RED INDIAN AND HIGHLANDER
(1760-1767)
When the summer harvest was gathered in,
And the sheaf of the gleaner grew white and thin,
And the ploughshare was in its furrow left,
Where the stubble land had been lately cleft,
An Indian hunter, with unstrung bow,
Looked down where the valley lay stretched below.
LONGFELLOW.
We come now to a phase of our story that chiefly concerns two intrepid
regiments, whose services were so valuable to the Government—namely,
Fraser’s and Montgomery’s Highlanders. The Black Watch was not the only
regiment raised during the middle of the eighteenth century. In answer
to the appeal of the Government the clansmen followed the lead of their
chiefs and enrolled themselves in several battalions, which saw service
in America during the war with France, the trouble with the Red Indians,
and later against the colonists. Amongst these regiments the best known
was Montgomery’s Highlanders (founded in 1757), which, as we have noted,
suffered a reverse under Major Grant at Fort Duquesne, and were also
associated with the Black Watch under Amherst.
Fraser’s Highlanders, later to be enrolled in the Seaforths, were raised
as the 78th Regiment in 1757, and the 71st Regiment in 1775, by the son
of Simon, Lord Lovat, the Jacobite rebel. They served at the investment
of Louisburg and at Quebec. The 71st Regiment took part in the American
War of Independence.
Many other regiments were formed from time to time and either disbanded
or absorbed. It was not until the latter part of the eighteenth century
that the Highland regiments as we know them to-day, apart of course from
the Black Watch, came to be formed.
Perhaps the hardest, most dangerous, and most thrilling task that was
undertaken by the Highlanders at this period was the forlorn expedition
of Montgomery against the Cherokee Indians.
There have been no savages who ever possessed in their cruelty and in
their superhuman cunning so great a fascination in story as the Red
Indians. Always behind the tools of their trade—the call of an owl, the
silent arrow by moonlight, the war dance, the feathers and the
paint—there lurked the glamour of the unknown.
Whether as the godlike figures of Fenimore Cooper, or the dreaded
Redskins of Manville Fenn and Ballantyne, they have secured for
themselves a kind of grim immortality. Other times may bring other
tales, stories of submarines and aeroplanes, and the ingenious
contrivances that have robbed war of what romance it may once have
claimed, but never again will there be the same thrill that the simple
snap of a twig in a breathless night could so painfully awaken.
We have noticed how favourably impressed the Indians had been with their
first introduction to the Highlander. Like the Sikh and the Gurkha of
India, like the Kaffir in Africa, and to some extent the Arab of the
East, warlike peoples have always felt some link with the Highlander.
But the Red Indian was to suffer some practical experiences of an
activity and capacity for taking cover almost equal to his own. The
Highlander at this time was skilled by centuries of marauding in the art
of concealment, and in taking advantage of rough country. He was
long-sighted, keen of hearing, and accustomed to move by night. There is
a vivid scene in Stevenson’s _Kidnapped_ where Allan Breck and David
Balfour, bound for the sanctuary of Cluny Macpherson’s cave, heard but a
rustle in the heather, and in a flash a clansman was at the throat of
each of them.
The Highlander was no amateur in war.
In 1760 Colonel Montgomery led his regiment against the Cherokee
Indians, who had become an increasing menace to the settlers. It was an
undertaking as full of peril as the bravest soldier could have desired.
“What may be Montgomery’s fate in the Cherokee country,” wrote one
accustomed to the Indian, “I cannot so readily determine. It seems he
has made a prosperous beginning, having penetrated into the heart of the
country, and he is now advancing his troops in high health and spirits
to the relief of Fort Loudon. But let him be wary. He has a crafty,
subtle enemy to deal with, that may give him most trouble when he least
expects it.”
No truer words could have been passed upon the character of Indian
fighting.
When the Highlanders approached the Cherokee town Etchowee they entered
a ravine densely wooded, at the foot of which ran a sluggish river.
Suddenly the war-whoop resounded from every side, while the dark figures
of the Redskins were seen flitting from tree to tree, firing from every
quarter. Numbers of the soldiers fell in the first attack, unfortunately
several of the wounded being lost in the impenetrable thicket, only to
fall into the hands of the Indians.
The Highlanders charged the enemy, driving them up the sides of the
ravine, but won no definite advantage. The Indians always preferred
guerilla warfare to close conflict, knowing that the farther they
enticed the invader into the wilds of their country the less chance
would there be that he would win back to safety. Every one is familiar
with the cruelty that the Red Indians practised upon their prisoners,
and those unfortunate Highlanders who in this instance were carried away
by the Cherokees fared exceedingly badly. The following story, as
related by General Stewart, will give an idea not only of the treatment
accorded to captives, but also of the extreme credulity of the Indians
at this time.
“Several soldiers ... fell into the hands of the Indians, being taken in
an ambush. Allan Macpherson, one of these soldiers, witnessing the
miserable fate of several of his fellow-prisoners, who had been tortured
to death by the Indians, and seeing them preparing to commence the same
operation upon himself, made signs he had something to communicate. An
interpreter was brought. Macpherson told them, that provided his life
was spared for a few minutes, he would communicate the secret of an
extraordinary medicine, which, if applied to the skin, would cause it to
resist the strongest blow of a tomahawk or sword, and that, if they
would allow him to go to the woods with a guard, to collect the proper
plants for this medicine, he would prepare it, and allow the experiment
to be tried on his own neck by the strongest and most expert warrior
among them. This story easily gained upon the superstitious credulity of
the Indians, and the request of the Highlander was instantly complied
with. Being sent into the woods, he soon returned with such plants as he
chose to pick up. Having boiled these herbs, he rubbed his neck with
their juice, and laying his head upon a log of wood, desired the
strongest man among them to strike at his neck with his tomahawk, when
he would find he could not make the smallest impression. An Indian,
levelling a blow with all his might, cut with such force, that the head
flew off at a distance of several yards. The Indians were fixed in
amazement at their own credulity, and the address with which the
prisoner had escaped the lingering death prepared for him; but instead
of being enraged at this escape of their victim, they were so pleased
with his ingenuity that they refrained from inflicting further cruelties
on the remaining prisoners.”
After this affray Colonel Montgomery had no desire for a further
acquaintance with the Indians. Employing the simple device of lighting
camp-fires, he retreated post-haste before the ruse was suspected,
making his way back to Fort George, and from thence to New York,
remarking, when warned that he was leaving the unfortunate settlers to
the mercies of the victorious Cherokee, that “he could not help the
people’s fears.” Whether such an action and such a statement was
prudent, or merely timorous, is not for us to say, but to the deserted
Fort Loudon it was little better than a death-warrant. Besieged by the
triumphant Indians, reduced to starvation point, and with the sure
knowledge that further resistance only forestalled a humiliating
surrender, the garrison came to terms with the enemy. What these terms
amounted to does not greatly matter, for hardly had the unfortunate
soldiers evacuated, and begun their retreat, than the Cherokees fell
upon them, slaughtering a large number without mercy.
In 1764 the Black Watch and a detachment of Montgomery’s Highlanders set
out for the relief of Fort Pitt, at that time besieged by Indians. The
expedition was composed of about a thousand men, and was commanded by
Colonel Henry Boquet. The whole country was swarming with the enemy, and
the British force was compelled to advance through a narrow pass winding
between precipitous hills. Many a time had Rob Roy and his Macgregors
ambushed their pursuers in a similar spot. In those times, before
long-range rifles, artillery, and aeroplanes, such places frequently
proved a death-trap to an invading force, particularly soldiers
unaccustomed to rough country and unable to get to close quarters with
an agile enemy like the Red Indian.
One can picture the Highlanders, ill at ease, cautiously feeling their
way up the silent gorge, their pack-horses stumbling along the narrow
track, a strong body of the Black Watch ahead, and every man awaiting
from one moment to another the attack that never came, while each step
towards the centre of the defile magnified the prospect of annihilation.
Suddenly, out of the stillness hummed a flight of arrows, while the
dreaded Indian war-whoop echoed and re-echoed from every side. Unlike
other savages, as the Zulu impi at Rorke’s Drift, or the Dervishes at
Omdurman, the Red Indian preferred to kill by stealth, and in those
times the ways of the Redskins were not so familiar to the white men as
they became in the course of the terrible struggle which was eventually
to sweep the Indian off the continent of America. On this occasion,
although the Indians had inferior weapons, they possessed enormous
superiority in numbers. They were also familiar with every foot of the
country.
It fell to the Black Watch to drive them out of their position. This the
Highlanders accomplished soon enough, and by their agility put the enemy
to flight, but the attack was renewed and again renewed. The thickly
wooded hill-side rang with the yells of thousands of braves—on every
side they rose from amongst the rocks and undergrowth. The 42nd charged
them with fixed bayonets, but they might as well have charged the wind.
The Indians melted away before them, only to reassemble in another
quarter, intent on causing a panic, dividing the British forces,
stampeding the pack-horses, and keeping up the action until darkness
drew on. Near at hand was a favourable plateau, and here the commanding
officer decided to form his camp until the dawn. Through the brief
summer night they awaited the assault, but as the expected rarely
occurred in Indian warfare, none came. The Indians, confident that lack
of water would necessitate an advance and the gradual destruction of the
white men, contented themselves with false alarms and all those other
time-honoured modes of wearing down the nerves and strength. It is also
probable that they were none too ready to encounter more closely the
strange men in tartan who played a game hardly less cunning than their
own. At the same time it was important for the British to advance, for
in their camp were many wounded, who could not hope to keep up with the
main body, and who could under no circumstances be left to the fiendish
tortures of the Indians.
Boquet was a man of resolute will. The following morning he feigned a
retreat, when, with confident recklessness, the Indians rushed headlong
upon his little force. Suddenly, out of the dense thicket, two companies
of Highlanders appeared upon their flank. At the same time the main body
advanced, and in an instant what had seemed to promise a severe disaster
was turned into an overwhelming success. The British lost nearly a
quarter of their number, but reached Fort Pitt without further danger,
where the Black Watch passed the winter.
In the same year they set out on an expedition against the Ohio Indians,
and once more the remarkable endurance and activity of the Highlanders
was put to the test, with the result that, during an advance through
almost impenetrable forests, there was not a single casualty through
fatigue.
The war between England and France had concluded on February 10, 1763,
with the Treaty of Paris. This Treaty deprived the French of rich
territories both in North America and eastward of the Mississippi, but
the conquest was in itself little better than a menace to the future
peace of England. It was Vergennes, the French Ambassador at
Constantinople, who wisely remarked at the time: “England will soon
repent of having removed the only check that could keep her colonies in
awe. They stand no longer in need of her protection. She will call to
them to contribute towards supporting the burden they have helped to
bring on her, and they will answer by striking off all dependence.”
In a time when we have witnessed the noble patriotism and loyal support
of our colonies, such a statement may well appear unduly pessimistic, or
even absurd. But unfortunately at this period the spirit of Empire was
clouded over by arrogance and insularity. People far away in England
were not sufficiently in touch with the new world of America to treat
the colonists with tolerance or sympathy. England had squandered much
money and many lives in the war with France, and was not prepared to
come to an understanding with the settlers, for whose safety it had
carried out the campaign. In another chapter we shall see how
humiliating the consequences of the War of Independence proved, and the
part that the Highlanders took in the struggle.