This was a peculiar characteristic of this great chief, as drawn from the pages of history; and the more peculiar, that he was a fierce, determined warrior, and the very last to hold out against a peace with his white enemy. But there were some noble traits in the man; and when, at last, he was wrought upon to sign the treaty of Greenville, in 1795—twenty-four years after the date of the foregoing events—so keen was his sense of honor, that no entreaty nor persuasion could thenceforth induce him to break his bond; and he remained a firm friend of the Americans to the day of his death. He was opposed to burning prisoners, and to polygamy, and is said to have lived forty years with one wife, rearing a numerous family of children.—See Drake's Life of Tecumseh.
The reader will bear in mind, that these events transpired during the American Revolution; that the Indians were, at this time, allies of the British; who paid them, in consequence, regular annuities, at Upper Sandusky.
This was a customary proceeding of the savages at that day, with all prisoners doomed to death.
From the first inroads of the whites upon what the Indians considered their lawful possessions, although by them unoccupied—namely, the territory known as Kan-tuck-kee—up to the year which opens our story, there had been scarcely any cessation of hostilities between the two races so antagonistical in their habits and principles. Whenever an opportunity presented itself favorable to their purpose, the savages would steal down from their settlements—generally situated on the Bottom Lands of the principal rivers in the present State of Ohio—cross over La Belle Riviere into Kentucky, and, having committed as many murders and other horrible acts as were thought prudent for their safety, would return in triumph, if successful, to their homes, taking along with them scalps of both sexes and all ages, from the infant to the gray-beard, and not unfrequently a few prisoners for the amusement of burning at the stake.
These flying visits of the savages were generally repaid by similar acts of kindness on the part of the whites; who, on several occasions, marched with large armies into their very midst, destroyed their crops and stores, and burnt their towns. An expedition of this kind was prosecuted by General Clark, in August of the year preceding the events we have detailed, of which mention has been previously made. He had under his command one thousand men, mostly from Kentucky, and marched direct upon old Chillicothe, which the Indians deserted and burnt on his approach. He next moved upon the Piqua towns, on Mad river, where a desperate engagement ensued between the whites and Indians, in which the former proved victorious. Having secured what plunder they could, together with the horses, the Kentuckians destroyed the town, and cut down some two hundred acres of standing corn. They then returned to Chillicothe on their homeward route, where they destroyed other large fields of produce, supposed in all to amount to something like five hundred acres.
We have mentioned this expedition for the purpose of showing why the year which opens our story, 1781, was less disastrous to the frontier settlers than the preceding ones—the Indians being too busily occupied in repairing the damage done them, and in hunting to support their families, to have much thought for the war-path, or time to follow it; consequently the year in question, as regards Kentucky, may be said to have passed away in a comparatively quiet manner, with no events more worthy of note than those we have laid before the reader.
But if the vengeance of the savage slumbered for the time being, it was only like some pent up fire, burning in secret, until opportunity should present for it to burst forth in a manner most appalling, carrying destruction and terror throughout its course; and in consequence of this, the year 1782 was destined to be one most signally marked by bloody deeds in the annals of Kentucky. The winter of '81 and '82 passed quietly away; but early in the ensuing spring hostilities were again renewed, with a zeal which showed that neither faction had forgotten old grudges during the intervening quietude. Girty did all that lay in his power to stir up the vindictive feelings of the Indians, and was aided in his laudable endeavors by one or two others[18] who wore the uniform of British officers. It was the design of the renegade to raise a grand army from the union of the Six Nations, lead them quietly into the heart of Kentucky, and, by a bold move, seize some prominent station, murder the garrison, and thus secure at once a stronghold, from which to sally forth, spread death and desolation in every quarter, and, if possible, depopulate the entire country. Long and ardently did he labor in stirring up the Indians by inflammatory speeches; till at last he succeeded in uniting a grand body for his hellish purpose; which, on the very eve of success, as one may say, was at last frustrated by what seemed a direct Providence, of which more anon, and its proper place.
Previously, however, to the event just referred to, parties of Indians, numbering from five to fifty, prowled about the frontiers, committing at every opportunity all manner of horrid deeds, and thus rousing the whites to defence and retaliation. One of these skirmishes has been more particularly dwelt on, by the historians of Kentucky, than any of the others; on account, probably, of the desperate and sanguinary struggle for mastery between the two contending parties, and the cruel desertion, at a time of need, of a portion of the whites; by which means the Indians had advantage of numbers, that otherwise would have been equally opposed. We allude to what is generally known as Estill's Defeat.
It is not our province in the present work to detail any thing not directly connected with our story; and therefore we shall pass on, after a cursory glance at the main facts in question. Sometime in March, a party of Wyandots made a descent upon Estill's station, which stood near the present site of Richmond; and having killed and scalped a young lady, and captured a Negro slave, were induced, by the exaggerated account which the latter gave of the force within, to an immediate retreat; whereby, probably, the lives of the women and children, almost the only occupants, were saved—Captain Estill himself, with his garrison, and several new recruits, being at the time away, on a search for these very savages, who were known by some unmistakable signs to be in the vicinity. Word being despatched to Estill, of what had transpired in his absence, he immediately sought out the trail of the retreating foes, which he followed with his men, and toward night of the second day overtook them at Hinston's Fork of Licking, where a desperate engagement immediately ensued. At the onset, there were twenty-five Indians, and exactly the same number of whites; but the immediate desertion, in a cowardly manner, of a certain Lieutenant Miller, with six men under his command, left the odds greatly in favor of the Wyandots, who were all picked warriors. Notwithstanding the cowardice of their companions, our little Spartan band fought most heroically for an hour and three-quarters; when the few survivors, on both sides, being almost worn out, ceased hostilities as by mutual consent. In this ever memorable action, Captain Estill, a brave and popular man, together with nine of his gallant companions, fell to rise no more. Four others were badly wounded, leaving only the same number of unharmed survivors. The Indians, it was afterwards ascertained, had seventeen warriors killed on the field, among whom was one of their bravest chiefs, and two others severely wounded; and there has been a tradition since among the Wyandots, that only one survivor ever returned to tell the tale.
The news of the foregoing disastrous skirmish flew like wild fire, to use a common phrase, throughout the borders, and, together with others of less note, served to kindle the fire of vengeance in the bosoms of the settlers, and excite a deeper hostility than ever against the savage foe. Nor was the subsequent conduct of the Indians themselves calculated to soften this bitter feeling against them; for, to use the words of a modern writer, "The woods again teemed with savages, and no one was safe from attack beyond the walls of a station. The influence of the British, and the constant pressure of the Long Knives, upon the red-men, had produced a union of the various tribes of the northwest, who seemed to be gathering again to strike a fatal blow at the frontier settlements; and had they been led by a Phillip, a Pontiac, or a Tecumseh, it is impossible to estimate the injury they might have inflicted."
Whether the foregoing remarks may be deemed by the reader a digression, or otherwise, we have certainly felt ourself justified in making them; from the fact, that our story is designed to be historical in all its bearings; and because many months being supposed to elapse, ere our characters are again brought upon the stage of action, it seemed expedient to give a general view of what was taking place in the interval. Having done so, we will now forthwith resume our narrative.
About five miles from Lexington, a little to the left of the present road leading thence to Maysville, and on a gentle rise of the southern bank of the Elkhorn, at the time of which we write, stood Bryan's Station, to which we must now call the reader's attention. This station was founded in the year 1779, by William Bryan, (a brother-in-law of Daniel Boone,) who had, prior to the events we are now about to describe, been surprised and killed by the Indians in the vicinity of a stream called Cane Run.
This fort, at the period in question, was one of great importance to the early settlers—standing as it did on what was considered at the time of its erection, the extreme frontier, and, by this means, extending their area of security. The station consisted of forty cabins, placed in parallel lines, connected by strong pallisades, forming a parallelogram of thirty rods by twenty, and enclosing something like four acres of ground. Outside of the cabins and pallisades, to render the fort still more secure, were planted heavy pickets, a foot in diameter, and some twelve feet in height above the ground; so that it was impossible for an enemy to scale them, or affect them in the least, with any thing short of fire and cannon ball. To guard against the former, and prevent the besiegers making a lodgment under the walls, at each of the four corners or angles, was erected what was called a block-house—a building which projected beyond the pickets, a few feet above the ground, and enabled the besieged to pour a raking fire across the advanced party of the assailants. Large folding gates, on huge, wooden hinges, in front and rear, opened into the enclosure, through which men, wagons, horses, and domestic cattle, had admittance and exit. In the center, as the reader has doubtless already divined, was a broad space, into which the doors of the cabins opened, and which served the purpose of a regular common, where teams and cattle were oftentimes secured, where wrestling and other athletic sports took place. The cabins were all well constructed, with puncheon floors, the roofs of which sloped inward, to avoid as much as possible their being set on fire by burning arrows, shot by the Indians for the purpose, a practice by no means uncommon during a siege. This fort, at the period referred to, was garrisoned by from forty to fifty men; and though somewhat out of repair, in respect to a few of its pallisades, was still in a condition to resist an overwhelming force, unless taken wholly by surprise. There was one great error, however, connected with its design—and one that seems to have been common to most of the stations of that period—which was, that the spring, supplying the inmates with water, had not been enclosed within the pickets. The reader can at once imagine the misery that must have ensued from this cause, in case of their being suddenly assaulted by a superior enemy, and the siege protracted to any considerable length of time.
Within this fort, on their return from captivity, Mrs. Younker and Ella had taken up their abode, to remain until another cabin should be erected, or it should be thought safe for them to live again in a more exposed manner. Isaac had straightway repaired to his father-in-law's, to behold again the idol of his heart, and pour into her ear his grief for the loss of his father and friend, and receive her sympathy for his affliction in return. The disastrous affair which had called him and his companions so suddenly from a scene of festivity to one of mourning—the loss of so many valuable neighbors, and the result of the expedition in pursuit of the enemy—created at the time no little excitement throughout the frontiers, and caused some of the more timid to resort to the nearest stations for security. But as time wore on, and as nothing serious happened during the fall and winter, confidence and courage gradually became restored; and the affair was almost forgotten, save by the friends and relatives of the deceased and those particularly concerned in it.
Spring, however, revived the alarm of the settlers, by the reappearance of the enemy in all quarters, and the outrages they committed, as before mentioned; so that but very few persons ventured to remain without the walls of a fort; and these, such of them as were fortunate enough to escape death or captivity, were fain to seek refuge therein before the close of summer.
Immediately on the receipt of the alarming intelligence of Estill's defeat, Isaac, his wife, and the family of his father-in-law, Wilson, repaired to Bryan's Station, and joined Mrs. Younker and Ella, who had meantime remained there in security.
McKee and Elliot.
It was toward night of a hot sultry day in the month of August, that Ella Barnwell was seated by the door of a cabin, within the walls of Bryan's Station, gazing forth, with what seemed a vacant stare, upon a group of individuals, who were standing near the center of the common before spoken of, engaged in a very animated conversation. Her features perhaps were no paler than when we saw her last; but there was a tender, melancholy expression on her sweet countenance, of deep abiding grief, and a look of mournfulness in her beautiful eyes, that touched involuntarily the hearts of all who met her gaze.
Since we last beheld her, days of anxious solicitude, and sleepless nights, had been apportioned Ella; for memory—all potent memory—had kept constantly before her mind's eye the images of those who were gone, and mourned as forever lost to the living; and her imagination had a thousand times traced them to the awful stake, seen their terrible tortures, heard their agonizing, dying groans; and her heart had bled for them in secret; and tears of anguish, at their untimely fate, had often dimmed her eyes. Even now, as she apparently gazed upon that group of individuals, whom she saw not, and whose voices, sounding in her ear, she heard not, her mind was occupied with the probable fate of her uncle and Algernon, the still all-absorbing theme of her soul.
While seated thus, Mrs. Younker approached Ella from behind, unperceived by the latter, and now stood gazing upon her with a sorrowful look. The countenance of the good dame had altered less, perhaps, than Ella's, owing to her strong masculine spirit; but still there was an expression of anxiety and sadness thereon, which, until of late, had never been visible—not even when on her march to what, as she then believed, was her final doom—the excitement whereof, and the many events that occurred on the route, having been sufficient to occupy her mind in a different manner from what it had been in brooding over the fate of her husband for months in secret, and in a place of comparative safety. At length a remark, in a loud voice, of one of the individuals of the group before alluded to, arrested the attention of both Mrs. Younker and Ella.
"I tell you," said the speaker, who was evidently much excited, "it was that infernal cut-throat Girty's doings, and no mistake. Heaven's curses on him for a villain!—and I don't think he'll more nor git his just dues, to suffer them hell fires of torment, hereafter, that he's kindled so often around his victims on arth."
At these words Ella started to her feet, and exclaiming wildly,
"Who are they—who are Girty's victims?" sprung swiftly towards the group, followed by Mrs. Younker.
All eyes, from all quarters, were now turned upon her, as, like a spirit, she glided noiselessly forward, her sweet countenance radiant with the flush of excitement, her eyes dilated and sparkling, and her glossy ringlets floating on the breeze. Curiosity could no longer remain unsatisfied; and by one spontaneous movement, from every point of compass, women and children now hurried toward the center of the common, to gather the tidings.
The quiet, modest, melancholy air of Ella, had, one time with another, since her first appearance in the Station, attracted the attention, and won the regard of its inmates; most of whom had made inquiries concerning her, and learned the cause of her sadness; and now, as she gained the crowd, each gazed upon her with a look of respect; and at once moving aside to let her pass, she presently stood the central attraction of an excited multitude, of both sexes, all ages and sizes.
"Who are they?" cried she again, turning from one to the other, rapidly, with an anxious look: "who are the victims of the renegade Girty?"
"We were speaking, Miss Barnwell," answered a youth, of genteel appearance, doffing his hat, and making at the same time a polite and respectful bow: "We were speaking of the defeat, capture, and burning of Colonel Crawford, by the Indians, in their own country, in which the notorious Simon Girty is said to have taken an active part[19]—news whereof has just reached us."
At the mention of the name of Crawford, so different from the one she was expecting to hear, the momentary insanity, or delusion of Ella, vanished; she saw her position at a glance, and the hundred eyes that were upon her; and instantly her face became suffused with blushes; while she shrunk back, with a sense of maidenly shame and bashful timidity, almost overpowering to herself, and really painful for others to behold. She now strove to speak—to give an excuse for her singular conduct—but her tongue failed her, and she would have sunk to the earth, only for the support of Mrs. Younker, who at this moment gained her side.
"Never mind it. Miss Barnwell—it don't need any excuse—we understand your feelings for lost friends," were some of the remarks from the crowd, as the throng again made a passage for her to depart.
"Goodness, gracious, marcy on me alive! what a splurge you did make on't, darling!" said Mrs. Younker to Ella, as they moved away by themselves. "Why, you jest kind o' started up, for all the world like a skeered deer; and afore I could get my hands on ye, you war off like an Injen's arrow. Well, thar, thar, poor gal—never mind it!" added the good dame, consolingly, as Ella turned towards her a painful, imploring look; "we all knows your feelings, darling, and so never mind it. Mistakes will happen in the best o' families, as the Rev. Mr. Allprayer used to say, when any body accused him o' doing any thing he hadn't oughter a done."
"Mother," said Ella, feebly, "I feel faint; this shock, I fear, may be too much for my nervous system."
"Oh! my child, darling, don't mind it—every body knows your feelings—and nobody'll think any thing strange on't. In course you war thinking o' your friends—as war nateral you should—and so war I; and when I heerd the name o' that ripscallious renegade, it jest set my hull blood to biling, like it war hot water, and I felt orful revengeful. But the Lord's will be done, child. He knows what's best; and let us pray to him, that ef our friends is among the land of the living, they may be restored to us, or taken straight away to His presence."
As Mrs. Younker said this, she and Ella entered the cottage.
"Poor girl!" said a voice among the crowd, as soon as Ella was out of hearing; "they do say as how she eats but little now, and scarcely takes any rest at all lately, on account of the trouble of her mind. Poor girl! she's not long for this world;" and the speaker shook his head sadly.
"But what is it?—what is it as troubles her so?" inquired an old woman, in a voice tremulous with age, who, being somewhat of a new-comer, had not heard the oft-repeated story.
"I'll tell it ye—I'll tell it ye," answered another gossiping crone, standing beside the querist, who, fearful of being forestalled, now eagerly began her scandalous narration.
Meantime, the male portion of the crowd had resumed their conversation, concerning the unfortunate campaign of Crawford; during which manifold invectives were bestowed upon the savages, and the renegade Girty. Some of the more reckless among them were for raising another army, as soon as possible, to pursue the Indians, even to the death, and spare none that fell into their hands, neither the aged, women, nor children; but these propositions were speedily overruled by cooler and wiser heads; who stated that Kentucky had scarcely fighting men enough to protect one another on their own ground—much less to march into the enemy's country, and leave their wives and children exposed to certain destruction.
While these discussions were in progress, the attention of each was suddenly arrested by the cry of some person from the right hand block-house, looking toward the south, announcing that a single horseman was approaching with a speed which betokened evil tidings. These were times of excitement, when news of disaster and death was borne on almost every breeze; and consequently all now sprung rapidly to the southern pickets, where, through loop-holes and crevices in the partially decayed pallisades, they perceived an individual riding as if for life.
"How he rides!—Who is it?—What can have happened?" were some of the remarks now rapidly uttered, as the horseman was seen bounding forward on his foaming steed. Instantly the nearest gate was thrown open; and, in less than two minutes, horse and rider stood within the enclosure, surrounded by a breathless multitude, eager for his intelligence.
"Arm!" cried the horseman, a good looking youth of eighteen: "Arm—all that can be spared—and on to the rescue!"
"What's happened, Dick Allison?" asked one who had recognized the rider.
"I have it on the best authority," answered Dick, "that Hoy's Station has just been attacked, by a large body of Indians, and Captain Holder and his men defeated."
"But whar d'ye get your news?" inquired another voice; while a look of alarm, and resolute determination to avenge the fallen, could be seen depicted on the upturned countenances of the assemblage.
"I was riding in that direction, when I met a messenger on his way to Lexington for assistance; and turning my horse, I spurred hither with all speed."
"Have the red devils got possession of the fort?" inquired another.
"I am not certain, for I did not wait to hear particulars; but I'm under the impression they have not, and that Holder was defeated outside the walls."
"Well, they must have assistance, and that as soon as it can be got to 'em," rejoined a white-haired veteran, one of the head men of the garrison, whose countenance was remarkable for its noble, benevolent expression, and who, from love and veneration, was generally called Father Albach. "It's too late in the day, though, to muster and march thar to-night," continued the old man; "but we'll have our horses got up and put in here to night, and our guns cleaned, and every thing fixed for to start at daylight to-morrow. Eh! my gallant lads—what say ye?" and he glanced playfully around upon the bystanders.
"Yes—yes—yes—father!" cried a score of voices, in a breath; and the next moment a long, loud cheer, attested the popularity of the old man's decision.
"Another cheer for Father Albach, and three more for licking the ripscallious varmints clean to death!" cried our old acquaintance, Isaac Younker, who, having been otherwise occupied during the discussion concerning Crawford's defeat, had joined the crowd on the arrival of the messenger.
"Good for Ike," shouted one: "Hurray!" and four lusty cheers followed.
All now became bustle and confusion, as each set himself to preparing for the morrow's expedition. Guns were brought out and cleaned, locks examined, new flints put in place of old ones, bullets cast, powder-horns replenished, horses driven within the enclosure, saddles and bridles overhauled, and, in fact, every thing requisite for the journey was made ready as fast as possible.
Isaac, on the present occasion, was by no means indolent; for having examined his rifle, and found it in a good condition, he immediately brought forth an old saddle and bridle, somewhat the worse for wear, and set himself down to repairing them, wherever needed, by thongs of deerskin. While engaged in this laudable occupation, a young lad came running to and informed him, that there was a stranger down by the gate who wished to speak with him immediately.
"A stranger!" replied Isaac, looking up in surprise. "Why, what in the name o' all creation can a stranger be wanting with me? Why don't he come and see me, if he wants to see me, and not put me to all this here trouble, jest when I'm gitting ready to go and lick some o' them red heathen like all nater?"
"Don't know, sir," answered the lad, "what his reasons be for not coming, any more nor you; but he said to the man as opened the gate for him, 'Is Isaac Younker in the fort?' and the man said, 'Yes;' and then he said to me, 'Run, my little lad, and tell him to come here, and I'll gin you some thing;' and that's all I knows about it."
"Well, I 'spose I'll have to go," rejoined Isaac, rising to his feet; "but I don't think much o' the feller as puts a gentleman to all this here trouble, jest for nothing at all, as one may say, when a feller's in a hurry too. Howsomever," continued he, soliloquizing, as he walked forward in the proper direction, "I 'spect it's some chap as wants to hoax me, or else he's putting on the extras; ef so, I'll fix him, so he won't want to do it agin right immediately, I reckon."
Thus muttering to himself, Isaac drew near the front gate, against which, within the pallisades, the stranger in question was leaning, with his hat pressed down over his forehead, as though he desired concealment. His habiliments, after the fashion of the day, were originally of a superior quality to those generally worn on the frontiers, but soiled and torn in several places, as from the wear and tear of a long, fatiguing journey. His features, what portion of them could be seen under his hat, were pale and haggard, denoting one who had experienced many and severe vicissitudes. As Isaac approached, he raised his eyes from the ground, turned them full upon him, and then, taking a step forward, said, in a voice tremulous with emotion:
"Thank God! Isaac Younker, I am able to behold you once again."
As a distinct view of his features fell upon the curious gaze of the latter, and his voice sounded in his ear, Isaac paused for a moment, as one stupefied with amazement; the next, he staggered back a pace or two, dropped his hands upon his knees, in a stooping posture, as if to peer more closely into the face of the stranger; and then bounding from the earth, he uttered a wild yell of delight, threw his hat upon the ground in a transport of joy, and rushed into the extended arms of Algernon Reynolds, where he wept like a child upon his neck, neither of them able to utter a syllable for something like a minute.
"The Lord be praised!" were the first articulate words of Isaac, in a voice choked with emotion. "God bless you! Mr. Reynolds;" and again the tears of joy fell fast and long. "Is it you?" resumed he, again starting back and gazing wildly upon the other, as if fearful of some mistake. "Yes! yes! it's you—there's no mistaking that thar face—the dead's come to life again, for sartin;" and once more he sprung upon the other's neck, with all the apparent delight of a mother meeting with a lost child.
"Yes, yes, Isaac, thank God! it is myself you really behold—one who never expected to see you again in this world," rejoined Algernon, affected himself to tears, by the noble, heart-touching, affectionate manner of his companion. "But—but Isaac—our friends here—are they—all—all well, Isaac?" This was said in a voice, which, in spite of the speaker's efforts to be calm, trembled from anxiety and apprehension.
"Why," answered Isaac, in a somewhat hesitating manner, "I don't know's thar's any body exactly sick—but—"
"But what, Isaac?" interrupted Algernon, with a start.
"Why, Ella, you know—"
"Yes, yes, Isaac—what of her?" and grasping him by the arm, Algernon gazed upon the other's features with a look of alarm.
"Now don't be skeered, Mr. Reynolds—thar han't nothing happened—only I 'spect she's bin a thinking o' you—who every body thought war dead—and she's kind o' grown thin and pale on't, and we war gitting afeared it might end badly; but as you've come now, I know as how it'll all be right agin."
Algernon released the speaker's arm, and for some moments gazed abstractedly upon the ground; while over his countenance swept one of those painful expressions of the deep workings of the soul, to which, from causes known to the reader, he was subject. At length he said, with a sigh:
"Well, Isaac, I have come to behold her once again, and then—"
He paused, apparently overpowered by some latent feeling.
"And then!" said Isaac, repeating the words, with a look of surprise: "I reckon you arn't a going to leave us agin soon, Mr. Reynolds?"
"There are circumstances, unknown to you, friend Isaac, which I fear will compel me so to do."
"What!" cried the other; "start off agin, and put your scalp into the hands of the infernal, ripscallious, painted Injens? No, by thunder! you shan't do it, Mr. Reynolds; for sting me with a nest o' hornets, ef I don't hang to ye like a tick to a sheep. No, no, Mr. Reynolds; don't—don't think o' sech a thing. But come, go in and see Ella—she'd be crazy ef she knew you war here."
"Ay," answered Algernon, sadly, "that is what I fear. I dare not meet her suddenly, Isaac—the shock might be too much for her nerves. I have sent for you to go first and communicate intelligence of my arrival, in a way to surprise her as little as possible."
"I'll do it, Mr. Reynolds; but—(here Isaac's voice trembled, his features grew pale as death, and his whole frame quivered with intense emotion)—but—but my—my father—what—"
He could say no more—his voice had completely failed him.
"Alas! Isaac," replied Algernon, deeply affected, and turning away his face; "think the worst."
"Oh God!" groaned Isaac, covering his face with his hands, and endeavoring to master his feelings. "But—but—he's dead, Mr. Reynolds?"
"He is."
For a few moments Isaac sobbed grievously; then withdrawing his hands, and raising himself to an erect posture, with a look of resignation, he said:
"I—I can bear it now—for I know he's in Heaven. Stay here, Mr. Reynolds, till I come back;" and he turned abruptly away.
In a few minutes Isaac returned—his features calm, but very pale—and silently motioned the other to follow him. On their way to the cottage, they had to cross the common, where their progress was greatly impeded by a crowd of persons, who, having heard of Algernon's arrival, were deeply anxious to gather what tidings he might have concerning the movements of the Indians. In reply, he informed them of the threats made by Girty to him while a captive; and that, having since been a prisoner of the British at Detroit, he had learned, from reliable sources, that a grand army of the Indians was forming to march upon the frontiers, attack some stronghold, and, if possible, desolate the entire country of Kentucky; and that he believed they were already on their way.
"More'n that, they're already here," cried a voice; "for it's them, I 'spect, as has attacked Hoy's Station, of which we've just got news, and are gitting ready to march at daylight and attack them in turn. Arm, boys, arm! Don't let us dally here, and be lagging when the time comes to march and fight!"
With this the speaker turned away, and the crowd instantly dispersed to resume their occupations of preparing for the coming expedition, while our hero and Isaac pressed forward to the cottage of Mrs. Younker. At the door they were met by the good dame herself, who, with eyes wet with tears, caught the proffered hand of Reynolds in both of hers, pressed it warmly in silence, and led him into the house. Ella, who was seated at a short distance, on the entrance of Algernon, rose to her feet, took a step forward, staggered back, and the next moment her insensible form was caught in the arms of the being she loved, but had long mourned as dead.
This happened in June, 1782. For particulars of Crawford's disastrous campaign, and horrible fate—See Howe's Ohio, p. 542.
It was late at night; but still Algernon Reynolds sat beside Ella Barnwell, relating the sad story of his many hair-breadth escapes and almost intolerable sufferings. A rude sort of light, on a rough table, a few feet distant, threw its faint gleams over the homely apartment, and revealed the persons of Isaac and his mother, his wife and her parents, together with several others, attracted hither by curiosity, grouped around our hero, and listening to his thrilling narrative with breathless attention.
"After being sufficiently recovered from my wound and bruises, to proceed upon my journey, (continued Reynolds, to resume the account of his adventures since leaving him at Piqua) Girty came to me, and inquired what I thought of my fate, and how I felt concerning it; to which I replied, rather briefly, that it was no worse than I had expected, since knowing into whose hands I had fallen.
"'Perhaps you think to escape?' said he, sneeringly.
"'I have no such hope,' I replied.
"'No, and by ——! you needn't have, either,' rejoined he, with a savage grin; 'for I'm determined you shall experience the torture to its fullest extent, if for nothing else than to revenge myself on you for your insults. I have only one thing to regret; and that is, that you didn't suffer in place of Younker, who is the only one whose torments I would I had had no hand in. But you—you I could see tormented forever, and laugh heartily throughout. But I'll wreak my vengeance on you yet; I will by ——!' and with these words he left me to the charge of my guards, with whom he spoke a short time in the Indian tongue—probably giving them instructions of caution regarding myself.
"It was about mid-day, when, with my arms tightly bound, we set off for Upper Sandusky, where, as I had previously been informed by Girty, I was condemned to suffer before the assembled tribes of the different nations, who would there shortly meet to receive their annual presents from the British. Our march, very fatiguing to myself, was without incident worthy of note, until one night we arrived at a small village on the Scioto river, where one of my guards, who could speak a little English, informed me resided the celebrated Mingo chief, Logan. A thought suddenly flashed across my brain. I had often heard of Logan, as the great and good chief, humane in his principles, and friendly to the whites—particularly those who were signally unfortunate—and it occurred to me, that could I gain an interview, I might perhaps prevail upon him to assist me in making my escape; and accordingly I at once expressed to my informant my desire of beholding one so celebrated. To my great delight, he replied that it was in Logan's cabin I was to pass the night—such being the private orders, as I afterwards learned, of Black Hoof—who had, it seems, from some cause unknown to myself, formed the design of saving my life; and had sent by the Indian in question, a verbal request to Logan, to use all his influence to this effect.
"As we entered the village, we were immediately surrounded by men, women and children, who stared hard at me, but offered no violence. In a few minutes we gained Logan's hut, in the door of which I observed standing an old, noble-looking warrior, with a commanding form, and mild, benevolent countenance, who proved to be the chief himself. To him one of my guards now addressed a few words in Indian; and uttering a grunt, and looking closely at me some seconds, he moved aside, and we all passed in. Here I soon had a good supper of homminy provided me, whereof I did not partake lightly, having been from sunrise to sunset without tasting a morsel of food. Immediately after I had finished my repast, Logan approached me, and, in tolerable good English, said:
"'White man, where from?'
"I motioned toward the east, and answered:
"'From sunrise—away beyond the big mountains.'
"Logan shook his head sadly, and replied, with a sigh:
"'Ah! so all come. Poor Indian get run over—he no place lay he head. But how you come all tied so?'
"In answer, I entered into a full explanation of all that had occurred respecting the proceedings of Girty, from first to last. Logan listened throughout with great attention, shook his head, and rejoined:
"'Ah! Simon Girty bad man—berry. Me always think so. Me sorry for you. Me do all me can for you. You shall sleep here. Me promise you nothing. Me tell you more sometime—to-morrow mebby!'
"With this he rose and left the cottage, and I saw him no more that night.
"Early in the morning, however, he came to me, and said that I was to remain at his cabin through the day; that he had laid a plan to effect my release from death, but not from captivity—the latter not being in accordance with his principles, nor in his power; that for this purpose he had despatched two young braves to Upper Sandusky, to speak a word in my favor; but that I must not be elated with hope, as it was very doubtful how much they might effect.[21] Notwithstanding his caution to the contrary, my spirits became exceedingly exhilarated; and grasping his hand in both mine, I pressed it to my heart in silence; while my eyes became suffused with tears, and the old chief himself seemed not a little affected.
"Late the night following, the messengers returned; and on the morning succeeding, we resumed our journey. In parting from the noble old chief, he shook my hand cordially, but gave me no intimation of what would probably be my fate.
"When within sight of Upper Sandusky, crowds of warriors, women and children came out to meet us, and, seeing me, set up many a hideous yell, until I again became alarmed for my safety, and fearful that Logan had not succeeded in his magnanimous design. This impression was the more strongly confirmed, shortly after, by one of my guides informing me that I must again run the gauntlet. Accordingly every preparation being speedily effected, I started upon the course; but possessing more strength and activity than before, and a better knowledge of what I had to perform, I succeeded in breaking through the lines, and reaching the council house unharmed. Here I was safe for the present; or until, as I was informed, my fate should once more be decided by a grand council.
"The council in question was speedily convened; and on the opening thereof, a British agent, one Captain Druyer, made his appearance, and requested permission to address the assemblage, which was readily granted. He spoke rapidly, for a few minutes, with great vehemence; and though I understood not a word he uttered, yet something whispered me it was in my favor; for I observed that the glances directed towards me, were milder far than those on my previous trial.
"To sum up briefly, it seems that Logan had despatched his messengers to Druyer, urging him to exert all his influence in obtaining my reprieve; and to effect this humane design, the latter had begun by stating to the Indians that their great white father, of whom he was an humble representative, was at war with the Long Knives; that nothing would please him better, than to hear of his red children having sacrificed all their enemies; but that in war, policy was ofttimes more effectual than personal revenge in accomplishing their destruction; and that he doubted not, if the prisoner present were put in his possession and taken to Detroit, that the great white chiefs of his own nation would there be able to extort from him such valuable information as would make the final conquest of the Long Knives comparatively easy. To this proposition, which was received rather coldly, he had added, that for this privilege he was willing to pay a fair recompense; and that so soon as all the information necessary had been gleaned from the prisoner, he should, if thought advisable, again be returned to them, to be put to death or not, as they might see proper. To this arrangement, all having at last consented, the gallant Captain advanced to me, shook my hand, and said that my life was for the present safe, and that I was to accompany him to Detroit, where I would be treated as a prisoner of war.
"It is impossible to describe my feelings, on hearing this joyful intelligence; therefore I shall leave you to imagine them, aided as you will be by your own experience under similar circumstances. And now let me close my long narrative as briefly as possible; for the hour is already late, and I must rise betimes on the morrow to join this expedition against the savages."
"Surely, Algernon," exclaimed Ella, with pale features, "you are not going to leave us again so soon?"
"Where duty calls, Ella, there is my place; and if I fall in honorable action, in defence of my country and friends, perchance my life may atone for matters whereof you are not ignorant."
Ella buried her face in her hands, to conceal her emotion; and Algernon, with an effort at composure, again proceeded.
"At Detroit I experienced kind treatment, as a prisoner of war; but still it was captivity, and I longed for freedom. Many, many an hour did I employ in planning my escape; yet month upon month rolled on, and still I remained in durance. At last startling rumors reached me, that the Indians of the different tribes were banding together, to march upon the frontiers and depopulate the country; and remembering the savage threat of Girty, I doubted not he was the instigator, and would be leader of the expedition; and I determined, at all hazards, if such a thing were in the province of possibility, to effect my escape, and give the country warning of the impending danger. To be brief, I succeeded, as my presence here tells for itself; but no one knows, save myself, and He who knows all things, the misery I suffered from fatigue, lack of food, and the fear of again being captured by some roving band of savages—the which I shall detail, perhaps, should my life be spared me, at some future period, but not at the present.
"I swam the Ohio, a short distance above the Falls, and made my way, to the best of my judgment, directly towards Boonesborough, where I arrived, a few days since, in a state of complete exhaustion. The noble old hunter received me warmly; from whose lips I heard, with thrilling emotion, the particulars of the pursuit, headed by himself, and the rescue of two of my dearest friends, their present abode, as also many startling events that had transpired during my absence; and in return, I communicated to him the alarming intelligence which I have before alluded to. So soon as I felt myself sufficiently strong for the journey, I left Boonesborough for Bryan's Station, and here I am, and thus my tale."
"And a mighty tough time you've had on't Mr. Reynolds, for sartin, and no mistake," rejoined Mrs. Younker, with a sigh, wiping her eyes. "Ah! me—poor Ben!—poor Ben!—I'm a widder now in arnest. Well, the Lord's will be done. The good Book says, 'The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord;' and them good words, my children and friends, must be our consolation."
But little more was said; for each of the party felt oppressed with a weight of sadness, at the thought of the many mournful events a year had brought forth; and as the hour was late, each and all presently betook themselves to rest.
Meantime, the preparations of the garrison for the morrow had been going forward in every part of the station; lights were moving to and fro; and all within the cabins, and on the common, was bustle and activity. At last the sounds gradually ceased, the lights went out one by one, and all finally became tranquil for the night.
About an hour before day-break, the sleepers began to rouse themselves, and all was soon again in commotion. Horses were led forth, saddled, returned and fed, and every thing got in readiness to throw open the gates and march forth so soon as it should become sufficiently light for the purpose.
At last came the exciting moment of all. Some were standing in groups, and weeping bitterly at the thought of parting, perhaps for the last time, with their fathers, husbands and sons; some were running to and fro with anxious messages; some were clasping each other to their hearts, in agonizing silence, and praying in secret that the Great Ruler of all might preserve and happily restore them again to the idols of their affections; some had mounted their noble steeds, or were leading them forth for the purpose—and all was in Babel-like confusion.
"Farewell, my friends," said Algernon, as he stood in the door of Mrs. Younker's cottage, grasping one after another the proffered hands of its weeping inmates, among whom was the wife and mother-in-law of Isaac. "Farewell, dearest Ella; we may never meet again on earth. Farewell—farewell!" and pressing her hand to his lips, he rushed forth with a heaving heart, not daring to trust himself longer in her presence.
Isaac and his father-in-law followed the example of Reynolds, moved away with weeping eyes, and all were quickly in their saddles.
A few minutes later the roll was called, and the order given by the commanding officer to form in double file and throw open the eastern gate. Scarcely were the words uttered, when there arose a series of terrific Indian yells, accompanied by a volley of firearms, and every face became blanched with surprise and dismay, and looked from one to the other in astonishment.
"By heavens!" cried a voice; "our fighting 'll be at home, I reckon, judging by the specimen before us."
Dismounting from their horses, the garrison, together with many of the women and children, now rushed to the southern pickets, where, through loop-holes and crevices, they beheld, only a few rods distant, about a hundred savages, running to and fro, jumping up and down, whooping, yelling, screeching and firing at the station, accompanied with all the wild, fantastic gestures of loosened madmen.
"Thar's not more nor a hundred o' the varmints, any how," cried Isaac; "and I reckon as how we can jest lick them, and no mistake. Hurray for a fight."
"Hurray for a fight!" echoed a dozen voices, as they rushed back to remount their horses.
"Hold!" cried the deep voice of Father Albach. "Hold! lads; don't do things rash! Them Indians wouldn't be dancing and sky-larking round that way, ef thar warn't some object in it, you may depend on."
"And that's my opinion too," answered another gray-headed veteran. "The fact is, they're only a decoy party, sent our thar from the main body, jest to draw us out, so that the others can rush on and make an easy conquest on't. I tell you, friends, thar's no mistaking it; we're surrounded by a tremendous body o' the red heathen, and we're likely to have warm work on't. I've lived in the woods all my life, and I know the nater of the painted varmints as well as I know my own. Ef them war all thar war on 'em, we'd have seen very different proceedings, I assure you."
"But what's to be done?" cried several voices in consternation.
"I would suggest that we send immediately to Lexington for a reinforcement," spoke up Reynolds, in reply.
"Who'll volunteer to go with me on the dangerous mission?" cried a young man, by the name of Bell.
"I will!" instantly responded another, called Tomlinson.
"Brave lads!" returned Father Albach. "You'll be doing us and your country a service, which we at least will ever gratefully remember. I'd advise your leaving by the western gate, riding round the station, and keeping away to the right, and you'll maybe pass them without trouble. But ef you go, now's your only chance."
As he spoke, the young men in question sprung forward to their horses, and immediately quitted the fort, amid cheers for their gallantry and courage, and prayers for their safety and success.
A council of the leading men was now speedily convened to deliberate upon the best means of insuring the safety of themselves, their wives, and children.
"They'll no doubt attack us on the western side," said Father Albach, "where the pallisades are somewhat out o' kilter; and it's my opinion, that we'd better repair them as soon as possible, and station the main part of the garrison thar, ready to receive 'em with a military salute, while we send out a few o' our young men to fire on them as is in sight, to deceive the others; for I believe with neighbor Nickolson, here, that thar's a large party in ambush close by."
"Ay, and doubtless led by the renegade," said Reynolds; "as I presume this Indian army is the same whose approach I have foretold. Thank God!" added he, with energy and emotion, as his mind reverted to Ella, "that they came as they did; for an hour later, and they would have found the fort defenceless, when all within would have been food for the tomahawk and scalping knife."
He shuddered at the thought, and placed his hand to his eyes.
"Indeed, it seems like a direct Providence in our favor," rejoined another.
"But thar's one thing you've overlooked, in your proposition, Albach," said the old veteran called Nickolson. "Ef the seige be protracted, what are we to do for water?"
Each face of the company blanched, and turned toward the speaker with a startled look. It was a question of the most grave importance, and all felt it to be so. The spring was without the pallisades, as we have previously mentioned, on the northwestern side of the station. The path to it was through a rank growth of tall weeds, wherein the main body of the Indians was supposed to be concealed—so that, should the garrison venture forth in that direction, they would in all probability be cut off, and the fort fall into the possession of the enemy. This of course was not to be thought of. But what was to be done? To be without water in a protected siege, was a dangerous and painful alternative. In this agitating dilemma, one of the council suddenly exclaimed:
"I have it!—I have it!" All looked at the speaker in breathless expectation. "I have it!" continued he joyfully. "The women!—the women!"
"The women!" echoed several voices at once.
"Ay! you know they're in the habit of going for water—and this the savages know too—and ef they venture forth by themselves, as usual, the wily scoundrels will be deceived for once—for they won't mistrust thar hiding place is known; and as thar object is to carry the fort by stratagem, they won't unmask till they hear firing on t'other side."
"Good!—good!" exclaimed several voices; and forthwith the council proceeded to summon all the women of the station, and make known their plan for procuring a supply of water.
Not a little consternation was expressed in the faces of the latter, when informed of the perilous undertaking required of them.
"What! go right straight in among the Injen warmints—them male critters?" cried an old maid, holding up her hands in horror.
"Do you think we're invisible, and they can't see us?" said a second.
"Or bullet proof?" added a third.
"Or that our scalps arn't worth as much as yourn?" rejoined a fourth.
"Or of so little account you arn't afeared to lose us?" put in a fifth.
"We don't think any thing o' the kind," returned the spokesman on the part of the council; "but we do think, as I before explained, that you can go and come in safety; and that ef we don't have a supply o' water, we're likely to perish any how, and might as well throw open the gates and be butchered at once."
This last brief speech produced the desired effect, and a few words from Mrs. Younker completely carried the day.
"Is this here a time," she cried, with enthusiasm, her eyes flashing as she spoke, "to be hanging back, till the all important moment's gone by, and then choke to death for want o'water? What's our lives any more'n the men's, that we should be so orful skeered about a few ripscallious, painted varmints, as arn't o' no account, no how? Han't I bin amongst 'em once?—and didn't the Lord preserve me?—and shall I doubt His protection now, when a hundred lives is at stake? No! no! I'm not skeered; and I'll go, too, ef I has to go alone. Who'll follow me?"
"I will!" cried one.
"And I!" said a second.
"We'll all go!" exclaimed several voices.
Dispersing in every direction, each flew to her own cabin, and seizing upon a bucket, hurried to the rear gate, where, all being assembled, they were at once given exit.[20]
Perhaps in the whole annals of history, a more singular proceeding than this—of men allowing their wives and daughters to deliberately put themselves into the power of a ferocious, blood-thirsty enemy, and women with nerve and courage to dare all so bravely—can not be found. But these were times of stern necessity, when each individual—man, woman or child—was called upon to dare and do that which would surprise and startle their descendants. Still it must not be supposed that they, on either side, were without fears, and those of the most alarming kind. Many a palpitating heart moved over the ground to the spring, and many a pale face was reflected in its placid waters; while many a courageous soul within the fort trembled at the thought of the venture, and what might be its result, as they had never done before—even with death staring them in the face—and as they probably would never do again. Each party, however, knew the step taken to be a serious alternative; and the women believed that on their caution and presence of mind, their own lives, and those of their fathers, husbands, and children were depending; and in consequence of this, they assumed an indifference and gaiety the most foreign to their present feelings. As for Algernon, we leave the task to lovers of imagining his feelings, when he saw the lovely Ella depart with the rest. It was indeed a most anxious time for all; but the stratagem succeeded to a charm; and, to use the words of a historian on the subject, "Although their steps became quicker and quicker on their return, and, when near the gate of the fort, degenerated into a rather unmilitary celerity, attended with some little crowding in passing the aperture, yet not more than one-fifth of the water was spilled, and the eyes of the youngest had not dilated to more than double their ordinary size."