Chapter XVI: 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.