Who has not heard of Logan, "the white man's friend"—that noble specimen
of the Indian race, who, by his forbearance, prudence, and magnanimity,
has done so much toward elevating the character of the red-man to that
high standard so forcibly depicted in the works of America's great
novelist—Cooper. That there may have been thousands among the tribes who
inhabited this continent at the period of its settlement by the whites,
who were actuated and controlled by the savage impulses of their
naturally brutal and cruel propensities, there can be no doubt; but
these pages give striking evidence that there were many who were
governed by the dictates of higher instincts and loftier sentiments than
those of passion and prejudice.
In early life Logan lived at a place called Logan's Spring, in Mifflin
county, Pennsylvania. The first settler in his immediate neighborhood
was William Brown, who afterwards became an associate Judge to Mifflin
county, a post which he held until his death, at the age of ninety.
While engaged in looking for a convenient spot on which to erect his
cabin, he visited Logan at his camp, accompanied by his brother, and
while there, engaged in a friendly contest of skill in the use of the
rifle with the chieftain. A dollar a shot was the wager for which they
contended, and when they ceased it was found that Logan was the loser of
several shots. Going to his cabin, he returned with as many deer-skins
as he had lost dollars, and handed them to the winner, who refused to
take them, alleging that he was his guest, and did not come to rob him;
that the bet had been a mere nominal one, and he did not expect him to
pay it. The chief drew himself up to his full height, while a frown of
injured dignity darkened his brow, and exclaimed: "Me bet to make you
shoot your best; me gentleman, and me take your money if me beat," and
as there was no wish to insult him, the winner was obliged to take the
skins from their host, who would not accept even a horn of powder in
return. So much for the Indian's honesty and integrity.
Mrs. Norris, a daughter of Judge Brown, gives some particulars relating
to Logan, which are highly interesting. She says: "Logan supported
himself by killing deer and dressing their skins, which he sold to the
whites. He had sold quite a quantity to one De Yong, a tailor, who lived
in Fuguson's valley, below the Gap. Tailors, in those days, dealt
extensively in buckskin breeches. Logan received his pay, according to
stipulation, in wheat. The wheat, on being taken to the mill, was found
so worthless that the miller refused to grind it. Logan was much
chagrined, and attempted in vain to obtain redress from the tailor. He
then took his case before his friend Brown, then a magistrate; and on
the Judge's questioning him as to the character of the wheat, and what
was in it, Logan sought for words in vain to express the precise nature
of the article with which the wheat was adulterated, but said that it
resembled in character the wheat itself.
"It must have been _cheat_," said the Judge.
"Yoh!" said Logan, "that very good name for him."
A decision was given in Logan's favor, and a writ given to him to hand
to the constable, which, he was told, would bring the money for the
skins. But the untutored Indian—too uncivilized to be dishonest—could
not comprehend by what magic this little bit of paper would force the
tailor against his will to pay for the skins. The Judge took down his
own commission, with the arms of the king upon it, and explained to him
the first principles and operations of civil law. "Law good," said
Logan; "make rogues pay."
But how much more efficient the law which the Great Spirit had impressed
upon the Indian's heart—_to do unto others as he would be done by_.
When one of Judge Brown's children was just learning to walk, its mother
happened to express a regret that she could not get a pair of shoes to
support its first efforts. Logan, who stood by, overheard the remark,
but apparently paid no attention to it, although he had determined in
his own mind that the want of shoes should not hinder the little girl in
her first attempts. Two or three days passed, and the remark had been
forgotten by all save the chieftain, when, happening into their house,
he asked the mother if she would allow the child to go with him, and
spend the day at his cabin. Mrs. B. could not divine the reason of such
a request, and all her suspicions were aroused at the idea of placing
her little cherub in the hands of one whose objects she could not
understand. The proposition alarmed her, and, without giving a decided
negative, she hesitated to comply. The matter was left to her husband,
who urged her to consent, representing the delicacy of Logan's feelings,
his sensitiveness, and his character for truth and plain dealing. With
much reluctance, but with apparent cheerfulness, the mother at length
complied, although her heart was filled with forebodings, as she saw her
little one disappear in the woods in the arms of the chieftain. Slowly
passed the sad hours away, and the poor mother could do nothing but
think of her absent one, in the hands of a savage warrior, the natural
enemy of the pale-face. As the day drew to a close, she took her station
at the window, and watched with the most intense solicitude for the
return of her child; but hour after hour passed away without bringing
any relief to her anxious heart. A thousand vague fears and conjectures
filled her mind with the many tales of Indian barbarity and treachery
which she had heard, and as the shades of evening drew around the
landscape, and her little one had not returned, she felt that to hear of
her death at the hands of the chief would be a relief to her overwrought
brain. Her husband endeavored to calm her agitated feelings, and soothe
her into confidence in the integrity of Logan—but with little effect;
and it is probable that her apprehensions would have driven her to go to
the cabin of the Indian in search of her child. Just after the sun went
down, however, he made his appearance in the dim twilight, bearing the
little treasure in his arms, who seemed delighted with her conductor for
her arms were thrown about his neck as he bore her along with firm and
rapid steps to her home. The mother's heart leaped with joy as she
recognized the persons of the chief and the child. She sprung from her
chair, where she had passed so many anxious moments, and prepared to
receive the little one, around whom had been concentrated all her
maternal feelings that tiresome, lonely, and weary day. A few brief
moments, which to her seemed hours, brought the chief to the door, where
he released the child from its embrace, and sat it down upon the floor.
The mother caught it in her arms and hugged it to her bosom, while the
father addressed his thanks to the proud and gratified chief for a pair
of beautiful little moccasins, adorned with beads and all the fancy work
of an Indian's taste, which covered and supported the feet of the little
girl. During all that day, which had been so tedious and full of anxiety
to the mother, Logan had been engaged in constructing and ornamenting
the little gift, by which he intended to show his appreciation of the
many favors he had received at the parents' hands.
Logan was called a Mingo chief, or Mengwe, whose father was chief of the
Cayugas, whom he succeeded. His parent being attached, in a remarkable
degree, to the benevolent James Logan, after whom he named his son. The
name is still perpetuated among the Indians. For magnanimity in war, and
greatness of soul in peace, few, in any nation, ever surpassed Logan. He
was inclined to friendship with the whites; nothing but aggravated
wrongs succeeded in making him their enemy. He took no part in the
French wars, ending in 1770, except that of peacemaker—was always
acknowledged to favor us, until the year 1774, when his brother, and
several others of the family, were murdered.
The particulars were these. In the spring of that year some Indians were
reported to have robbed the people upon the Ohio river, who were in that
country, exploring the lands, and preparing for settlements. These
land-jobbers, becoming alarmed at what they considered the hostile
character of the Indians, collected themselves at a place called Whiting
creek, the site of the present town of Wheeling, and, learning that
there were two Indians on the river above, Captain Michael Cresap,
belonging to the exploring party, proposed to fall upon and kill them.
His advice was first opposed, then followed—the two Indians were slain.
The same day, it being reported that there were Indians below Wheeling,
on the river, Cresap and his party immediately marched to the place, and
at first appeared to show themselves friendly, suffering the Indians to
pass by them unmolested, to encamp still lower down, at the mouth of
Grove Creek. Cresap now followed, attacked and killed several, having
one of his own men wounded by the fire of the savages. Here some of the
family of Logan were slain. This affair was exceedingly aggravating,
inasmuch as the whites pretended no provocation.
Soon after this the whites committed another unprovoked outrage upon the
Indian encampment, about thirty miles above Wheeling, on the opposite
side of the river. A white man by the name of Greathouse lived opposite
the encampment. He collected a party of thirty-two men, who secreted
themselves, while he, under pretense of a friendly visit, crossed the
river to ascertain the number of the Indians. On counting them, he found
they were too numerous for his own party. These Indians had heard of the
late murder of their friends, and had resolved to be revenged.
Greathouse did not know of the danger he was incurring, until a squaw
advised him of it, in friendly caution to "go home." He then invited the
Indians to come over the river and drink with him, this being a part of
his plan for separating them, that they might be more easily destroyed.
The offer was accepted by a good many, who, being collected at a tavern
in the white settlement, were treated freely to liquor, and all killed,
except a little girl. Among the murdered was a brother and sister of
Logan.
The remaining Indians, upon the other side of the river, upon hearing
the firing, sent off two canoes with armed warriors, who, as they
approached the shore, were fired upon by the whites, who lay concealed
awaiting them. Nothing prevented their taking deadly aim, so that their
fire was terribly destructive, and the canoes were obliged to return.
This affair took place in May, 1774. These were the events which led to
a horrid Indian war, in which many innocent families were sacrificed to
satisfy the vengeance of an injured, incensed people. A calm followed
the first outbreak; but it was the calm which precedes the storm, and
lasted only while the tocsin of war was being sounded among the distant
nations.
In July of the same year, Logan, at the head of eight warriors, struck a
blow upon some inhabitants in Michigan, where no one expected it. He
left the settlement of the Ohio, which all supposed would be first
attacked in case of war, and hence the reason of his great successes.
His first attack was upon three men who were pulling flax in a field.
One was shot down, and the two others taken. These were marched into the
wilderness, and, as they approached the Indian town, Logan gave the
scalp halloo, and they were met by the inhabitants, who conducted them
in. Running the gauntlet was next to be performed. Logan took no delight
in torture, and he instructed one of the prisoners how to proceed to
escape the severities of the gauntlet. This same captive, whose name was
Robison, was afterward sentenced to be burned, but Logan, though not
able to rescue him by his eloquence, with his own hand cut the cords
which bound him to the stake, and caused him to be adopted into an
Indian family. Robison afterward became Logan's scribe, and wrote for
him the letter, tied to a war-club, which was left, that same season, at
the house of a family cut off by the Indians, and which served to alarm
the inhabitants, and to call out the militia for their protection. It
ran thus:
"CAPTAIN CRESAP: What did you kill my people on Yellow Creek for? The
white people killed my kin at Conestoga, a great while ago, and I
thought nothing of that. But you killed my kin again on Yellow Creek,
and took my cousin prisoner. Then I thought I must kill, too; and I have
been to war three times since. But the Indians are not angry—only
myself.
"CAPTAIN JOHN LOGAN."
There was a chief among the Shawanese more renowned as a warrior than
even Logan at that time. Cornstalk was his name, and to him seems to
have fallen the principal direction of the war which was now begun. We
do not propose to give a detailed history of the fierce struggle which
followed; but some account of the great battle at Point Pleasant cannot
be uninteresting.
General Lewis, with eleven hundred men, gave battle to fifteen hundred
savage warriors, under Logan, Cornstalk, Ellinipsico (Cornstalk's son,)
Red Eagle, and other mighty chiefs of the tribes of the Delawares,
Shawanese, Cayugas, Wyandots, and Mingoes. The battle began a little
after sunrise, on a narrow point of land, between the Ohio and the Great
Kanawha rivers. The breastworks of the Indians, constructed of
brushwood, extended from river to river; their plan of attack was the
best conceivable, for in the event of victory on their part, not a
Virginian would have escaped. They had stationed men on both sides of
the river, to prevent the escape of such as might attempt it, by
swimming from the apex of the triangle made by the confluence of the two
rivers. The Virginians, like their opponents, covered themselves with
trees, or whatever shelter offered; but the Indians had every advantage.
Hour after hour the battle lasted, the Indians slowly retreating to
their breastworks, while the Virginians fought with desperate courage,
for life itself was at stake for all of them. Colonel Lewis, brother of
the commanding General, soon fell, under the fire to which his uniform
particularly exposed him. His division was broken, while another
division, under Colonel Fleming, was attacked at the same moment, and
the Colonel received two balls in his left wrist, but continued to
exercise his command with the greatest coolness. His voice was
continually heard: "Advance—outflank the enemy; get between them and the
river. Don't lose an inch of ground!" But his men were about to be
outflanked by the body which had just defeated Lewis, when the arrival
of Colonel Field's division turned the fortune of the day, but not
without severe loss. Colonel Fleming was again wounded by a shot through
the lungs, and Colonel Field was killed while leading on his men.
The Indians fought with an equal bravery. The voice of Cornstalk was
often heard during the day, above the din of strife, calling on his
warriors in these words: "Be strong! be strong!" and when, by the
repeated charge of the whites, some of his men began to waver, he is
said to have sunk his hatchet in the brain of one who was cowardly
attempting to retreat.
General Lewis finally decided the contest by getting three companies of
men into the rear of the Indians; these companies got unobserved to
their destination upon Crooked Creek, a little stream running into the
Kanawha, whose high, wood-covered banks sheltered them, while they made
a furious attack upon the backs of the Indians, who, thinking
reinforcements had arrived, fled across the Ohio, and immediately took
up their march for their towns on the Scioto. It was sunset when the
battle ended.
[Illustration:
The Mother's Trial—_Page_ 52.
]
There was a kind of stratagem used in this contest, which was more than
once practiced by the experienced Virginia riflemen, during their fight
with the savages. The soldiers in Colonel Fleming's corps would conceal
themselves behind a tree, or some other shelter, and then hold out their
caps from behind, which the Indians, seeing, would mistake as covering
the heads of their opponents, and shoot at them. The cap being dropped
at the moment, the Indian would dart out from his covert to scalp his
victim, and thus meet a sure death from the tomahawk of his adversary.
This game was practiced only by the "prime riflemen," accustomed to a
backwoods life.
After this signal defeat, the Indians were prepared to treat for peace.
General Lewis, after burying his dead, took up his perilous and
difficult march, his troops eager to exterminate the Indians; but
Governor Dunmore, having received numerous offers of peace, finally
ordered him to retreat. Lord Dunmore, with a force equal to that of
Lewis, was now at Chilicothe, where he began a treaty, conducted on the
part of the whites with great distrust, who never admitted but a few
Indians at a time into their encampment. The business was commenced by
Cornstalk, in a speech of great length, in which he charged upon the
whites the main cause of the war; and mainly in consequence of the
murder of Logan's family. A treaty, however, was the result of this
conference, and this conference was the result of the Mingo chief's
famous speech, since known throughout both hemispheres. It was not
delivered in Lord Dunmore's camp, for, although desiring peace, Logan
would not meet the whites in council, but remained in his cabin in
sullen silence, until a messenger was sent to him with the treaty, to
know if he consented to its articles. To this messenger he pronounced
that memorable speech:
"I appeal to any white man to say if he ever entered Logan's cabin
hungry, and I gave him not meat; if he ever came cold and naked, and I
clothed him not.
"During the course of the last long, bloody war, Logan remained idle in
his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that
my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said: 'Logan is the friend of
the white man.'
"I had even thought to have lived with you, but for the injuries of one
man. Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked,
murdered all the relations of Logan, not even sparing his women and
children.
"There was not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature.
This called on me for revenge; I have sought it. I have killed many—I
have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country I rejoice at the beams
of peace. But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear.
Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life.
Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one!"
Cornstalk, a chief excelling even Logan in natural nobility of
character, and great bravery, who conducted the battle and the treaty,
lost his life within a year from that time, under circumstances painful
to all lovers of justice.
Upon the breaking out of the Revolution, the year following, the British
Government, through their agents, made the most strenuous efforts to
induce the Indians to take up the tomahawk in behalf of the king, and
were but too successful. Cornstalk, however, actuated by a high-toned
feeling of repugnance at the idea of breaking his plighted faith, and
foreseeing the inevitable issue of the struggle—being, moreover, a firm
and consistent friend of the Americans—refused to take any part in the
contest, and exerted the utmost of his influence to prevent his tribe
from joining the coalition. His efforts proved futile, however, and the
influence of British presents, and the example of the neighboring
tribes, had the effect which he most dreaded. He did not live to see the
result of the struggle, being killed on the spot where he had but a year
before fought so bravely in defense of his home and the graves of his
sires. After the truce between the tribes and Governor Dunmore had been
agreed upon, a fort was erected at Point Pleasant to commemorate the
battle and keep the Indians in check, and to this fort Cornstalk, after
finding that his efforts to preserve that compact intact would be
unavailing, repaired to explain the position of affairs to its
commanding officer, Captain Arbuckle, and take his advice as to what
course he should pursue. Red-hawk, the Delaware chief, who had also
fought so bravely at Point Pleasant, and who was likewise opposed to
resuming the hatchet, accompanied him in his visit. The chieftain
explained in the fullest manner the state of affairs among the Indians,
and informed Arbuckle that he should be unable to restrain his tribe,
who seemed determined to dig up the hatchet, and once more commence an
exterminating war against the settlers. Under these circumstances,
Arbuckle felt himself justified in detaining the chief and his companion
as hostages, supposing that the fact of their principal leader being in
the hands of the Americans would have the effect of deterring his tribe
from active hostilities. Thinking themselves that such a result might
follow, and earnestly desirous of not taking part in the contest, which
they knew must follow if they returned to their people, they remained
willing captives in the hands of Arbuckle, little dreaming of the fate
which awaited them, and giving all the information which they possessed
regarding the anticipated movements of the various tribes, and of the
British agents among them.
The young chief, Ellinipsico, becoming anxious at the protracted absence
of his father, set out in search of him, and, having traced him to the
fort, he made his appearance on the opposite side of the river, and,
being recognized by the chieftain, permission was given him to enter the
fort, where the meeting between them was of the most affecting nature.
They entertained for each other the warmest feelings of affection, which
the young man displayed on the present occasion, by the enthusiastic
manner in which he embraced his parent, and sought to show his joy at
meeting him.
The hostages had been quartered in one of the cabins within the pickets
of the fort, which, from its position, afforded safety and
security—although they were not confined thereto, but allowed the range
of the inclosure, and thither they bent their steps, and father and son
sat down to take counsel in the present state of affairs. Ellinipsico,
in common with the young men of his tribe, was in favor of joining in
the war, being anxious to distinguish himself, and win his way by feats
of arms to the proud position which would be his own inheritance on the
death of his father. From such a course, Cornstalk endeavored to
dissuade him with all the eloquence for which he was distinguished—but
with little effect. The young man felt the unconquerable enmity of his
race toward the white men, and burned to wash out in their blood the
many wrongs and injuries he had received at their hands. The afternoon
and evening having been spent in conversation upon this subject, without
any result, the chieftain and his son laid down to sleep on the floor of
their cabin—the last sleep they were destined to take this side of
eternity.
On the morning after the arrival of Ellinipsico, two men of the
garrison, named Hamilton and Gillmore, started out to hunt on the
opposite side of the Kanawha river, not dreaming of any danger to be
apprehended from the Indians, hostilities not having as yet commenced.
On their return about noon, they were fired upon by two Indians, who had
come across the Ohio to reconnoiter the fort, and hidden themselves in
the weeds and brush, and Gillmore was killed. Colonel Stewart and
Captain Arbuckle were standing on the opposite shore when the firing was
heard, and expressed their surprise to one another at the occurrence, as
strict orders had been given against all firing in the immediate
vicinity of the fort. While anxiously awaiting a solution to the
mystery, they discovered Hamilton on the other bank, who called to them,
told them that Gillmore had been killed, and entreated them to send a
canoe across to his relief. Captain Hall was dispatched with several men
to the relief of the fugitive, and in a few moments they stood by his
side.
A careful search in the adjacent bushes discovered the body of their
comrade, shot through the head, and scalped. Placing the bloody corpse
in the canoe, they recrossed the river, and with feelings of dire
revenge demanded the lives of the hostages in the fort. Pale with rage,
and terribly excited at the murder of one of his companions, Captain
Hall placed himself at the head of his men, and marched toward the fort,
threatening death to the unarmed hostages. Captain Arbuckle and several
of the officers threw themselves in their way, and endeavored to prevent
the execution of their bloodthirsty purpose; but this only excited the
passions of the soldiers to the most ungovernable pitch, and cocking
their pieces, they threatened death to all who interfered between them
and their victims. Arbuckle was forced to give way, and witness a scene
he was unable to prevent, and the exasperated men rushed into the fort.
The interpreter's wife, who had been a captive among the Indians, and
felt an affection for them, rushed to the cabin to inform them that
Captain Hall's men were advancing to put them to death, because they
entertained the idea that the Indians who had killed their comrade had
come with Ellinipsico the day previous. This Ellinipsico earnestly
denied, averring that he had come alone, with the only purpose of
meeting his father, and without dreaming of hostility. The clamor
without announced the rapid approach of their executioners, and
Ellinipsico, being highly excited at the idea of being put to death for
a wrong he had not committed, showed considerable agitation. The veteran
chief, however, had faced death on too many battle-fields to be alarmed
at his approach now, and endeavored to reassure his son, and induce him
to die as became the child of such a sire. "If the Great Spirit," said
he, "has decided that I should die, my son, and has sent you here to die
with me, you should submit to your fate as becomes a warrior and a
chief." With courage revived by the exhortation of his father,
Ellinipsico prepared to meet with composure the death which he saw was
inevitable. Covering his face with his hands that he might not see his
executioners, he calmly awaited the stroke which was to deprive him of
life, and send him to the "happy hunting grounds" of his race. As the
door of the cabin was burst open, Cornstalk rose with dignity, and
presented his breast to the rifles of the infuriated soldiers. Seven
bullets pierced his noble form, and he died without a struggle. His son
was killed at the same instant, and both fell to the ground together.
Red-hawk, who had endeavored to hide himself, was dragged from his place
of concealment and killed, as was another Indian who was in the fort,
and who was fearfully mangled in the struggle.
"Thus," says Withers, in his Indian chronicles, "perished the mighty
Cornstalk, sachem of the Shawnees, and king of the Northern confederacy
in 1774—a chief remarkable for many great and good qualities. He was
disposed to be, at all times, the friend of the white men, as he was
ever the advocate of honorable peace. But when his country's wrongs
summoned him to the battle, he was the thunderbolt of war, and made his
enemies feel the weight of his arm. His noble bearing, his generous and
disinterested attachment to the colonies, his anxiety to preserve the
frontiers of Virginia from desolation and death, all conspired to win
for him the esteem and respect of others; while the untimely and
perfidious manner of his death caused a deep and lasting feeling of
regret to pervade the bosoms, even of those who were enemies to his
nation, and excited the indignation of all toward his inhuman
murderers."
We would not be thought the apologist for a deed like that which has
been narrated; but, at the same time, cannot join the cry which is
raised against it by those authors who stigmatize it is a "cruel,
bloodthirsty, inhuman, fiendlike murder." All the harshest terms in our
language have been hurled at the heads of those who were engaged in it,
and with great injustice. Cruel and bloodthirsty it undoubtedly was, but
it was the natural consequence of the war which was waged between the
white and red-men, in which revenge for injuries inflicted was held to
be a sacred duty. Stone, with great want of candor, omits to mention the
fact that Hall and his companions entertained the idea that the Indians
who had accompanied Ellinipsico had killed their fellow soldier; but, in
language of the severest cast, would lead us to suppose their act a
mean, cowardly, cold-blooded massacre. He says: "A party of ruffians
assembled, under command of a Captain Hall—not to pursue or punish the
perpetrators of the murder, but to fall upon the friendly and peaceable
Indians in the fort." What would have been the conduct of the Indians
under similar circumstances? The pages of his own work exhibit many
instances of similar cruelty and revengeful practice on their part; and
even Brant himself is not free from it.
True, in the present case, the perpetrators were white men, civilized
and enlightened; but in the long and bloody wars of extermination which
they had waged with the savages, they had learned their mode of warfare;
in fact, they could not hope for success in any other way, and the long
account of murders, massacres, burnings at the stake, and inhuman
tortures, which, even at the present day, thrill the blood with horror,
had exasperated the feelings of those men who were surrounded by the
actual reality, and expected no better fate themselves at the hands of
Indians, should they be so unfortunate as to be captured, and they lost
sight of the dictates of justice in the all-powerful and blinding spirit
of revenge.
[Illustration:
The Women Defending the Wagon.—_Page_ 8.
]