Chapter X: Part 10

In the spring of 1780 he was appointed to the command of a party of State troops in Canada, in the district of Maine. At the expiration of the time for which the troops were engaged, General Wadsworth dismissed them, retaining six soldiers only as his guard, as he was making preparations to depart from the place. A neighbor communicated his situation to the British commander at Penobscot, and a party of twenty-five soldiers, commanded by Lieutenant Stockton, was sent to make him a prisoner. They embarked in a small schooner, and, landing within four miles of the General's quarters, they were concealed in the house of a Methodist preacher by the name of Snow—professedly a friend to us, but really a traitor—until eleven in the evening, when they made their arrangements for the attack.

The party rushed suddenly on the sentinel, who gave the alarm, and one of his comrades instantly opened the kitchen door, and the enemy were so near as to enter with the sentinel. The lady of the General, and her friend, Miss Fenno, of Boston, were in the house at the time. Mrs. Wadsworth escaped from her husband's room into that of Miss Fenno.

The assailants soon became masters of the whole house, except the room where the General was, and which was strongly barred, and they kept up a constant firing of musketry into the windows and doors, except into those of the ladies' room. General Wadsworth was provided with a pair of pistols, a blunderbuss and a fusee, which he employed with great dexterity, being determined to defend himself to the last moment. With his pistols, which he discharged several times, he defended the rooms of his window and a door which opened into a kitchen. His blunderbuss he snapped several times, but unfortunately it missed fire; he then secured his fusee, which he discharged on some who were breaking through the windows, and obliged them to flee. He next defended himself with his bayonet, till he received a ball through his left arm, when he surrendered, which terminated the contest. The firing, however, did not cease from the kitchen until the General unbarred the door, when the soldiers rushed into the room, and one of them, who had been badly wounded, pointing a musket at his breast, exclaimed, with an oath, "you have taken my life, and I will take yours." But Lieutenant Stockton turned the musket aside, and saved his life. The commanding officer now applauded the General for his admirable defense, and assisted in putting on his clothes, saying, "you see we are in a critical situation, and therefore you must excuse haste." Mrs. Wadsworth threw a blanket over him, and Miss Fenno affixed a handkerchief closely around his wounded arm.

In this condition, though much exhausted, he, with a wounded American soldier, was directed to march on foot, while the British wounded soldiers were mounted on a horse taken from the General's barn. They departed in great haste. When they had proceeded about a mile, they met, at a small house, a number of people collected, and who inquired if they had taken General Wadsworth. They said no, and added that they must leave a wounded man in their care, and if they paid proper attention to him, they should be compensated; but if not, they would burn down their house. The man appeared to be dying. General Wadsworth was mounted on the horse behind the other wounded soldier, and was warned that his safety depended on his silence. Having passed over a frozen mill-pond about a mile in length, they were met by some of their party who had been left behind. At this place they found a British privateer, which brought the party from the fort. The Captain, on being told that he must return there with the prisoner and the party, and seeing some of his men wounded, became outrageous, and cursing the General for a rebel, demanded how he dared to fire on the king's troops, and commanded him to help launch the boat, or he would put his hanger through his body. The General replied that he was a prisoner, and badly wounded, and could not assist in launching the boat. Lieutenant Stockton, on hearing of this abusive treatment, in a manner honorable to himself, told the Captain that the prisoner was a gentleman, had made a brave defense, and was to be treated accordingly, and added, that his conduct should be represented to General Campbell. After this the Captain treated the prisoner with great civility, and afforded him every comfort in his power.

General Wadsworth had left the ladies in the house, not a window of which escaped destruction. The doors were broken down, and two of the rooms were on fire; the floors were covered with blood, and on one of them lay a brave old soldier dangerously wounded, begging for death, that he might be released from misery. The anxiety and distress of Mrs. Wadsworth were inexpressible, and that of the General was greatly increased by the uncertainty in his mind respecting the fate of his little son, only five years old, who had been exposed to every danger by firing into the house; but he had the happiness, afterward, of hearing of his safety.

Having arrived at the British fort, the capture of General Wadsworth was soon announced, and the shore thronged with spectators, to see the man who, through the preceding year, had disappointed all the designs of the British in that quarter; and loud shouts were heard from the rabble that covered the shore. But when he arrived at the fort, and was conducted into the officer's guard-room, he was treated with politeness. General Campbell, the commandant of the British garrison, sent his compliments to him, and a surgeon to dress his wound, assuring him that his situation should be made comfortable. The next morning, General Campbell invited him to breakfast, and at table paid him many compliments in the defense he had made, observing, however, that he had exposed himself in a degree not perfectly justifiable. General Wadsworth replied that from the manner of the attack, he had no reason to suspect any design of taking him alive, and that he intended, therefore, to sell his life as dearly as possible. He was then informed that a room in the officers' barracks within the fort, was prepared for him, and that an Orderly Sergeant should daily attend him to breakfast and dinner at the commandant's table. Having retired to his solitary apartment, and while his spirit was extremely depressed by a recollection of the past, and by his present situation, he received from General Campbell several books of amusement, and soon after a visit from him, kindly endeavoring to cheer the spirits of his prisoner by conversation. The principal officers of the garrison also called upon him, and from them all, whom he daily met at the commandant's table, he received particular attention and kindness.

"He now made application for a flag of truce, by which means he could transmit a letter to the Governor of Massachusetts, and another to Mrs. Wadsworth. This was granted on the condition that the letter to the Governor should be inspected. The flag was intrusted to Lieutenant Stockton, and on his return, the General was relieved from all anxiety respecting his wife and family. At the end of five weeks, he requested of General Campbell the customary privilege of parole, and received in reply that his case had been reported to the commanding officer at New York, and that no alteration could be made, till orders were received from that quarter. In about two months' time, Mrs. Wadsworth and Miss Fenno arrived, and the officers of the garrison contributed to render their visit agreeable to all concerned.

"About the same time, orders were received from the commanding General at New York, which were concealed from General Wadsworth, but he finally learned that he was not to be paroled nor exchanged, but was to be sent to England as a rebel of too much consequence to be at liberty. Not long afterward, Major Benjamin Benton, a brave and worthy man, who had served under the General the preceding summer, was taken and brought into the fort, and lodged in the same room with him. He had been informed that both himself and the General were to be sent immediately after the return of a privateer now on a cruise, either to New York or Halifax, and thence to England. The prisoners immediately resolved to make a desperate effort to effect their escape. They were confined in a grated room in the officers' barracks within the fort. The wells of this fortress, exclusively of the depth of the ditch surrounding it, were twenty feet high, with fraising on top, and chevaux-de-frise at the bottom.

"Two sentinels were always in the entry, and their door—the upper part of which was glass—might be opened by their watchmen whenever they thought proper, and was actually opened at seasons of peculiar darkness and silence. At the exterior doors of the entries, sentinels were also stationed, as were others in the body of the fort, and at the quarters of General Campbell. At the guard-house a strong guard was daily mounted. Several sentinels were stationed on the walls of the fort, and a complete line occupied them by night. Without the ditch, glacis and abattis, another complete set of soldiers patroled through the night, and a picket guard was placed in or near the isthmus leading from the fort to the main land. Notwithstanding all these fearful obstacles to success, they resolved to make the perilous attempt.

"The room in which they were confined was railed with boards. One of these they determined to cut off so as to make a hole large enough to pass through, and then to creep along till they should come to the next or middle entry; and there lower themselves down into this entry by a blanket. If they should not be discovered, the passage to the walls of the fort was easy. In the evening, after the sentinels had seen the prisoners retire to bed, General Wadsworth got up, and standing in a chair attempted to cut with his knife, the intended opening, but soon found it impracticable. The next day, by giving a soldier a dollar they procured a gimlet. With this instrument they proceeded cautiously and as silently as possible to separate the board, and in order to conceal every appearance from their servants and from the officers, their visitors, they carefully covered the gimlet holes with chewed bread. At the end of three weeks, their labors were so far completed, that it only remained to cut with a knife, the parts which were left to hold the piece in its place. When their preparations were finished, they learned that the privateer in which they were to embark was daily expected.

"In the evening of the 18th of June, a very severe storm of rain, with great darkness and almost incessant lightning, came on. This the prisoners considered as the propitious moment. Having extinguished their lights, they began to cut the corners of the board, and in less than an hour the intended opening was completed. The noise which the operation occasioned was drowned by the rain falling on the roof. Major Benton first ascended to the ceiling, and pressed himself through the opening. General Wadsworth next, having put the corner of his blanket through the hole and made it fast by a strong wooden skewer, attempted to make his way through, standing on a chair below, but it was with extreme difficulty that he at length effected it, and reached the middle entry. From this he passed through the door which he found open, and made his way to the wall of the fort, and had to encounter the greatest difficulty before he could ascend to the top. He had now to creep along the top of the fort between the sentry boxes, at the very moment when the relief was shifting sentinels, but the falling of the heavy rain kept the sentinels within their boxes, and favored his escape. Having now fastened his blanket round a picket at the top, he let himself down through the chevaux-de-frise to the ground, and, in a manner astonishing to himself, made his way into the open field. Here he was obliged to grope his way among rocks, stumps and brush in the darkness of night, till he reached the cove. Happily the tide had ebbed, and he was enabled to cross the water, which was about a mile in breadth, and not more than three feet deep.

"About two o'clock in the morning, General Wadsworth found himself a mile and a half from the fort, and he proceeded through a thick wood and brush to the Penobscot river, and, after passing some distance along the shore, being seven miles from the fort, to his unspeakable joy he saw his friend Benton advancing toward him. Major Benton had been obliged to encounter in his course equal difficulties with his companion, and such were the incredible perils, dangers and obstructions which they surmounted, that their escape may be considered almost miraculous.

"It was now necessary that they should cross the Penobscot river, and very fortunately they discovered a canoe with oars on the shore suited to their purpose. While on the river, they discovered a barge with a party of the British from the fort, in pursuit of them, but by taking an oblique course, and plying their oars to the utmost, they happily eluded the eyes of their pursuers, and arrived safe on the western shore. After having wandered in the wilderness for several days and nights, exposed to extreme fatigue and cold, and with no other food than a little dry bread and meat, which they brought in their pockets from the fort, they reached the settlements on the river St. George, and no further difficulties attended their return to their respective families."

THE MOTHER'S TRIAL.

Who has not heard of Logan, "the white man's friend"—that noble specimen of the Indian race, who, by his forbearance, prudence, and magnanimity, has done so much toward elevating the character of the red-man to that high standard so forcibly depicted in the works of America's great novelist—Cooper. That there may have been thousands among the tribes who inhabited this continent at the period of its settlement by the whites, who were actuated and controlled by the savage impulses of their naturally brutal and cruel propensities, there can be no doubt; but these pages give striking evidence that there were many who were governed by the dictates of higher instincts and loftier sentiments than those of passion and prejudice.

In early life Logan lived at a place called Logan's Spring, in Mifflin county, Pennsylvania. The first settler in his immediate neighborhood was William Brown, who afterwards became an associate Judge to Mifflin county, a post which he held until his death, at the age of ninety. While engaged in looking for a convenient spot on which to erect his cabin, he visited Logan at his camp, accompanied by his brother, and while there, engaged in a friendly contest of skill in the use of the rifle with the chieftain. A dollar a shot was the wager for which they contended, and when they ceased it was found that Logan was the loser of several shots. Going to his cabin, he returned with as many deer-skins as he had lost dollars, and handed them to the winner, who refused to take them, alleging that he was his guest, and did not come to rob him; that the bet had been a mere nominal one, and he did not expect him to pay it. The chief drew himself up to his full height, while a frown of injured dignity darkened his brow, and exclaimed: "Me bet to make you shoot your best; me gentleman, and me take your money if me beat," and as there was no wish to insult him, the winner was obliged to take the skins from their host, who would not accept even a horn of powder in return. So much for the Indian's honesty and integrity.

Mrs. Norris, a daughter of Judge Brown, gives some particulars relating to Logan, which are highly interesting. She says: "Logan supported himself by killing deer and dressing their skins, which he sold to the whites. He had sold quite a quantity to one De Yong, a tailor, who lived in Fuguson's valley, below the Gap. Tailors, in those days, dealt extensively in buckskin breeches. Logan received his pay, according to stipulation, in wheat. The wheat, on being taken to the mill, was found so worthless that the miller refused to grind it. Logan was much chagrined, and attempted in vain to obtain redress from the tailor. He then took his case before his friend Brown, then a magistrate; and on the Judge's questioning him as to the character of the wheat, and what was in it, Logan sought for words in vain to express the precise nature of the article with which the wheat was adulterated, but said that it resembled in character the wheat itself.

"It must have been _cheat_," said the Judge.

"Yoh!" said Logan, "that very good name for him."

A decision was given in Logan's favor, and a writ given to him to hand to the constable, which, he was told, would bring the money for the skins. But the untutored Indian—too uncivilized to be dishonest—could not comprehend by what magic this little bit of paper would force the tailor against his will to pay for the skins. The Judge took down his own commission, with the arms of the king upon it, and explained to him the first principles and operations of civil law. "Law good," said Logan; "make rogues pay."

But how much more efficient the law which the Great Spirit had impressed upon the Indian's heart—_to do unto others as he would be done by_.

When one of Judge Brown's children was just learning to walk, its mother happened to express a regret that she could not get a pair of shoes to support its first efforts. Logan, who stood by, overheard the remark, but apparently paid no attention to it, although he had determined in his own mind that the want of shoes should not hinder the little girl in her first attempts. Two or three days passed, and the remark had been forgotten by all save the chieftain, when, happening into their house, he asked the mother if she would allow the child to go with him, and spend the day at his cabin. Mrs. B. could not divine the reason of such a request, and all her suspicions were aroused at the idea of placing her little cherub in the hands of one whose objects she could not understand. The proposition alarmed her, and, without giving a decided negative, she hesitated to comply. The matter was left to her husband, who urged her to consent, representing the delicacy of Logan's feelings, his sensitiveness, and his character for truth and plain dealing. With much reluctance, but with apparent cheerfulness, the mother at length complied, although her heart was filled with forebodings, as she saw her little one disappear in the woods in the arms of the chieftain. Slowly passed the sad hours away, and the poor mother could do nothing but think of her absent one, in the hands of a savage warrior, the natural enemy of the pale-face. As the day drew to a close, she took her station at the window, and watched with the most intense solicitude for the return of her child; but hour after hour passed away without bringing any relief to her anxious heart. A thousand vague fears and conjectures filled her mind with the many tales of Indian barbarity and treachery which she had heard, and as the shades of evening drew around the landscape, and her little one had not returned, she felt that to hear of her death at the hands of the chief would be a relief to her overwrought brain. Her husband endeavored to calm her agitated feelings, and soothe her into confidence in the integrity of Logan—but with little effect; and it is probable that her apprehensions would have driven her to go to the cabin of the Indian in search of her child. Just after the sun went down, however, he made his appearance in the dim twilight, bearing the little treasure in his arms, who seemed delighted with her conductor for her arms were thrown about his neck as he bore her along with firm and rapid steps to her home. The mother's heart leaped with joy as she recognized the persons of the chief and the child. She sprung from her chair, where she had passed so many anxious moments, and prepared to receive the little one, around whom had been concentrated all her maternal feelings that tiresome, lonely, and weary day. A few brief moments, which to her seemed hours, brought the chief to the door, where he released the child from its embrace, and sat it down upon the floor. The mother caught it in her arms and hugged it to her bosom, while the father addressed his thanks to the proud and gratified chief for a pair of beautiful little moccasins, adorned with beads and all the fancy work of an Indian's taste, which covered and supported the feet of the little girl. During all that day, which had been so tedious and full of anxiety to the mother, Logan had been engaged in constructing and ornamenting the little gift, by which he intended to show his appreciation of the many favors he had received at the parents' hands.

Logan was called a Mingo chief, or Mengwe, whose father was chief of the Cayugas, whom he succeeded. His parent being attached, in a remarkable degree, to the benevolent James Logan, after whom he named his son. The name is still perpetuated among the Indians. For magnanimity in war, and greatness of soul in peace, few, in any nation, ever surpassed Logan. He was inclined to friendship with the whites; nothing but aggravated wrongs succeeded in making him their enemy. He took no part in the French wars, ending in 1770, except that of peacemaker—was always acknowledged to favor us, until the year 1774, when his brother, and several others of the family, were murdered.

The particulars were these. In the spring of that year some Indians were reported to have robbed the people upon the Ohio river, who were in that country, exploring the lands, and preparing for settlements. These land-jobbers, becoming alarmed at what they considered the hostile character of the Indians, collected themselves at a place called Whiting creek, the site of the present town of Wheeling, and, learning that there were two Indians on the river above, Captain Michael Cresap, belonging to the exploring party, proposed to fall upon and kill them.

His advice was first opposed, then followed—the two Indians were slain. The same day, it being reported that there were Indians below Wheeling, on the river, Cresap and his party immediately marched to the place, and at first appeared to show themselves friendly, suffering the Indians to pass by them unmolested, to encamp still lower down, at the mouth of Grove Creek. Cresap now followed, attacked and killed several, having one of his own men wounded by the fire of the savages. Here some of the family of Logan were slain. This affair was exceedingly aggravating, inasmuch as the whites pretended no provocation.

Soon after this the whites committed another unprovoked outrage upon the Indian encampment, about thirty miles above Wheeling, on the opposite side of the river. A white man by the name of Greathouse lived opposite the encampment. He collected a party of thirty-two men, who secreted themselves, while he, under pretense of a friendly visit, crossed the river to ascertain the number of the Indians. On counting them, he found they were too numerous for his own party. These Indians had heard of the late murder of their friends, and had resolved to be revenged. Greathouse did not know of the danger he was incurring, until a squaw advised him of it, in friendly caution to "go home." He then invited the Indians to come over the river and drink with him, this being a part of his plan for separating them, that they might be more easily destroyed. The offer was accepted by a good many, who, being collected at a tavern in the white settlement, were treated freely to liquor, and all killed, except a little girl. Among the murdered was a brother and sister of Logan.

The remaining Indians, upon the other side of the river, upon hearing the firing, sent off two canoes with armed warriors, who, as they approached the shore, were fired upon by the whites, who lay concealed awaiting them. Nothing prevented their taking deadly aim, so that their fire was terribly destructive, and the canoes were obliged to return. This affair took place in May, 1774. These were the events which led to a horrid Indian war, in which many innocent families were sacrificed to satisfy the vengeance of an injured, incensed people. A calm followed the first outbreak; but it was the calm which precedes the storm, and lasted only while the tocsin of war was being sounded among the distant nations.

In July of the same year, Logan, at the head of eight warriors, struck a blow upon some inhabitants in Michigan, where no one expected it. He left the settlement of the Ohio, which all supposed would be first attacked in case of war, and hence the reason of his great successes. His first attack was upon three men who were pulling flax in a field. One was shot down, and the two others taken. These were marched into the wilderness, and, as they approached the Indian town, Logan gave the scalp halloo, and they were met by the inhabitants, who conducted them in. Running the gauntlet was next to be performed. Logan took no delight in torture, and he instructed one of the prisoners how to proceed to escape the severities of the gauntlet. This same captive, whose name was Robison, was afterward sentenced to be burned, but Logan, though not able to rescue him by his eloquence, with his own hand cut the cords which bound him to the stake, and caused him to be adopted into an Indian family. Robison afterward became Logan's scribe, and wrote for him the letter, tied to a war-club, which was left, that same season, at the house of a family cut off by the Indians, and which served to alarm the inhabitants, and to call out the militia for their protection. It ran thus:

"CAPTAIN CRESAP: What did you kill my people on Yellow Creek for? The white people killed my kin at Conestoga, a great while ago, and I thought nothing of that. But you killed my kin again on Yellow Creek, and took my cousin prisoner. Then I thought I must kill, too; and I have been to war three times since. But the Indians are not angry—only myself.

"CAPTAIN JOHN LOGAN."

There was a chief among the Shawanese more renowned as a warrior than even Logan at that time. Cornstalk was his name, and to him seems to have fallen the principal direction of the war which was now begun. We do not propose to give a detailed history of the fierce struggle which followed; but some account of the great battle at Point Pleasant cannot be uninteresting.

General Lewis, with eleven hundred men, gave battle to fifteen hundred savage warriors, under Logan, Cornstalk, Ellinipsico (Cornstalk's son,) Red Eagle, and other mighty chiefs of the tribes of the Delawares, Shawanese, Cayugas, Wyandots, and Mingoes. The battle began a little after sunrise, on a narrow point of land, between the Ohio and the Great Kanawha rivers. The breastworks of the Indians, constructed of brushwood, extended from river to river; their plan of attack was the best conceivable, for in the event of victory on their part, not a Virginian would have escaped. They had stationed men on both sides of the river, to prevent the escape of such as might attempt it, by swimming from the apex of the triangle made by the confluence of the two rivers. The Virginians, like their opponents, covered themselves with trees, or whatever shelter offered; but the Indians had every advantage. Hour after hour the battle lasted, the Indians slowly retreating to their breastworks, while the Virginians fought with desperate courage, for life itself was at stake for all of them. Colonel Lewis, brother of the commanding General, soon fell, under the fire to which his uniform particularly exposed him. His division was broken, while another division, under Colonel Fleming, was attacked at the same moment, and the Colonel received two balls in his left wrist, but continued to exercise his command with the greatest coolness. His voice was continually heard: "Advance—outflank the enemy; get between them and the river. Don't lose an inch of ground!" But his men were about to be outflanked by the body which had just defeated Lewis, when the arrival of Colonel Field's division turned the fortune of the day, but not without severe loss. Colonel Fleming was again wounded by a shot through the lungs, and Colonel Field was killed while leading on his men.

The Indians fought with an equal bravery. The voice of Cornstalk was often heard during the day, above the din of strife, calling on his warriors in these words: "Be strong! be strong!" and when, by the repeated charge of the whites, some of his men began to waver, he is said to have sunk his hatchet in the brain of one who was cowardly attempting to retreat.

General Lewis finally decided the contest by getting three companies of men into the rear of the Indians; these companies got unobserved to their destination upon Crooked Creek, a little stream running into the Kanawha, whose high, wood-covered banks sheltered them, while they made a furious attack upon the backs of the Indians, who, thinking reinforcements had arrived, fled across the Ohio, and immediately took up their march for their towns on the Scioto. It was sunset when the battle ended.

The Mother's Trial—_Page_ 52.
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There was a kind of stratagem used in this contest, which was more than once practiced by the experienced Virginia riflemen, during their fight with the savages. The soldiers in Colonel Fleming's corps would conceal themselves behind a tree, or some other shelter, and then hold out their caps from behind, which the Indians, seeing, would mistake as covering the heads of their opponents, and shoot at them. The cap being dropped at the moment, the Indian would dart out from his covert to scalp his victim, and thus meet a sure death from the tomahawk of his adversary. This game was practiced only by the "prime riflemen," accustomed to a backwoods life.

After this signal defeat, the Indians were prepared to treat for peace. General Lewis, after burying his dead, took up his perilous and difficult march, his troops eager to exterminate the Indians; but Governor Dunmore, having received numerous offers of peace, finally ordered him to retreat. Lord Dunmore, with a force equal to that of Lewis, was now at Chilicothe, where he began a treaty, conducted on the part of the whites with great distrust, who never admitted but a few Indians at a time into their encampment. The business was commenced by Cornstalk, in a speech of great length, in which he charged upon the whites the main cause of the war; and mainly in consequence of the murder of Logan's family. A treaty, however, was the result of this conference, and this conference was the result of the Mingo chief's famous speech, since known throughout both hemispheres. It was not delivered in Lord Dunmore's camp, for, although desiring peace, Logan would not meet the whites in council, but remained in his cabin in sullen silence, until a messenger was sent to him with the treaty, to know if he consented to its articles. To this messenger he pronounced that memorable speech:

"I appeal to any white man to say if he ever entered Logan's cabin hungry, and I gave him not meat; if he ever came cold and naked, and I clothed him not.

"During the course of the last long, bloody war, Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said: 'Logan is the friend of the white man.'

"I had even thought to have lived with you, but for the injuries of one man. Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations of Logan, not even sparing his women and children.

"There was not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. This called on me for revenge; I have sought it. I have killed many—I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? Not one!"

Cornstalk, a chief excelling even Logan in natural nobility of character, and great bravery, who conducted the battle and the treaty, lost his life within a year from that time, under circumstances painful to all lovers of justice.

Upon the breaking out of the Revolution, the year following, the British Government, through their agents, made the most strenuous efforts to induce the Indians to take up the tomahawk in behalf of the king, and were but too successful. Cornstalk, however, actuated by a high-toned feeling of repugnance at the idea of breaking his plighted faith, and foreseeing the inevitable issue of the struggle—being, moreover, a firm and consistent friend of the Americans—refused to take any part in the contest, and exerted the utmost of his influence to prevent his tribe from joining the coalition. His efforts proved futile, however, and the influence of British presents, and the example of the neighboring tribes, had the effect which he most dreaded. He did not live to see the result of the struggle, being killed on the spot where he had but a year before fought so bravely in defense of his home and the graves of his sires. After the truce between the tribes and Governor Dunmore had been agreed upon, a fort was erected at Point Pleasant to commemorate the battle and keep the Indians in check, and to this fort Cornstalk, after finding that his efforts to preserve that compact intact would be unavailing, repaired to explain the position of affairs to its commanding officer, Captain Arbuckle, and take his advice as to what course he should pursue. Red-hawk, the Delaware chief, who had also fought so bravely at Point Pleasant, and who was likewise opposed to resuming the hatchet, accompanied him in his visit. The chieftain explained in the fullest manner the state of affairs among the Indians, and informed Arbuckle that he should be unable to restrain his tribe, who seemed determined to dig up the hatchet, and once more commence an exterminating war against the settlers. Under these circumstances, Arbuckle felt himself justified in detaining the chief and his companion as hostages, supposing that the fact of their principal leader being in the hands of the Americans would have the effect of deterring his tribe from active hostilities. Thinking themselves that such a result might follow, and earnestly desirous of not taking part in the contest, which they knew must follow if they returned to their people, they remained willing captives in the hands of Arbuckle, little dreaming of the fate which awaited them, and giving all the information which they possessed regarding the anticipated movements of the various tribes, and of the British agents among them.

The young chief, Ellinipsico, becoming anxious at the protracted absence of his father, set out in search of him, and, having traced him to the fort, he made his appearance on the opposite side of the river, and, being recognized by the chieftain, permission was given him to enter the fort, where the meeting between them was of the most affecting nature. They entertained for each other the warmest feelings of affection, which the young man displayed on the present occasion, by the enthusiastic manner in which he embraced his parent, and sought to show his joy at meeting him.

The hostages had been quartered in one of the cabins within the pickets of the fort, which, from its position, afforded safety and security—although they were not confined thereto, but allowed the range of the inclosure, and thither they bent their steps, and father and son sat down to take counsel in the present state of affairs. Ellinipsico, in common with the young men of his tribe, was in favor of joining in the war, being anxious to distinguish himself, and win his way by feats of arms to the proud position which would be his own inheritance on the death of his father. From such a course, Cornstalk endeavored to dissuade him with all the eloquence for which he was distinguished—but with little effect. The young man felt the unconquerable enmity of his race toward the white men, and burned to wash out in their blood the many wrongs and injuries he had received at their hands. The afternoon and evening having been spent in conversation upon this subject, without any result, the chieftain and his son laid down to sleep on the floor of their cabin—the last sleep they were destined to take this side of eternity.

On the morning after the arrival of Ellinipsico, two men of the garrison, named Hamilton and Gillmore, started out to hunt on the opposite side of the Kanawha river, not dreaming of any danger to be apprehended from the Indians, hostilities not having as yet commenced. On their return about noon, they were fired upon by two Indians, who had come across the Ohio to reconnoiter the fort, and hidden themselves in the weeds and brush, and Gillmore was killed. Colonel Stewart and Captain Arbuckle were standing on the opposite shore when the firing was heard, and expressed their surprise to one another at the occurrence, as strict orders had been given against all firing in the immediate vicinity of the fort. While anxiously awaiting a solution to the mystery, they discovered Hamilton on the other bank, who called to them, told them that Gillmore had been killed, and entreated them to send a canoe across to his relief. Captain Hall was dispatched with several men to the relief of the fugitive, and in a few moments they stood by his side.

A careful search in the adjacent bushes discovered the body of their comrade, shot through the head, and scalped. Placing the bloody corpse in the canoe, they recrossed the river, and with feelings of dire revenge demanded the lives of the hostages in the fort. Pale with rage, and terribly excited at the murder of one of his companions, Captain Hall placed himself at the head of his men, and marched toward the fort, threatening death to the unarmed hostages. Captain Arbuckle and several of the officers threw themselves in their way, and endeavored to prevent the execution of their bloodthirsty purpose; but this only excited the passions of the soldiers to the most ungovernable pitch, and cocking their pieces, they threatened death to all who interfered between them and their victims. Arbuckle was forced to give way, and witness a scene he was unable to prevent, and the exasperated men rushed into the fort. The interpreter's wife, who had been a captive among the Indians, and felt an affection for them, rushed to the cabin to inform them that Captain Hall's men were advancing to put them to death, because they entertained the idea that the Indians who had killed their comrade had come with Ellinipsico the day previous. This Ellinipsico earnestly denied, averring that he had come alone, with the only purpose of meeting his father, and without dreaming of hostility. The clamor without announced the rapid approach of their executioners, and Ellinipsico, being highly excited at the idea of being put to death for a wrong he had not committed, showed considerable agitation. The veteran chief, however, had faced death on too many battle-fields to be alarmed at his approach now, and endeavored to reassure his son, and induce him to die as became the child of such a sire. "If the Great Spirit," said he, "has decided that I should die, my son, and has sent you here to die with me, you should submit to your fate as becomes a warrior and a chief." With courage revived by the exhortation of his father, Ellinipsico prepared to meet with composure the death which he saw was inevitable. Covering his face with his hands that he might not see his executioners, he calmly awaited the stroke which was to deprive him of life, and send him to the "happy hunting grounds" of his race. As the door of the cabin was burst open, Cornstalk rose with dignity, and presented his breast to the rifles of the infuriated soldiers. Seven bullets pierced his noble form, and he died without a struggle. His son was killed at the same instant, and both fell to the ground together. Red-hawk, who had endeavored to hide himself, was dragged from his place of concealment and killed, as was another Indian who was in the fort, and who was fearfully mangled in the struggle.

"Thus," says Withers, in his Indian chronicles, "perished the mighty Cornstalk, sachem of the Shawnees, and king of the Northern confederacy in 1774—a chief remarkable for many great and good qualities. He was disposed to be, at all times, the friend of the white men, as he was ever the advocate of honorable peace. But when his country's wrongs summoned him to the battle, he was the thunderbolt of war, and made his enemies feel the weight of his arm. His noble bearing, his generous and disinterested attachment to the colonies, his anxiety to preserve the frontiers of Virginia from desolation and death, all conspired to win for him the esteem and respect of others; while the untimely and perfidious manner of his death caused a deep and lasting feeling of regret to pervade the bosoms, even of those who were enemies to his nation, and excited the indignation of all toward his inhuman murderers."

We would not be thought the apologist for a deed like that which has been narrated; but, at the same time, cannot join the cry which is raised against it by those authors who stigmatize it is a "cruel, bloodthirsty, inhuman, fiendlike murder." All the harshest terms in our language have been hurled at the heads of those who were engaged in it, and with great injustice. Cruel and bloodthirsty it undoubtedly was, but it was the natural consequence of the war which was waged between the white and red-men, in which revenge for injuries inflicted was held to be a sacred duty. Stone, with great want of candor, omits to mention the fact that Hall and his companions entertained the idea that the Indians who had accompanied Ellinipsico had killed their fellow soldier; but, in language of the severest cast, would lead us to suppose their act a mean, cowardly, cold-blooded massacre. He says: "A party of ruffians assembled, under command of a Captain Hall—not to pursue or punish the perpetrators of the murder, but to fall upon the friendly and peaceable Indians in the fort." What would have been the conduct of the Indians under similar circumstances? The pages of his own work exhibit many instances of similar cruelty and revengeful practice on their part; and even Brant himself is not free from it.

True, in the present case, the perpetrators were white men, civilized and enlightened; but in the long and bloody wars of extermination which they had waged with the savages, they had learned their mode of warfare; in fact, they could not hope for success in any other way, and the long account of murders, massacres, burnings at the stake, and inhuman tortures, which, even at the present day, thrill the blood with horror, had exasperated the feelings of those men who were surrounded by the actual reality, and expected no better fate themselves at the hands of Indians, should they be so unfortunate as to be captured, and they lost sight of the dictates of justice in the all-powerful and blinding spirit of revenge.

The Women Defending the Wagon.—_Page_ 8.
]

TALES,

TRADITIONS AND ROMANCE

OF

BORDER AND REVOLUTIONARY TIMES.

WOMEN DEFENDING THE WAGON.
CAPTIVITY OF JONATHAN ALDER
MOODY THE REFUGEE.
THE LEAP FOR LIFE.

NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,
118 WILLIAM STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by
BEADLE AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.

THE
WOMEN DEFENDING THE WAGON.

Between the Blue Ridge and the western range of the Alleghany Mountains, in the northern part of the State of Virginia, is located Shenandoah County, which derives its name from the beautiful river, one branch of which flows through its entire length, from south to north. Its county seat is Woodstock, a thriving town, with a population of between one and two thousand inhabitants. This place was settled, previous to the French and Indian war, by hardy German yeomanry from Pennsylvania, who were tempted to leave the rugged hills of the Keystone State, by the glowing reports which had reached their ears of the surprising fertility and beauty of the valley of the Shenandoah. Gathering up their household goods, they turned their backs upon the homes of their first choice, and took their way through pathless forests to "the promised land." Arrived at their new home, they selected the site of the present flourishing town as the nucleus of the settlement, and commenced, with a will, the laborious task of felling the forest and the erection of their homes. A stockade fort was erected as a protection against the incursions of predatory bands of Indians. A short time sufficed to place them in circumstances which, if not actually flourishing, were comparatively thrifty, and so far promising as to the future, that they were led to look forward with hope to a long continued prosperity. They were a plain, frugal and industrious people, unacquainted with the luxuries and only desiring the substantial requisites of an humble life, which were furnished in abundance by the fertile soil of the valley in which they had taken up their abode. A traveler among them during the French and Indian war thus speaks of their happy condition:

"I could not but reflect with pleasure upon the situation of these people, and think, if there is such a thing as true happiness, in this life, they enjoy it. Far from the bustle of the world, they live in the most delightful climate and possess the richest soil imaginable. They are everywhere surrounded by beautiful prospects and sylvan scenes. Lofty mountains, transparent streams, falls of water, rich valleys and majestic woods—the whole interspersed with an infinite variety of flowering shrubs—constitute the landscape surrounding them. They are subject to few diseases, are generally robust, and live in perfect liberty. They are ignorant of want, and are acquainted with few vices. Their inexperience of the elegancies of life precludes any regret that they have not the means of enjoying them; but they possess what many princes would give half their dominions for—health, content and tranquility of mind."

Among others who had been attracted to this valley by the glowing accounts of its fertility and comparative security, were two heads of families by the names of Sheits and Taylor. The former was of German parentage, the latter of English birth, but having both married American women, and being drawn together by that bond of sympathy which, in a new country, where danger is a common heritage, unites with a stronger tie than that of blood—they were more like one family than two separate households.

Being driven from their homes by the massacre of two of their neighbors and their families, they hastily collected a few necessaries, placed them, with their wives and children, in a wagon, to which was attached their respective horses, and started in search of a new home. Woodstock was the nearest town, or station, where there was a fort, and toward that place they directed their steps.

The family of Taylor embraced himself, wife, and three children, while that of Sheits numbered but three—himself, wife, and one child. The few articles which the limited room in the wagon, and the hurried nature of their departure allowed them to remove, were a chest of drawers, which was a gift from the parents of Mrs. T., a feather bed, also a parental gift to Mrs. S., a brass kettle or two, some few culinary articles, and the axes and rifles of the men. These and their horses, and a stout farm wagon, were all they had saved, yet they were well content to come off with their lives, and trudged along, satisfied if they could but reach a haven of safety from the barbarities which had been inflicted upon their less fortunate neighbors and friends.

The greater portion of their way lay through the forest, where every sound to their affrighted ears gave token of an enemy lurking in their path, and the rustling of a leaf, or the sighing wind, awoke their fears, and called up their latent courage. This had been passed, however, in safety, and they had reached the brow of the hill from whence they had a view of the beautiful valley below, where they hoped to find a haven of rest. Pausing for a moment to admire the scene which opened before them, they gave vent to their feelings in eulogies upon the lovely landscape, and words of encouragement to their wives and children. Alas, as they spoke, the deadly rifle of a concealed foe was leveled full at their breasts, and the savage red-skin was thirsting for their blood, within a few feet of them. Hidden by the thick underbrush which grew up by the side of the road, five tawny warriors, painted and bedecked with their war feathers, lay crouching like wild beasts, ready to spring upon their prey. Just as they started to resume their way, and descend the hill toward the settlement, the crack of two rifles, the whizzing of two leaden messengers, and the fall of their husbands, alarmed the women and widowed them at the same instant. The aim had been sure, and both the men fell without a groan, pierced through the heart with a bullet from an unerring rifle. Quick as the flash from a summer cloud were all their hopes of safety and future happiness blasted, stricken to the earth with the fall of their husbands. No cry escaped the now bereaved women. Their feelings were too deep for utterance, nor was there any time for grief or repining. Left in an instant self-dependent, they looked around for the foe and for means of defense. Nothing was within reach but the axes of their husbands; these they seized, awaiting the onset of the savages. They had not long to wait. Pushing aside the foliage, the five warriors sprang, with a grunt of satisfaction, from the thicket into the road, and made for the wagon to secure their prisoners. The first who came up seized the son of Mrs. Taylor, and endeavored to drag him from the wagon, but the little fellow resisted manfully, looking, meanwhile, up into his mother's face, as if to implore protection at her hands. The appeal was not lost upon her. Seizing, with both hands, the axe of her husband, and swinging it around her head, she brought it down, with all the vengeful force of her arm, upon the shoulder of the Indian, inflicting a wound which sent him off howling with pain. Turning to another, she served him in like manner, while Mrs. Sheits had sent a third back to his lair with a severe blow across the hand which severed all his fingers. The other two were wise enough to keep without the reach of their blows, but endeavored to intimidate them by terrific yells and brandished tomahawks. Nothing daunted, however, the heroic women maintained their attitude of defense, until wearied of their efforts, and, fearing the approach of relief from the garrison of the fort, the two unwounded Indians rushed into the thicket for their rifles, to end the conflict. Taking advantage of this opportunity, the women started the horses, and the red-skins, not daring to pursue them, they were permitted to reach the fort in safety, from which a party set out to bring in the dead and scalped bodies of their husbands.