THE BROTHERS' LAST INTERVIEW.
Meanwhile Wayne was advancing with that caution and intrepidity which
had rendered him famous in wars prior to the one in which he was then
engaged. His spies brought him hourly reports of the movements of the
enemy, and he knew where the decisive conflict would be fought.
The allied tribes had selected as their battle ground the forest of
Presqu'-Isle, a place on the left bank of the Maumee, and almost within
reach of the guns of the British Fort Miami.
During the night preceding the battle, the chiefs of the different
nations assembled in council, and it was proposed by some to go up and
attack Wayne in his encampment. The proposition was opposed, and the
council did not determine to attack him that night!
A great deal of responsibility rested upon this nocturnal council, at
which the Girtys were present. Simon did not say much in the council,
but held private talks with the prominent chiefs. He approved the plan
of attacking the Americans in their camp, and his plan was ably seconded
by Little Turtle and others.
The fate of the tribes of the Northwestern Territory hung upon the
decision of the council.
"We have beaten the enemy twice under separate commanders,"[E] said the
Turtle in the council. "We cannot expect the same good fortune always to
attend us."
[E] Harmar and St. Clair.
"The Americans are now led by a chief who never sleeps. The night and
day are alike to him, and during all the time he has been marching upon
our villages, notwithstanding the wakefulness of our young men, we have
not been able to surprise him. Think well of it. There is something
whispers to me that it would be prudent to listen to his offers of
peace."[F]
[F] Historical.
To this speech James Girty was the first to reply. His voice was for war
to the knife. He scouted at ideas of peace, when the seven tribes had
sworn to stand side by side and oppose the Americans. He accused of
cowardice all who talked of submission, and cast scornful glances at his
brother Simon and the Turtle. Clad in the war dress which he usually
wore on such occasions, and with the fitful flashes of the council fire
in his face, he seemed a very demon of war and blood.
His voice went afar into the night, and startled the warriors who had
been forbidden to attend the council.
"We will surely fight the Blacksnake, for the Whirlwind is talking,"
they said with delight.
It was midnight when the council broke up, its participants in no good
humor, for the Turtle's speech had sown much dissension in the Indian
ranks, and that night many a red man saved his life by deserting the
common cause.
It was decided to fight Wayne at Presqu'-Isle.
After the adjournment of the council the several chiefs hurried to their
respective legions to prepare for the conflict. James Girty wended his
way toward the Miami camp. He was ill at ease, and ever and anon his
hands closed and opened spasmodically, and he muttered as he went along:
"Is he tired of war? Is he going to turn gentleman? He is a coward! He
is not worthy the name of Girty."
These words fell in audible tones from the renegade's lips. They were
hissed from a heart which was a very cauldron of anger.
"James?"
At the sound of his name the outlaw stopped, and turning, recognized the
speaker.
"I am tired of war; but I am not a coward."
The renegade brothers stood face to face in the forest.
For a moment neither spoke. They stood apart, as if each had determined
not to approach the other.
"You are for peace, Simon," James said.
"I would stay the slaughter that will follow our meeting with Wayne,"
was the reply.
Simon Girty trying to prevent the effusion of blood? It seemed one of
the impossibilities of his nature.
A grim smile passed over the Whirlwind's face.
"Then fly to-night," he said bitterly. "Go to the great cities and
exchange your bloody hatchet for the priests' robes of religion. I am
for war! No man shall ever say that Jim Girty turned from a chance to
shed American blood. We are brothers. Simon, is it true that you are
tired of slaughter?"
"I am. We have been devils long enough, James."
"When did you experience this wonderful change?"
The speaker's sarcasm made the solitary listener bite his lip.
"Do you know who is with Wayne?" he said.
"Two thousand men that long to drink my blood."
"_He_ is there--_they_ are there!"
"Ha?"
"Abner Stark reached Wayne not long since. He brought a family of
fugitives into camp. That man has been hunting you ever since you
murdered his family in Kentucky. Fifty more avengers of desolated homes
are with Wayne, and there are people in our own ranks who hate you. The
blood of Parquatin will be avenged."
For a moment James Girty looked searchingly into Simon's face.
"Parquatin!" he said. "Simon, his blood is on your hands. You put him up
to what he did in the council. I should have spared the boy, and killed
you. Oh, what a brother you have been to me! And now with fiendish
delight you tell me that I will fall to-morrow. Let it come! No man
shall say that I ever played the coward. Go your way. I am ashamed to
know that I have a brother whose name is Simon!"
The last word still quivered the outlaw's lips as he turned on his heel
and deliberately walked away.
Simon Girty watched him until the ghostly shadows of the trees hid him
from sight, and said, as he turned toward the Indian camp:
"Simon Girty will be brotherless to-morrow night."
There was a tinge of regret in his tone, for despite their hates and
jealousies, their inhumanity to one another, the renegade brothers were
not devoid of every spark of brotherly affection.
And the night wore on, and at last the day came. It was the bloody and
disastrous twentieth of August, 1794.