WARRIOR AND KNIGHT
BUCKONGAHELAS, THE DELAWARE CHIEF
Among the leading chiefs who took part in the decisive battle at
Maumee Rapids, when General Wayne smashed the Indian confederacy, was
Buckongahelas, a sachem of the Delaware tribe. He was an orator of
ability and a military leader of skill, with a humanity not often shown
by one of his race. He took the side of the British until his attitude
was changed by a certain incident, soon to be related.
No missionaries toiled more faithfully among the red men than the
Moravians, who suffered every kind of persecution, facing privations,
trials, tortures, and the most painful of deaths in order to bring
the children of the forest to a knowledge of the true faith. They met
with much success, and founded a number of missions, where scores of
red men proved by their lives their belief in the religion professed
by the white men. Thriving settlements were founded by the Moravian
missionaries. These people, by their gentle ways, often suffered
from their own race, while others, like Buckongahelas, treated them
with kindness and respect, even though he did not believe in their
principles.
It cannot be denied that our forefathers on the frontier were often
frightfully misused by the Indians. Many atrocities were too dreadful
to be described. The winter of 1782 was marked by a number of
cruelties at the hands of the Sandusky Indians. In revenge, a band of
nearly a hundred men gathered on the frontier of Pennsylvania, and, led
by Colonel David Williamson, marched against the Christian Indians at
Gnadenhutten, a missionary settlement. Friendly messengers were sent to
warn them of their danger, but, sad to say, they arrived too late. In
March, 1782, ninety-six men, women and children, while singing hymns
and praying, were slain by this company of white men, not one of whom
ever was punished for the crime.
A few months before this awful crime, two Christian Indians of
Gnadenhutten went out into the woods to look for some estray horses.
They had not gone far, when they met a chieftain at the head of eighty
warriors. The Christians were made prisoners without explanation. Then
the band took a roundabout course through the forest, until near the
settlement, when they went into a secret camp, keeping the captives
lest they should escape and give the alarm. Early the next morning, the
town was surrounded so that none could leave, and the leader of the war
party shouted to the frightened people that they must give up their
chief and principal councillors, either alive or dead.
The leader named the men he wanted and was determined to have, but the
Christians replied that it chanced that every one was absent, having
gone to Pittsburg some days before. The visitors searched each house
from attic to cellar, and found they had been told the truth. Then the
chief ordered that the leading men remaining in Gnadenhutten and Salem
should appear before him to hear what he had to say. When they had
assembled, he spoke:
"Friends, listen to what I say. You see a great and powerful nation
divided. The father (the King) has called on his Indian children to
help him in punishing his children, the Americans, who have become
stubborn and will not obey him. Friends, often has the father been
obliged to settle and make amends for the wrongs and mischiefs done to
us, by his evil children, yet these children do not grow any better!
They remain the same and will remain the same so long as there is left
any land of which they can rob us. Listen to me and hear what I have
to say. I have come to bid you arise and go with me to a safe place. I
will take you to a country (the Miami), where your fields shall yield
you abundant crops and where your cattle shall find plenty of pasture;
where there is much game; where your women and children, together
with yourselves, will live in peace and safety; where no Long Knife"
(meaning the sword and bayonet of the colonists) "shall ever disturb
you. Nay; I will live between you and them, and not even allow them to
frighten you. There you can worship your God without fear. Here where
you live you cannot do so. Think on what I have said to you and believe
that if you stay where you are, very soon the Long Knives will talk to
you with fine words, and while they are talking they will kill you all."
The chief who uttered this warning was Buckongahelas, and he was honest
in his wish to take the gentle people with him, to where they would
escape the danger to which he knew they were exposed. They thanked him
but declined his offer, believing that their principles and goodly
lives were so well known that no one would harm them. The chief then
asked that those who wished to leave should be allowed to do so. This
was agreed to and a few left. How true the words of the good man were
was proven soon after when the massacre named occurred!
Buckongahelas next went to Salem. The following account is by
Heckewelder who was present:
"The Christian Indians," said the chieftain, "were a happy people
and he would never trouble them on account of their not joining in
the war. Indeed they could not with propriety join in wars, without
first renouncing praying," (meaning Christianity). "And every Indian,
or body of Indians, had a right to chose for themselves, whom they
should serve. For him, he had hired himself to his father, the king
of England, for the purpose of fighting his refractory children, the
Long Knives, whilst his friends and relations, the Christian Indians,
had hired themselves to the Great Spirit, solely for the purpose
of performing prayers," (meaning attending to religion). "He added
that both were right in their way, though both employments could not
be connected together. And only yesterday they were told, while at
Gnadenhutten, that God had instructed all Christian people to _love_
their enemies, and even to pray for them. These words, he said, were
written in the large book that contained the words and commandments
of God! Now, how would it appear, were we to compel our friends, who
love and pray for their enemies to fight against them--compel them to
act contrary to what they believe to be right--force them to do that
by which they would incur the displeasure of the Great Spirit, and
bring his wrath upon them? It would be as wrong in him to compel the
Christian Indians to quit praying and to turn out and kill people, as
it would be in them to compel him to lay fighting aside, and turn to
praying only."
Did Indian or white man ever utter nobler sentiments? Buckongahelas
was not a Christian, and he claimed the right belonging to every one,
to think for himself and to form his own judgment, but he did that
which many, who may profess the same principles, are unable to do; he
accepted just as fully the right of every one else to do the same. He
complimented the principles of the Christians, for he respected them
and, as has been already said, his only wish was to befriend and save
them from the cruelty of the white man. He knew better than they that
no trust could be placed in those of the other race, and sad indeed
was it for the Moravian Christians that they did not act upon his own
counsel.
Before entering Salem, the chief made all his warriors leave their
guns behind, so as not to alarm their hosts. When ready to leave, he
turned and addressed the assembled Christians thanking them for their
hospitality, and assuring them that they could always depend upon his
steadfast friendship.
[Illustration: A FIGHT AT ODDS]
The following incident will illustrate a peculiar phase of the
character of this remarkable man:
One of the most noted scouts connected with Colonel Brodhead's army,
and afterward with Harmar, St. Clair and Wayne, was an Irishman named
Murphy. He was a rollicking fellow, with all the wit and waggery of
his people, brave to the last degree, and a master of woodcraft. Some
of the exploits with which he is credited sound incredible. No Indian
could follow a shadowy trail through the woods more truly, and few were
his equal in resources and quickness to see the right thing to do in a
crisis. He was tall, bony, homely of feature, with a shock of fiery red
hair and a freckled countenance. With many, his greatest gift was his
fleetness of foot. In all the races in which he engaged he never met
his superior. Simon Kenton, who, in his prime, could run like a deer,
said Murphy was able to lead every one else.
This point became well known to the Indians, and many of them put forth
their utmost efforts to capture him. Aware of the valuable help he gave
to the whites, they would have given much to lay hands on him. He had
slain and scalped (sad to say that barbarous practice was not confined
to the red men) some of their most noted warriors, and there would have
been general rejoicing among all the tribes could the means be found to
check his destroying career.
Well, disaster came to Murphy at last. He had a hard fight with three
Delawares, one summer afternoon, in the depths of the wilderness. He
shot one, wounded the second, and would have gotten away as usual,
but at the critical moment, a score of bucks arrived on the spot,
surrounded and made him prisoner. When the grinning captors closed
about him, Murphy threw up his hands and asked them to be considerate
as he had wrenched his ankle, and was barely able to stand. His appeal
was useless, for they beat him unmercifully, and forced him to keep
pace with them, though he limped so badly that at times he actually
hopped forward on one foot. But the plucky fellow gritted his teeth,
bore their blows unflinchingly, and, seemingly more dead than alive,
finally reached the Delaware villages, where his coming caused great
excitement and rejoicing.
It was early in the afternoon, and a discussion immediately took place
as to how the prize should be disposed of. The majority favored
burning him at the stake; but Buckongahelas had stopped that inhuman
practice, and would not listen to anything of the kind. Other savage
pleasantries were suggested, all of which the chief vetoed, in several
cases being backed by some of the leaders. Finally, some one proposed
that the captive should run the gauntlet.
The grim fiendishness of this will be understood when the lameness of
poor Murphy is remembered. All through the talk, he was standing in
the background on one foot, his rugged face twitching with the pain he
could not keep back. Buckongahelas would have interfered, had he not
known that it was useless. There was a point beyond which he could not
hold his warriors. He had denied them their favorite pastime, and even
he could not say that they should be robbed of every form of amusement.
There was not a warrior among the howling throng who did not know
the scout who had wrought them so much evil, and upon whom they had
tried so long to lay hands. The chieftain nodded his consent to their
proposal.
Murphy was familiar enough with the Delaware tongue to understand the
decision that had been reached. He was too sensible to protest and
silently nerved himself for the dreaded ordeal soon to come.
The Delawares made their preparations with the enthusiasm of so many
boys, while those who were not to take part chuckled with delight.
The persecutors formed in two rows, facing each other, with hardly a
dozen feet of space between. In each row were twenty-eight warriors and
squaws, separated by slightly less distance. The arrangement was meant
to give each one just enough room to swing his or her arms with freedom.
Thus, as will be seen, Murphy was doomed to run over a path nearly
a hundred yards in length, and between two rows of persecutors, all
eagerly waiting for him to come nigh enough for them to reach him with
the clubs in their itching hands. They had laid their guns aside, and
every one was armed with a heavy stick, which he meant to bring down
with a vicious energy that would hurl the poor fellow to the ground, if
the implement once reached its mark.
Behind these rows of exultant redskins were grouped the other members
of the tribe, to the extent of several hundred. Barbarous as were the
warriors, the squaws were worse, if that was possible, and the dancing
children were as eager as their elders to see the white man pounded to
death.
One of the Delawares took Murphy by the arm and led him to the head of
the line. He limped so heavily that he barely touched the ground with
the tip of one foot. He was seen to shut his lips and shake his head,
as if to force back his suffering and to brace himself for the trial
before him. But he did not utter a word; it was useless.
At the head of the line on his right, was stationed a warrior whom he
recognized as one of his captors and his chief persecutor. He was large
and inclined to corpulency, but his painted face was ugly to the last
degree. He had struck the captive on the way to the village, and had
subjected him to many indignities. Now he took a place which gave him
the first chance to reach the helpless prisoner, and there can be no
doubt that he meant to leave no work to be done by the others in the
lines.
Murphy looked down the long path, and, like many situations of danger,
spat on his palms and rubbed them together, as if the action gave more
nerve and strength to him. All were waiting, shifting about and toying
with their clubs, impatient for the amusement to open. Buckongahelas
stood several rods to the rear of one of the lines, well beyond it,
watching proceedings. He did not add to the turmoil, but with his arms
folded over his massive chest, studied the prisoner, regarding whom he
held a singular suspicion which he kept to himself.
Suddenly Murphy gathered his energies for the test. He leaned forward
with his left foot advanced, and most of his weight resting on it,
after the manner of the professional runner. This largely relieved the
other ankle of the weight of his body. With his arms crooked at the
elbows and held close to his sides, he suddenly lowered his head and
shot forward as if propelled from a cannon.
The instant he did so, the suspicion of Buckongahelas became certainty.
All trace of lameness vanished! Both legs were as sound as ever, and
had been from the first.
But Hercules himself could not have run the length of those lines,
between the rows of tormentors, and Murphy had never a thought of
trying anything of the kind. With a quick turn to the right, and, when
going at the height of his great speed, the top of his head struck his
chief tormentor in the stomach, with an impact like that of a catapult.
The life was almost knocked from his body, as he went over on his back,
his moccasins kicking the air. Like a cat, Murphy leaped over the form,
and with a burst of his wonderful fleetness, dashed for the nearest
point in the woods.
This took him towards the spot where Buckongahelas was standing. The
chief could have headed him off without trouble, but, instead of doing
so, he stepped aside to make way for him. The confusion caused by the
captive's break for freedom gave him the very chance needed. Among the
spectators were many who had guns in their hands and several fired
wildly at the fugitive, but the majority of the men who formed the
double line, sped after him, with a view of recapture, and the carrying
out of their amusement so suddenly interrupted by his escape.
In a few seconds, Murphy was among the trees and going with the speed
of the wind. It was impossible to gain a fair shot at him, when it was
seen that he was rapidly increasing the distance between him and his
pursuers. Sooner than would be supposed, he was beyond danger, and the
next day rejoined his friends.
Some years later, when peace had come to the frontier, Murphy and
Buckongahelas met at one of the forts, and, in the course of their
talk, the incident just told was recalled. Both laughed over the
remembrance, and the chief told the scout that he suspected from the
first that his lameness was a pretence, and he thought it strange that
none of the warriors shared his belief.
"I was glad when you got away," said the Delaware.
"I observed that ye stepped aside to give me room to pass, without
losing any time in doing the same," said the grinning Irishman; "I
knowed ye was my friend, which is why I headed toward yersilf."
When the league of Indians was defeated by General Wayne at Maumee
Rapids, they fled for refuge to the British post near at hand. The
commandant had promised them that, if they were repelled, he would give
them shelter. But Wayne frightened him, and he closed the gates against
the fugitives, and allowed many to be cut down.
Buckongahelas was so angered by this breach of faith that his
principles changed. He refused longer to trust the English, for whom he
had bravely fought, became the warm friend of the Americans, and urged
his countrymen to do the same. He had all the qualifications of a great
hero.
A FAMOUS MOHAWK CHIEF
ADVENTURES OF BRANDT, THE HALF-BREED
Colonel Joseph Brandt, whose Indian name was Thayendenaga, was a
chieftain of the Mohawk tribe. He was in fact a half-breed, who lived
and acted so like the red men that few are aware of his mongrel blood.
He was born about 1745, and was placed by Sir William Johnson in a
school at Lebanon, Connecticut, where he received a fair education. On
the eve of the Revolution, he went to England, was presented to King
George III. and attracted much notice. A peculiar trait of Brandt was
that he always managed to draw much attention to himself. He formed a
strong liking for the English, and made up his mind to do all he could
for them in the war that was about to open. He was given a colonel's
commission in the British army on the frontiers, and soon after
returned to America to link his name with some of the most shameful
events in the West. Associated with Brandt were two Tories who were
worse miscreants than he; these were John Butler and Walter his son,
who lived a few miles from Johnstown, in New York, which was the home
of Brandt.
Brandt acted as the secretary of Colonel Guy Johnson, son-in-law of Sir
William Johnson, who died in 1774. When Guy Johnson, alarmed for his
own safety, fled to Canada, Brandt and the two Butlers went with him.
There, where they were safe, they hatched their plots for injuring the
Americans. Brandt soon fell out with Johnson, and he and the Butlers
returned to New York.
In order clearly to understand the events that follow, we must glance
at the status of the struggle of the colonies for independence. England
formed a plan in 1777, for crushing the uprising by means of the most
formidable campaign that had yet been set on foot. This was to send
Burgoyne, with his large army from Canada, and open communication
between that province and the city of New York, thereby cutting off New
England from the rest of the colonies. If this plan could be carried
out, Burgoyne's powerful army would be forced like a stupendous wedge
between the two sections, and a fatal blow given to the struggle for
liberty.
This campaign provided for the advance of Burgoyne to Albany, where he
was to meet a large force sent up the Hudson from New York. This is not
the place to describe the failure of the important movement, ending in
the capture of Burgoyne and his whole army.
A part of this great scheme was that Colonel Barry St. Leger was to go
up the St. Lawrence to Lake Ontario, and thence to Albany by the Mohawk
River. His command was composed mostly of Tories and Indians, and
Brandt and the Butlers were with him. Early in June, Brandt gathered
his Mohawks together and made ready to strike a blow for the English.
General Nicholas Herkimer in command of the Tryon County militia, was
ordered to check Brandt. He set out to relieve Fort Stanwix (also
called Fort Schuyler), which was besieged by a large number of British,
Canadians, Tories and Indians. Most of these marched to meet Herkimer,
of whose approach they had learned.
While marching in loose order through the woods at Oriskany, near
Utica, Herkimer's militia were ambushed by the Tories and Indians. They
were thrown into a panic and a large number shot down. A bullet killed
Herkimer's horse and mortally wounded him. He propped himself on the
ground with his back against a tree, lit his pipe and continued to give
orders. The reports of the guns of a body of troops that had hurried
out of the fort to the relief of the militia, alarmed the Indians who
fled, the Tories quickly following them. General Herkimer was carried
to his home, where he soon died from the effects of the wound.
[Illustration: COLONEL JOSEPH BRANDT]
The relief of Fort Stanwix was brought about by a curious piece of
strategy. Schuyler, in command at the time of the campaign against
Burgoyne, could hardly spare a man, and yet, unless relief was sent,
the fort must fall. His officers opposed, for the reason named, and
the angry Schuyler asked for some leader to volunteer. Benedict Arnold
promptly offered, and at the head of eight hundred men, hastened toward
the endangered post. Brave as was Arnold, he could not shut his eyes to
the fact that his force could not compare in number with the Tories and
Indians, and was more likely to fail than to succeed.
Reaching German Flats he found that one of the prisoners held by the
Americans was a half-witted Tory, who had been condemned to death for
some fault. He was hardly responsible for his acts, but was scared
almost to death, and his mother was in an agony of distress over his
fate. She sank on her knees before Arnold and prayed him to save her
son. The officer consented on the single condition that the youth
should do a certain thing for him. The joyous mother and boy declared
that he had only to tell them what it was and it should be done.
"It is simple," explained Arnold, "you and a friendly Oneida Indian are
to go to the camp of St. Leger and make him believe my force is twice
as great as his, and that if he waits where he is, I shall kill them
all."
The youth eagerly said he would do all that was required, and the plan
was soon formed. Several bullets were fired through his clothes, and
he dashed off as fast as he could speed through the woods. When he
reached the enemy's camp a few miles away, he was so exhausted that he
could hardly stand. Asked to explain what it all meant, he said he had
just escaped from the Americans by the narrowest means possible, and as
proof he showed the many bullet holes in his clothing.
Hardly was this explanation made when the Oneida ran in from another
direction, with the same startling story. "The Americans are like the
leaves on the trees," he said; "They will soon be here!"
It was enough. The terrified Indians broke in a wild flight for safer
quarters, despite the efforts of their officers to check them. Inasmuch
as they made up most of the force of the besiegers, the soldiers had
nothing to do but follow them and thus the siege of Fort Stanwix was
raised.
It seems strange that it did not occur to the underwitted Tory that,
after reaching the camp of the besiegers, he might as well have told
the truth, since he was beyond the reach of Arnold; but that officer
probably gave him such a scare that it took him a long time to get
over it. And it is likely the American commander played upon his fears
regarding the safety of his mother, in case he betrayed his trust.
The next event in which Brandt figures is the tragedy at Wyoming,
which occurred in the following July. Congress had been warned that a
large force was gathering at Niagara for the purpose of desolating the
frontiers of New York, Pennsylvania and Virginia, but that body had so
much other business on hand it gave no attention to the appeal.
In the month of July, 1778, a Tory and Indian force to the number of
sixteen hundred, marched against the lovely settlement. The people
took refuge in a structure known as "Forty Fort," while the old men,
boys, and a few veteran soldiers, who were home on furlough, ranged
themselves for action.
[Illustration: AN OLD CHRISTIAN INDIAN]
Although the invaders were three times as numerous as the patriots, the
latter had a fair chance of success in an open fight, for they were
quite well armed, were led by good officers, and had the strongest
inspiration that can come to men placed in their situation; they
were about to fight, not for themselves alone, but for their wives
and children. Before the opening of the battle, strong spirits were
distributed among the defenders, and truth compels us to say that a
number indulged too freely,--so much so that it helped in the defeat
of the patriots. They were steadily gaining ground when an order was
misunderstood and confusion followed. At that critical moment, the
Indians made a charge, hopeless panic followed, and the historical
Wyoming massacre began. Under a solemn pledge that no one should be
harmed, the fort was surrendered: nearly all the garrison, as well as
the women and children, perished by the tomahawk.
Some of the settlers were too wise to trust their lives to the plighted
word of a Tory or Indian, and plunged into the forests on their way to
the settlements of the Upper Delaware. Many sank down and died in the
dismal solitudes which have ever since borne the name of the "Shades of
Death." A few succeeded in reaching Stroudsburg and other points, but
the awful woe suffered by Wyoming in the early days of July, 1778, will
give the place a sad distinction so long as the history of our country
is chronicled.
It was only four months later, that a body of seven hundred, most of
whom were under Brandt, set out for Cherry Valley. Colonel Ichabod
Alden was in command of this post, and was blamable for what followed.
He was warned of the approach of Brandt and his men, and the settlers
asked for shelter in the fort. He replied that he did not believe the
danger was serious, and would send out scouts that would keep him
informed of the movements of the enemy. The principal of these scouts
found the November weather so chilly, that, after going a little way
they kindled a fire, lay down and went to sleep. Brandt's scouts were
drawn to the spot by the light, and captured every one of the men, who
were compelled to give exact information of the fort and settlement. In
the cold mist of the morning the enemy approached the post. Among the
first victims was Colonel Alden, who was quartered outside the fort.
The latter repelled several attacks, and the assailants took their
departure with about forty prisoners, while fully as many had been put
to death or mortally wounded.
When peace came and the independence of the United States was secured,
Colonel Brandt did what he could to prevent hostilities by the Indians
on the southern and western frontier. Much trouble resulted from the
failure properly to fix the boundary between the United States and the
Indian tribes. Brandt urged making the Ohio and the Muskingum such
boundary, and, declared that, unless it was done, the Indians would go
to war. He even said he would join them, but this must have been in
the nature of intimidation, for though the red men took up the hatchet
again, Brandt was at no time with them.
The king of England did not forget the services of his ally. He gave
him a fine tract of land on the western side of Lake Ontario, where
he made his home and lived after the English fashion. He had married
a half-breed woman in the winter of 1779, by whom he had several
children. She remained more of an Indian, however, than a white woman,
and refused to conform to civilized life. After her husband's death
(November 24, 1807), she removed to Grand River and spent the remainder
of her days in a wigwam, taking some of her children with her and
leaving others at their former home.
A remarkable piece of work by Brandt was the translation of John's
Gospel and the Book of Common Prayer into the Mohawk language. Copies
of these works may be found in the library of Harvard University.
A CHIEFTAIN ON THE WARPATH
ADVENTURES OF TECUMSEH, THE SHAWANOE
Tecumseh was an eloquent orator and a brilliant military leader. He
was appointed a brigadier-general in the British army, and few or none
of the English officers were his equal in all that goes to make a
successful leader of men. He was a knightly foe, who never, so far as
known, permitted the abuse of prisoners. Whilst yet in his teens and on
the war path, he fought against the cruel practice and more than once
forcibly prevented it. No man kept a promise more honorably than he. He
was brave and self-restrained, and in many respects set an example for
those who professed higher things.
A remarkable fact about Tecumseh is that he was born one of triplets.
This was probably in 1770, his birthplace being on the Scioto, not far
from Chillicothe. He is authority for the statement that his mother was
a Cherokee, who was taken prisoner during the war between that tribe
and the Shawanoes and was adopted by the latter. His father was one of
the foremost warriors among his people.
When the flatboats going down the Ohio had to run the gauntlet of the
hostile Indians along the shores, the youthful Tecumseh was among those
who were most active in the attacks. It is said that while he was still
a boy, he saw the torture of a white prisoner at the hands of his
captors, and was so shocked that he vowed he would do all he could to
break up the practice, and, as has been said, he kept his pledge.
Tecumseh was one of the hardest fighters at the battle of Maumee
Rapids, where General Wayne smashed the Indian confederacy. He accepted
the treaty of Greenville, and honorably lived up to its terms. Settling
among his people, he became a hunter and fisherman, and seemed to think
no more of warfare. The unharmed white man who met him in the depths
of the forest had no cause to fear. Instead, the Shawanoe was ready
to give him the help he might need, and would share the last pound of
venison with him. The story is told of Tecumseh that he once entered
the home of a white friend to spend the evening, the two having formed
a liking for each other. The caller found another white man present--a
stranger, to whom he was introduced. He gravely shook hands with the
visitor, and sat down in a chair on the other side of the broad hearth.
Tecumseh must have been noted as a warrior even at that time, for when
his name was spoken, the other caller plainly showed his fear. It was
evident that he was much afraid of the Shawanoe, who was quick to
note the fact. With a meaning glance at his friend, he began talking
about the imaginary scalping expeditions from which he had just
returned, and said he was anxious to add a few more ghastly trophies
to his collection. This was kept up until the poor fellow was pale and
trembling with fright. Then Tecumseh walked over to his chair, placed
his hand on his shoulder and said, soothingly:
"Don't be scared; Tecumseh will not hurt you." The hearty laugh of the
host showed the visitor that he had been made the victim of a joke by
the Shawanoe chieftain.
Tecumseh must have given a great deal of thought, while still a youth,
to his race and to the many injustices which it had suffered. The
problem to him was as to how these wrongs could be righted, or rather,
since many of them were beyond righting, how further wrongs could be
stopped. Never did any one see more clearly than he, the full force of
the truth that in union lies strength. The Indians were weak because,
instead of uniting, they fought one another, and thereby invited their
conquest by the invaders of their country. How different would have
been the story had the red men stood together when the first European
crossed the ocean!
Now, it must not be thought that this native genius was nerved by the
ambition of Philip or Pontiac. The former dreamed of and strove for
a confederacy that would destroy all the English settlements. When,
at that distant day, these settlements were scattered and weak, he
had good reason to believe he would succeed. As we know, his plot was
sprung before he was ready, and Philip could not bring about the full
union of the New England tribes.
The day for doing that had passed when the chieftain of the Ottawas
came upon the stage of action. He tried to bring about an alliance with
France and to destroy the western posts that had been turned over to
England. He did capture a number, but failed because France would have
nothing to do with him or his plans.
Tecumseh also believed that when war broke out between England and the
United States, the former had a good chance of success. This belief he
shared with the mother country herself, else she never would have begun
the struggle. The Shawanoe knew that if the western tribes united to
resist the Americans, they would get much better terms than if they
fought separately. He bent all his energies to that difficult task.
History proves that when such an effort is set on foot, war is certain
to follow. Such is the record of the past, for if union is strength,
it must give that confidence which results in deeds. The activity of
Tecumseh made Governor Harrison and the authorities in the West uneasy.
What could be finer than the retort of the redoubtable Shawanoe, when
it was asked of him:
"Why are you trying to bring about a union of the different Indian
tribes?"
"For the same reason that _you_ have brought about a union of _your_
colonies; we never objected to that, and what business is it of yours
what we do among ourselves? Besides, it is necessary that we should
unite to save us from the scoundrels among the white men."
[Illustration: A RIVER ENCOUNTER]
We have no authentic record of the opinion expressed in reply to these
memorable words. Probably none was given.
The bringing together in friendship of the tribes who had been enemies
for centuries was a herculean task. It called into play all the
matchless abilities of Tecumseh. Even he could not succeed in every
instance, though it is certain none could have done so well.
In this work, the Shawanoe chieftain used the two most powerful levers
that can affect the Indian mind--superstition and eloquence. The
Prophet was the spokesman of the former. He claimed to have had direct
dealings with the Great Spirit and to utter his will. Many of his
professions were grotesque to the last degree, and it may have been
for that very reason that he gained hundreds of converts. Like some of
the false prophets of modern days, he drew a mongrel set of disciples
around him, who could be neither shamed nor argued out of their
foolishness.
Tecumseh professed to believe in the supernatural power of his brother,
and his example brought over many others. The master hand of the
warrior could be seen in the labors of The Prophet, who began preaching
about 1804. Some of his doctrines were good. He insisted that there
must be a complete change in the conduct of the red children of the
Great Spirit. They must quit copying the dress and manner of the white
people; especially must they give up the use of ardent spirits, and all
Indians must show by their lives that they were brothers and sisters.
While there was impressive truth in his words about the long, happy,
peaceful lives of their forefathers, such a reminder did not improve
their feelings toward those who had brought about this change.
Tecumseh gave strong support to his brother in his mission. In some
cases chiefs who opposed them were put to death, generally on the
charge of witchcraft; in other instances, their power was taken away.
While The Prophet gave all his efforts to preaching the new gospel,
Tecumseh himself made a tour among the different tribes, winning many
warriors and leaders to his views. That he had the encouragement of the
English in this crusade cannot be denied. They saw as clearly as he
that war was coming.
Now as to the real dispute between Tecumseh and the Americans; the
Shawanoe insisted that no _single_ tribe had the legal or moral right
to sell to our government the lands which it might chance to occupy.
Such right lay in _all_ the tribes, whose consent was necessary in
order to make such sale binding. Several large cessions had already
been made and treaties signed in which these terms had been violated.
Tecumseh declared that these lands belonged to the _whole Indian
population_, that such fact should be admitted by our government and
the sales cancelled, the transfer still depending upon the consent of
_all_ the tribes.
It will be seen that this view could not be accepted by our government,
for if it were, there never could be any real sales, and everything
that had already taken place in that respect went for nothing.
Governor Harrison of Vincennes had a delicate and hard task before
him. It has been said that his government would never allow him to
accept the views of Tecumseh, and he saw the time had come for plain
words. He reminded the chieftain that when the white people came to
take this continent, they found the Miamis occupying all the country
on the Wabash, but the Shawanoes at that time lived in Georgia, from
which they were driven by the Creeks. The lands had been bought from
the Miamis, who were the first and real owners of it, and the only ones
having a clear right to sell the lands. It was untrue to say that all
the Indian tribes formed one nation, for if such had been the intention
of the Great Spirit he would have given them the same language to
speak, instead of so many different ones. The Miamis had thought it
best for their interest to sell a part of their lands, thereby securing
another annuity and the Shawanoes had no right to come from a distant
country and compel the Miamis to do as the Shawanoes wished them to do.
The governor having taken his seat, the interpreter began explaining to
Tecumseh what had been said by him. Before he was through, and as soon
as the chieftain caught the gist of the words, he sprang to his feet in
anger and exclaimed, "It is false!" His warriors leaped from the grass
on which they had been sitting, and grasped their weapons. Believing he
was about to be attacked, the governor drew his sword and stood ready
to defend himself. He was surrounded by more of his own people than
there were Indians present, but they were unarmed. They snatched up
stones and clubs ready to make the best fight they could. Major Floyd,
standing near the governor drew his dirk, and a Methodist minister
ran to the governor's house, and, catching up a gun, placed himself
in the doorway to defend the family. One of the chiefs close to the
governor, cocked his pistol which he had already primed, saying, that
Tecumseh had threatened his life, because he signed the treaty and sale
of the disputed land. Governor Harrison told the interpreter to say to
Tecumseh that he would have nothing more to do with him. He was ordered
to leave, but, instead of doing so, he remained in the neighborhood
with his chiefs until the next morning, when he sent an apology to
the executive, pledging himself that nothing of the kind should occur
again. Harrison accepted his explanation, and met him a second time. On
this occasion, Tecumseh was dignified and courteous, but it was evident
that he was under strong emotion. Having no new argument to offer,
the plain question was put to him whether he intended to oppose the
survey of the newly-bought territory. He replied that he would cling
to the old boundary. The leading chiefs with him rose to their feet,
one after another, and gave notice that they would stand by Tecumseh.
The governor promised the Shawanoe that his words should be told to the
President, but he added that it would be useless, for the land would
never be given up.
Governor Harrison, hoping he could do something in a private talk,
went with his interpreter to the tent of Tecumseh. He was received
kindly and the two conversed for a long time, each strongly urging
his views upon the other. The chieftain said he would much rather be
a friend of the United States than an enemy. He knew that war between
them and England would soon come, and he would greatly prefer to fight
on the side of the Americans. He would do so, if his views regarding
the lands were accepted.
[Illustration: TECUMSEH DEFIES GENERAL HARRISON]
"I repeat what I said that that will never be done, and it would be
wrong in me to hold out any hope for you in that respect," replied the
governor.
"Well, as the great chief in Washington is to settle the question, I
hope the Great Spirit will put some sense in his head. But he is so far
off he will never be harmed by the war; he can sit down and feast and
drink his wine while you and I fight it out."
"Is it your determination to make war if your terms are refused?"
"It is," replied Tecumseh; "nor will I give rest to my feet, till I
have united all the red men in a like resolution."
The unusual fact about these talks was the frankness with which
Tecumseh gave his views. He never made the slightest effort to hide
his intentions, nor would he utter any promise which he did not mean
to keep. He and Governor Harrison had several interviews, but it was
impossible to shake the resolution of the Shawanoe. At one of the
councils, he turned to rest himself, after finishing his speech, when
he saw that no chair had been placed for him. Apologizing, the governor
had one hastily brought, and as it was handed to the chief, the
interpreter said: "Your father requests you to take a chair."
"My father," replied Tecumseh, with dignity, "the sun is my father,
and the earth is my mother; I will repose on her bosom," and he seated
himself upon the ground.
Harrison finally gave over his attempt to change the views or
resolution of Tecumseh. Before the final parting of the two, the
governor said to him:
"We shall soon be fighting each other; a good many will be killed on
both sides, and there will be much suffering; I ask you to agree with
me, Tecumseh, that there shall be no capturing of women and children by
your warriors, and no torture or ill treatment of such men as you may
take prisoners."
"Tecumseh has _never_ ill treated his prisoners, nor has it ever been
done in his presence," was the answer of the chieftain; "why do you ask
me to do that which you know I will be sure to do without the asking."
Harrison pleaded his anxiety, and thanked Tecumseh for his pledge,
which he knew would be strictly kept.
The declaration of the chief that he would give his feet no rest until
he united all the red men was carried out. His travels and labors were
prodigious. During the year 1811, he visited numerous tribes west of
the Mississippi, and about Lakes Superior and Huron, not once, but
several times, thrilling all by his eloquence and winning hundreds to
his side. Regarding this tour, the following incident is authentic,
though since it must have been a coincidence, it certainly was one of
the most remarkable ever known.
While making one of his appeals to the Creeks, Tecumseh lost patience
with their coldness. He shouted angrily:
"When I go back to my people, I will stamp the ground and the earth
shall shake!"
It was just about time for the chieftain to reach his towns to the
north, when the New Madrid earthquake took place, the severest
phenomenon of the kind which up to that time our country had ever
known. When the Creeks felt the ground rocking under their feet, they
ran from their tepees shouting in terror:
"Tecumseh has got home! Tecumseh has got home!"
While the chieftain was absent on this tour, The Prophet was busy
with his magic. He made the wildest prophecies, and hundreds of his
superstitious countrymen believed that, as he claimed, he was in direct
communion with the Great Spirit. The Prophet told them the Indians
should soon be given back their former hunting grounds and all the
pale faces should be driven into the sea. Fired by these promises, the
fanatical warriors gathered around The Prophet and began committing
outrages upon the whites. The government could not refuse to go to
the protection of its citizens. A small force of regulars and militia
was brought together at Vincennes, the capital, and placed under the
command of Governor Harrison, who was given a free hand to do all he
might think necessary.
No better officer could have been chosen. United to his fine military
talent, he had a thorough knowledge of Indian character, and was safe
against any such blunders as had been committed by St. Clair, Harmar
and others. Marching into the Indian country, he encamped, early in
November, within nine miles of The Prophet's town. The redskins did not
disturb him, and he pushed three miles further. He sent forward his
interpreters, but the Indians refused to have anything to do with them.
Certain that treachery was intended, the governor moved with the
utmost care. He was pleased when he was not attacked on the way to
the town, which he reached without the firing of a shot. Still the
Indians refused to receive or make any replies to the calls of his
interpreters. Harrison formed his line of battle and was advancing upon
the town, when several messengers of The Prophet appeared. An interview
was held, in which they asked that no attack should be made before the
morrow, when the principal chiefs would visit Harrison with proposals
for peace.
That officer was not deceived. The men slept on their arms, the guards
were strengthened, and nothing was neglected that could prevent
surprise. Every officer and private knew just what to do, in the event
of an attack, and it maybe doubted whether there was a soldier in the
army who did not feel sure such an attack would soon be made.
Just as it was growing light, on the morning of November 7, 1811, the
Indians made a furious charge upon the camp. The fight was one of the
most desperate in the history of our frontier. But for the preparation,
the coolness and bravery, and the fine generalship of commander and
officers, all the force would have been destroyed. As it was, the
Americans lost sixty-two killed and one hundred and twenty-five
wounded, among whom were some of the bravest officers. The loss of the
Indians was about one hundred and fifty. They were routed and driven
headlong from the field.
While the battle was raging, The Prophet stood on a neighboring hill,
keeping up his frenzied performance. He shouted to the warriors that
victory was certain, and none of the enemy's bullets could hurt them.
Told that his people were falling, he urged the others to keep on
fighting, declared all would come out right and sang his war songs
louder than ever; but when the final overthrow took place, The Prophet
led in the flight. He was soon left alone by his men, who lost faith
in his claims. Two days later, Governor Harrison laid the town and
surrounding settlements in ashes, sending the hostiles scurrying in
every direction, after which he returned to Vincennes.
[Illustration: A SHAWANOE CHIEFTAIN]
The victory of Harrison could not have been more complete. It won
the admiration of his countrymen, and had more than anything else to
do with his nomination and election to the presidency of the United
States. Nearly thirty years later, the cry of "Tippecanoe and Tyler
too," swept the country like wildfire, and roused an ardor the like of
which had never been seen before.
As we know, Tecumseh was absent on his "stumping tour" when the battle
of Tippecanoe was fought. It was contrary to his orders, and overturned
all his plans. When he came back and learned what had been done, his
rage was fearful. He seized his brother by his long hair, and almost
shook his head off, declaring that he deserved death and he was tempted
to inflict it.
Tecumseh gave his eloquence and energies to rallying the different
tribes, after they had fallen away through the blundering of The
Prophet. He visited them all again, and won not hundreds but thousands
to his standard. With these, he entered the service of the British when
war broke out between England and our country. Hardly a battle took
place in the West, down to the death of the Shawanoe, in which he did
not act a creditable part. His military ability was so notable that he
was made a brigadier general, and, as has been said, there was no white
officer of that rank who was his superior, if indeed any one was his
equal. When asked one day to give an idea of the face of the country
through which they were marching, he took a piece of elm bark, laid it
on the ground, with a heavy stone on each corner to hold it flat, and
with the point of his hunting knife, traced a map, which the English
engineers declared could not be surpassed by any of their number.
One day General Proctor was sitting on his horse calmly watching a
number of Indians that were maltreating several American prisoners.
Although claiming to be civilized and guided by the rules of honorable
warfare, the commander smiled, as if the sight was as pleasing to him
as to the dusky persecutors.
In the midst of the cruel pastime the sound of a galloping horse was
heard, and the animal was reined up on his haunches within a few feet
of the general. At the same instant Tecumseh leaped from his back to
the ground, grasped the principal tormentor by the throat, hurled him
backward a dozen feet, struck another a blow that almost fractured his
skull, and with his face flaming with passion, whipped out his hunting
knife, and shouted that he would kill the first one who laid hands on
another prisoner.
Turning to General Proctor, he demanded with angry voice and flashing
eyes:
"What do you mean by permitting such things?"
"Sir, your warriors cannot be restrained," was the reply.
With burning scorn, Tecumseh said:
"You are not fit to command; go home and put on petticoats!"
Commodore Perry won his great victory over the British fleet on Lake
Erie, September 10, 1813. Had he failed, it was the plan of the British
army in the West to invade Ohio. If he won, General Harrison meant to
invade Canada. As soon as he learned of the victory, told to him by
Perry's message, "We have met the enemy and they are ours," he lost no
time in invading Canada. He embarked at Sandusky Bay, September 27, and
landed near Malden. Proctor retreated to Sandwich with the Americans
closely pressing him. Instead of giving battle, the British commander
kept up his retreat to the Thames.
Tecumseh, with a large force of Indians, was with Proctor. He was
angered over the cowardice of the British officer. The chief saw many
good positions given up without a struggle, and did not hide his
disgust. Going to the general he protested.
"Our fleet has gone out," said the Shawanoe; "we know they have fought;
we have heard the great guns, but we know nothing of what has happened
to our father with one arm. (This was an allusion to Commodore Barclay,
who went into the battle of Lake Erie with only one arm and came out
without that.) Our ships have gone one way, and we are much astonished
to see our father tying up everything and preparing to run the other
way, without letting his red children know what his intentions are. You
always told us you would never draw your feet off British ground. But
now, father, we see you are drawing back, and we are sorry to see our
father doing so without seeing the enemy. We must compare our father's
conduct to a fat dog, that carries its tail upon its back, but when
frightened, it drops it between its legs and runs off.
"Father, listen!--The Americans have not yet defeated us by land,
neither are we sure they have done so by water; we therefore wish to
remain here and fight our enemy, should they make their appearance. If
they defeat us, we will then retreat with our father.
"Father!--You have got the arms and ammunition which our great father
sent for his red children. If you have any idea of going away, give
them to us and you may go and welcome. Our lives are in the hands of
the Great Spirit. We are determined to defend our lands, and if it be
his will, we wish to leave our bones upon them."
This speech referred to the retreat from Malden. Tecumseh reluctantly
gave his assent to a still further withdrawal, but he warned Proctor
that if he did not stop retreating and fight, he would call off his
warriors and have nothing to do with him. The British leader was forced
to give battle at the Moravian Town on the Thames. He and Tecumseh
chose the battle ground, the Shawanoe having the most to say about it.
He showed Proctor how he could protect one flank with the river and the
other with a swamp.
The battle of the Thames October 5, was another brilliant victory for
the Americans under General Harrison. Proctor and a few others escaped
by starting early in their flight. With this exception, the whole
British force became prisoners. Tecumseh never thought of retreating
or surrendering, but, at the head of his fifteen hundred warriors,
he held the American army in check for a long time. He soon received
a severe wound in the arm, but paid no attention to it, and fought
on with as much bravery as ever. His wonderful voice rose above the
roar of battle, and nerved the arms of his warriors, but suddenly it
ceased, and it quickly became known that Tecumseh had fallen. A panic
instantly spread among the Indians, who broke into headlong flight in
all directions.
[Illustration: KIT CARSON]
A strange dispute raged for years as to who it was that killed
Tecumseh. Although it was never settled, it is generally believed that
it was Colonel Richard M. Johnson of Kentucky, afterward Vice-President
of the United States. While the identity of Tecumseh's slayer may be
uncertain, there is no doubt that, whoever he was, he closed the career
of the "greatest American Indian that ever lived."
ADVENTURES OF WEATHERFORD
CHIEF OF THE CREEK CONFEDERACY
Living at the time of Tecumseh, was a chief of strong ability, though
inferior to the great Shawanoe in the nobler qualities. He was
Weatherford, the Creek leader, whose name recalls one of the most
terrible incidents in the history of the frontier.
[Illustration]
It will be remembered that Tecumseh visited the Creeks, and when his
burning appeals failed to rouse his listeners as he expected, he
declared in his impatience that when he got home he would stamp the
ground and it should shake. His return was followed by the historical
New Madrid earthquake.
But for the fatal blunder of The Prophet, in bringing on the battle
of Tippecanoe, while Tecumseh was absent, the Creeks as a body would
have joined the confederacy. As it was, the younger warriors were swept
off their feet by the Shawanoe's eloquence, though many of the elders
urged them to keep out of the war that was sure to bring suffering and
disaster to them.
Withal, in the face of bad traits, Weatherford was brave, eloquent
and tactful. He required a strong occasion to rouse him to bursts
of oratory, and he was too wise to cheapen his gifts by speaking too
often. His wisdom was the admiration of the old, while his vices
made him the idol of the young and vicious. He was tall, straight,
well-proportioned, with pleasing features; and the impression of
any one looking upon him for the first time was favorable. He was
avaricious and took for himself one of the finest tracts of land
belonging to the tribe among whom he made his home. To sum up, he was
the corner-stone of the Creek confederacy.
The Creeks and Seminoles, living within the limits of Florida, began
a series of outrages against the white settlements at the opening of
the War of 1812. Numerous runaway slaves took refuge in the swamps
and morasses where they were welcomed by the Indians and were safe
against pursuit and recovery by their former masters. These negroes
intermarried with the Indians and the mongrel population was of the
most degraded character. Their forays became so harassing, that the
militia of the Southwest were called out, and marched against the
savages. A large number of the inhabitants fled to Fort Mimms, a
stockade on Lake Tonsas, Alabama. Knowing the peril to which these
refugees were exposed, Governor Claiborne sent one hundred and
seventy-five volunteers to its defence, and placed them under the
command of Major Beasley. In his anxiety the governor visited the fort,
and tried to impress Beasley with the imminence of the danger to which
all were exposed.
"I look upon it as almost certain you will be attacked; Weatherford is
one of the most daring leaders the Indians have ever had; his spies are
watching you at this moment, as they have been doing from the first;
nothing that you can do will escape him; if you give him the first
encouragement, he will massacre everyone of you."
The officer assured the governor that he would be vigilant, but the
fear of the executive was not removed. Fort Early was the farthest
advanced in the Indian country, and he went thither with his escort to
impress the same watchfulness upon the garrison there. While on the
road, he wrote a letter to Major Beasley, warning him again of his
peril, and reminding him that the life of every one of the women and
children who had fled to the post was in his keeping.
One would suppose that after these appeals Major Beasley, figuratively
speaking, never would have closed his eyes; but that officer was one
of those who, when placed in a critical situation, seem to be smitten
with blindness. Several negroes had been sent up the Alabama by their
masters to procure corn. The Indians captured three, but one managed
to escape. He ran to Fort Mimms, and told the Major that the Indians
were marching against the post. The commandant looked calmly at the
panting servant, the picture of terror, and smiled. He couldn't believe
the negro had any cause for his panic. The next day several white men
came to the fort with word that a large force of Indians were in the
neighborhood, and every sign pointed to an attack. The officer was
not so foolish as wholly to disregard this news, though he could not
believe the danger was serious. That which followed seems incredible.
Three negroes, a day or two later, hurried to the post, and told Major
Beasley that, while looking for cattle in the woods, they had met a
large party of prowling Indians. The officer sent out several scouts
to look for them. They came back saying they had not found a single
redskin, whereupon, Major Beasley had the principal negro whipped for
spreading falsehoods. The next day the same negro discovered a large
number of warriors stealing through the woods toward the fort. Not
caring to earn another reward such as he had received for telling the
truth in the former instance, he wisely decided to hold his peace.
Not long afterward, Weatherford, at the head of fifteen hundred
warriors, crossed an open field and came within thirty paces of the
fort on a bright summer morning (August 30, 1813), before his approach
was discovered. To complete the criminal idiocy of the commandant and
his officers, the gates were open and unguarded. Before they could be
closed, the horde swarmed through and attacked the garrison. Of the
defenders, nearly one-half were old men, women and children.
The soldiers fought as men do who know no quarter will be given, and
who are aware of the awful fate of those dependent upon them, in case
of the failure to repel their assailants. It is not necessary to dwell
upon the particulars of this dreadful affair. Every officer died
fighting. The women and children took refuge in the blockhouse, to
which the Creeks applied the torch, and all perished. The wounded Major
Beasley was one of those who breathed his last in the flames. Nearly
three hundred were in Fort Mimms, of whom only seventeen escaped, and
most of these were wounded.
This massacre sent a thrill of horror and wrath throughout the country.
Tennessee set aside three hundred thousand dollars, and placed five
thousand men under command of General Andrew Jackson, with orders to
punish the Creeks. It is worth noting that "Old Hickory" at that time
was not fully recovered from a wound received in a duel, and among
the volunteers under him were the eccentric Davy Crockett, killed
more than twenty years later at the Alamo, and "Sam" Houston, who won
the independence of Texas at San Jacinto, shortly after the death of
Crockett, and his comrades at the fort in San Antonio.
On the march, Jackson's men rebelled because they were reduced to the
point of starvation, and saw no hope of getting a mouthful of food if
they remained. The stern old hero of New Orleans crushed the mutiny,
and lived upon acorns, and sometimes was unable to obtain even these.
It was not the only time that that remarkable man, single-handed,
conquered a thousand men by the strength of his will.
It is not our province to give a history of the Creek War, marked as
it was by many shocking occurrences on both sides. White men, in the
intense anger caused by the outrages of the Indians, often equalled
them in cruelty. There were numerous skirmishes, battles and defeats
of the hostiles, whose spirits, however, remained unbroken, until
the delivery of the crushing blow at the Great Horseshoe Bend of the
Tallapoosa River, in the State of Alabama. The Creeks had been beaten
so many times that they determined to make their final stand at this
point, and to stake everything on a single battle. Their camp was
fortified with a skill that recalled the fort of the Narragansetts
during King Philip's war, it being so built that the only way to carry
it was by storm. Behind these rough intrenchments crouched a thousand
warriors, ready to fight to the death.
General Jackson had been eager from the first to get the hostiles
together like this, so that when he struck his blow, it should be
effective. So long as only a few were slain here and there, no real
effect upon the campaign itself followed. He was as resolute to reach
the hostiles as they were to have him come within reach of them.
Early on the forenoon of March 27, 1814, General Coffee, with a force
of regulars, and a number of friendly Indians, crossed the river two
miles below the encampment and stationed his men so as to cut off the
retreat of the enemy. A number of spies paddled in canoes to the end of
the bend, and fired several buildings. Pressing on, they attacked the
breastworks, but did not make much of an impression.
[Illustration: WEATHERFORD AND GENERAL JACKSON]
Meanwhile, the rest of the American army was impatiently awaiting their
opportunity. When Jackson, as eager as they, had placed his troops
in position, he sent forward a flag of truce, with an interpreter to
summon Weatherford to surrender. The moment the flag came within range,
the Creeks fired upon it. The bearer hurried back with a report of his
inhospitable reception.
The battle which opened lasted for five hours, and was fought with the
fierceness that marked the great Swamp Fight in New England, more than
a hundred years before. The triumph of the Americans was overwhelming.
They had twenty-five killed and more than a hundred wounded, while the
loss of the Creeks reached the fearful total of six hundred, besides
two hundred and fifty women and children prisoners. The blow was one of
the most crushing ever delivered in the history of Indian warfare.
None of the Creeks was so blind as not to see that the only escape from
utter destruction was by making peace on the best terms possible, with
the whites. Chiefs and warriors began coming into the American camp and
offering their submission. Whenever they did so, the eagle-eyed Jackson
scanned each dusky face, and asked the name of the leader before him.
He wanted to secure Weatherford, and left no doubt of his purpose to
shoot him for the horrible crime of Fort Mimms. He was willing to
accept the surrender of any and all chiefs, with the one exception of
the arch-fiend, who had placed himself outside the pale of civilized
warfare.
But Weatherford did not appear. He may have been too proud to
surrender, but it is as likely he feared to put himself in the power of
the stern leader of the Americans. Afraid the Creek sachem would not
appear, and determined to get him, Jackson told several chiefs that he
would accept their submission, but, before doing so, they must prove
their earnestness by bringing Weatherford to him, securely bound.
When these chiefs, at Jackson's command, went to Weatherford with the
message, he replied:
"I shall never be delivered to him bound a captive."
Some time later General Jackson was busy with certain papers, when a
tall, fine looking Indian stalked into his tent.
"I am Weatherford," said he; "I am the chief who commanded at Fort
Mimms; I have come to ask peace for my people."
"I am surprised that you should appear in my presence," replied the
general, studying the visitor from head to foot; "I know of your wicked
conduct at Fort Mimms, for which you deserve death; my orders were that
you should not be seen here until you were bound; had that been done, I
should have known how to deal with you."
"You can still do that; am I not in your power? Can you not do with me
as you choose? I am a soldier; I have done your people all the harm
I could; I should have done them more harm, but I could not; I have
fought you bravely, and if I had an army I should still fight you; I
would contend to the last; but I cannot fight without warriors, for
they have been taken from me. My people are gone; you have left but few
of them; I can only weep for them that are gone."
Jackson was the man to admire boldness in another. His visitor had
disarmed him by his bold surrender, knowing, as Jackson was sure
he knew, his anger toward him. He looked admiringly at the tall,
magnificent fellow and said:
"I will take no advantage over you, scoundrel though you are! If I
should serve you as you ought to be served, even your own people
would say I did right. You showed no mercy to poor women and children
at Fort Mimms, when they had not harmed a hair in the head of you or
yours, and could not defend themselves. But, as I said, I will take no
advantage over you. You may walk out of this camp unharmed; you may
place yourself at the head of your war party and fight us; but I warn
you that if you are captured, you shall receive no quarter. Your people
can save themselves only by unconditional submission."
Standing erect, the chief looked into the face of the stern, military
leader, and without a tremor, replied:
"You know it is safe to address such words to me. There was a time,
not long ago, when I should have known how to answer you; once I had
a choice, but there is none left to me now. There does not remain
even to me a hope. I could once animate my warriors to battle, but
I cannot animate the dead. My warriors can no longer hear the voice
which has nerved their arms so many times. Their bones are scattered at
Talladega, Tallushatches, Emuckfau, and Tohopeka (the Indian name of
Horseshoe Bend).
"I have not surrendered myself without thought. While there was a
single chance of success, I never left my post nor begged for peace,
for I did not want it. Weatherford does not fear to meet any white
man. But my people are gone, and my prayer is not for myself but for
my nation. I look back with deep sorrow, and wish to avert deeper
calamities that threaten to come upon my people. If I had been left
to contend with the Georgia army, I should have raised my corn on one
bank of the river, and fought them on the other. But your people have
destroyed my nation. You are a brave man. I rely upon your generosity.
You will exact no terms of a conquered people, but such as it is right
they should accede to. Whatever they may be, it would now be madness
and folly to oppose them. If they are opposed, you shall find me among
the sternest enforcers of obedience. Those who still hold out can be
influenced by nothing but a mean spirit of revenge. To this they _must
not_, and _shall not_ sacrifice the last remnant of their country. You
have told our nation where we might go and be safe. This is good talk,
and they ought to listen to it. They _shall listen_ to it!"
This fine speech produced the effect intended. General Jackson declined
to accept Weatherford as a prisoner of war, and he strode out of the
American camp as proudly as he had entered it, and kept the pledge made
to his conqueror.
[Illustration: NORTHERN INDIAN TOTEM POLES]