Sullivan's army was organized to march upon the Indian
country and put a stop to such outrages. Brant met it and was repulsed
and fled. It has been made a matter of complaint that our forces
destroyed the Indian villages and crops. But with such wrongs burning in
their breasts, who could ask of them the practice of extraordinary
generosity toward monsters who would not respect nor return it? The same
complaint is made to-day against the exasperated Minnesotians, who claim
the fullest vengeance of the law against the stealthy panthers, and
worse than wild beasts, who have recently ravaged their State. They ask
it, and _should have it_.
In the spring of 1780, Brant renewed his warfare against our
settlements. He seems, in almost all cases, to have been successful,
uniting, as he did, the means of civilized warfare with all the art and
duplicity of the savage.
In later years Colonel Brant exerted himself to preserve peace between
the whites and Indians; and during the important treaties which were
made in 1793 he was in favor of settling matters amicably. He had won
from the British Government all the honors it was willing to bestow upon
a _savage_ ally, and what were they? A Colonel's commission, with
liberty to do work for the king which British soldiers did not care to
do—the slaughter of women and children, and the sacking of villages. It
is quite probable that, after Wayne's decisive castigation of the
Indians, and British insolence had thereby also received a blow, Brant
retired from a service which he knew must be worse than fruitless.
Colonel Brant was married, in the winter of 1779, to the daughter of
Colonel Croghan by an Indian woman. He had lived with her some time,
according to the Indian manner; but being present at the wedding of Miss
Moore, (one of the Cherry Valley captives,) he took a fancy to have the
"civilized" ceremony performed between himself and his partner. King
George III. conferred valuable lands upon him, and he became quite
wealthy. He owned, at one time, thirty or forty negroes, to whom he was
a most brutal master. Brant professed to be a great admirer of Greek,
and intended to study that language so as to be able to make an original
translation of the New Testament into Mohawk.
He died in November, 1807, and was said to have been sixty-five years
old at the time of his death. He left several children, some of whose
descendants are wealthy and respectable people. His wife, at his death,
returned to her wild Indian life.