A secret expedition had been planned
by Col. Bowman, of Kentucky, against an Indian
town on the little Miama. Simon Kenton and two
young men, named Clark and Montgomery, were employed
to proceed in advance, and reconnoiter. Kenton
was a native of Fauquier county, Virginia, where he
was born the fifteenth of May, 1755; his companions
were roving backwoodsmen, denizens of the wood, and
hunters like himself.
These adventurers set out in obedience
to their orders, and reached the neighborhood of the
Indian village without being discovered. They
examined it attentively, and walked around the cabins
during the night with perfect impunity. Had they
returned after reconnoitering the place, they would
have accomplished the object of their mission, and
avoided a heavy calamity. They fell martyrs,
however to their passion for horseflesh.
Unfortunately, during their nightly
promenade, they stumbled upon a pound, in which were
a number of Indian horses. The temptation was
not to be resisted. They severally seized a horse
and mounted. But there still remained a number
of fine animals; and the adventurers cast longing,
lingering looks behind. It was melancholy the
idea of forsaking such a goodly prize. Flesh
and blood could not resist the temptation. Getting
scalped was nothing to the loss of such beautiful
specimens of horseflesh. They turned back, and
took several more. The horses, however, seemed
indisposed to change masters, and so much noise was
made, in the attempt to secure them, that at last the
thieves were discovered.
The cry rang through the village at
once, that the Long-Knives were stealing their horses
right before the doors of their wigwams.
A great hubbub ensued; and Indians, old and young,
squaws, children, and warriors, all sallied out
with loud screams, to save their property from the
greedy spoilers. Kenton and his friends saw that
they had overshot their mark, and that they must ride
for their lives. Even in this extremity, however,
they could not reconcile their minds to the surrender
of a single horse which they had haltered; and while
two of them rode in front and led a great number of
horses, the other brought up the rear, and, plying
his whip from right to left, did not permit a single
animal to lag behind.
In this manner, they dashed through
the woods at a furious rate with the hue and cry after
them, until their course was suddenly stopped by an
impenetrable swamp. Here, from necessity, they
paused a few minutes, and listened attentively.
Hearing no sounds of pursuit, they resumed their course,
and, skirting the swamp for some distance in the vain
hope of crossing it, they bent their course in a straight
direction to the Ohio. They rode during the whole
night without resting a moment. Halting a brief
space at daylight, they continued their journey throughout
the day, and the whole of the following night; and,
by this uncommon celerity of movement, they succeeded
in reaching the northern bank of the Ohio on the morning
of the second day.
Crossing the river would now insure
their safety, but this was likely to prove a difficult
undertaking, and the close pursuit, which they had
reason to expect, rendered it expedient to lose as
little time as possible. The wind was high, and
the river rough and boisterous. It was determined
that Kenton should cross with the horses, while Clark
and Montgomery should construct a raft, in order to
transport their guns, baggage, and ammunition, to
the opposite shore. The necessary preparations
were soon made, and Kenton, after forcing his horses
into the river, plunged in himself, and swam by their
side.
In a few minutes the high waves completely
overwhelmed him, and forced him considerably below
the horses, who stemmed the current much more successfully
than he.
The horses, being left to themselves,
turned about and made for the Ohio shore, where Kenton
was compelled to follow them. Again he forced
them into the water, and again they returned to the
same spot, until Kenton became so exhausted by repeated
efforts, as to be unable to swim. What was to
be done?
That the Indians would pursue them
was certain. That the horses would not and could
not be made to cross the river in its present state,
was equally certain. Should they abandon their
horses and cross on the raft, or remain with their
horses and brave the consequence? The latter
alternative was adopted unanimously. Death or
captivity might be tolerated, but the loss of such
a beautiful lot of horses, after working so hard for
them, was not to be thought of for a moment.
Should they move up or down the river,
or remain where they were? The latter plan was
adopted, and a more indiscreet one could hardly have
been imagined. They supposed that the wind would
fall at sunset, and the river become sufficiently
calm to admit of their passage; and, as it was thought
probable that the Indians might be upon them before
night, it was determined to conceal their horses in
a neighboring ravine, while they should take their
stations in the adjoining wood.
The day passed away in tranquility;
but at night the wind blew harder than ever, and the
water became so rough, that they would hardly have
been able to cross on their raft. As if totally
infatuated, they remained where they were until morning;
thus wasting twenty-four hours of most precious time
in idleness. In the morning, the wind abated,
and the river became calm; but, it was now too late.
Their horses had become obstinate and intractible,
and positively and repeatedly refused to take to the
water.
Their masters at length determined
to do what ought to have been done at first.
They severally resolved to mount a horse, and make
the best of their way down the river to Louisville.
But their unconquerable reluctance to lose their horses
overcame even this resolution. Instead of leaving
the ground instantly, they went back upon their own
trail, in the vain effort to regain possession of
the rest of their horses, which had broken from them
in their last effort to drive them into the water.
They literally fell victims to their love for horseflesh.
They had scarcely ridden one hundred
yards when Kenton, who had dismounted, heard a loud
halloo. He quickly beheld three Indians and one
white man, all well mounted. Wishing to give the
alarm to his companions, he raised his rifle, took
a steady aim at the breast of the foremost Indian,
and drew the trigger. His gun had become wet on
the raft, and flashed.
The enemy were instantly alarmed,
and dashed at him. Kenton took to his heels,
and was pursued by four horsemen at full speed.
He instantly directed his steps to the thickest part
of the wood, and had succeeded, as he thought, in
baffling his pursuers, when, just as he was entering
the wood, an Indian on horseback galloped up to him
with such rapidity as to render flight useless.
The horseman rode up, holding out his hand, and calling
out “Brother! brother!” in a tone of great
affection. Kenton observes, that if his gun would
have made fire, he would have “brothered”
him to his heart’s content, but, being totally
unarmed, he called out that he would surrender if
they would give him quarter and good treatment.
Promises were cheap with the Indian,
who, advancing, with extended hands and a withering
grin upon his countenance, which was intended for a
smile of courtesy, seized Kenton’s hand and grasped
it with violence. Kenton, not liking the manner
of his captor, raised his gun to knock him down, when
an Indian, who had followed him closely through the
brushwood, sprung upon his back, and pinioned his arms
to his side. The one, who had been grinning so
amiably, then raised him by the hair and shook him
until his teeth rattled, while the rest of the party
coming up, fell upon Kenton with their tongues and
ramrods, until he thought they would scold or beat
him to death. They were the owners of the horses
which he had carried off, and now took ample revenge
for the loss of their property. At every stroke
of their ramrods over his head, they would exclaim
in a tone of strong indignation, “Steal Indian
hoss! hey!”
Their attention, however, was soon
directed to Montgomery, who, having heard the noise
attending Kenton’s capture, very gallantly hastened
up to his assistance, while Clark prudently took to
his heels. Montgomery halted within gunshot,
and appeared busy with the pan of his gun, as if preparing
to fire. Two Indians instantly sprang off in pursuit
of him, while the rest attended to Kenton. In
a few minutes Kenton heard the crack of two rifles
in quick succession, followed by a halloo, which announced
the fate of his friend. The Indians returned,
waving the bloody scalp of Montgomery, and with countenances
and gestures which menaced him with a similar fate.
They then proceeded to secure their
prisoner by pinioning him with stout sticks, and fastening
him with ropes to a tree. During the operation
they cuffed him from time to time with great heartiness,
and abused him for a “tief! a
hoss steal! a rascal!”
Kenton remained in this painful position
throughout the night, looking forward to certain death,
and most probably torture, as soon as he should reach
their town. Their rage against him displayed itself
the next morning, in rather a singular manner.
Among the horses which Kenton had
taken, was a wild young colt, wholly unbroken, and
with all his honors of mane and tail undocked.
Upon him Kenton was mounted, without saddle or bridle,
with his hands tied behind him, and his feet fastened
under the horse’s belly. The country was
rough and bushy, and Kenton had no means of protecting
his face from the brambles, through which it was expected
that the colt would dash. As soon as the rider
was firmly fastened to his back, the colt was turned
loose with a sudden lash, but, after curvetting and
capricoling for awhile, to the great distress of Kenton,
but to the infinite amusement of the Indians, he appeared
to take compassion on his rider, and, falling into
a line with the other horses, avoided the brambles
entirely, and went on very well. In this manner
he rode through the day. At night he was taken
from the horse, and confined as before.
On the third day, they came within
a few miles of Chillicothe. Here the party halted,
and sent forward a messenger to prepare for their
reception. In a short time, Blackfish, one of
their chiefs, arrived, and regarding Kenton with a
stern countenance, thundered out in very good English:
“You have been stealing horses?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did Captain Boone tell you to steal our horses?”
“No, sir, I did it of my own accord.”
Blackfish made no reply to this frank
confession; but, brandishing a hickory switch, he
applied it so briskly to Kenton’s naked back
and shoulders, as to bring the blood freely, and occasion
acute pain.
Thus, alternately scolded and beaten,
Kenton was conducted to the village. All the
inhabitants, men, women, and children, ran out to feast
their eyes with a sight of the prisoner; and all, down
to the smallest child, appeared in a paroxysm of rage.
They whooped, they yelled, they hooted, they clapped
their hands, and poured upon him a flood of abuse,
to which all that he had yet experienced was courteous
and civil. With loud cries, they demanded that
their prisoner should be tied to the stake. The
hint was instantly complied with; but, after being
well thrashed and tormented, he was released for the
purpose of furnishing further amusement to his captors.
Early in the morning, he beheld the
scalp of Montgomery stretched upon a hoop, and drying
in the air, before the door of one of their principal
houses, he was led out, and ordered to run the gauntlet.
A row of boys, women, and men, extended to the distance
of a quarter of a mile. At the starting-place,
stood two grim warriors with butcher knives in their
hands. At the extremity of the line, was an Indian
beating a drum; and a few paces beyond the drum was
the door of the council-house. Clubs, switches,
hoe-handles, and tomahawks, were brandished along the
whole line, and, as Kenton saw these formidable preparations,
the cold sweat streamed from his pores.
The moment for starting arrived, the
great drum at the door of the council-house was struck;
and Kenton sprang forward in the race. He, however,
avoided the row of his enemies, and, turning to the
east, drew the whole party in pursuit of him.
He doubled several times with great activity, and
at length observing an opening he darted through it,
and pressed forward to the council-house with a rapidity
which left his pursuers far behind. One or two
of the Indians succeeded in throwing themselves between
him and the goal, and from these alone he received
a few blows, but was much less injured than he could
at first have supposed possible.
After the race was over, a council
to decide his fate was held, while he was handed over,
naked and bound, to the care of a guard in the open
air. The deliberation commenced. Every warrior
sat in silence, while a large warclub was passed round
the circle. Those who were opposed to burning
the prisoner on the spot, were to pass the club in
silence to the next warrior. Those in favor of
burning were to strike the earth violently with the
club before passing it.
A teller was appointed to count the
votes. This dignitary reported that the opposition
had prevailed; and that it was determined to take the
prisoner to an Indian town on Mad river, called Waughcotomoco.
His fate was announced to him by a renegado white
man, who acted as interpreter. Kenton asked “what
the Indians intended to do with him upon reaching
Waughcotomoco.”
“Burn you!” replied the renegado, with
a ferocious oath.
After this pleasant assurance, the
laconic and scowling interpreter walked away.
The prisoner’s clothes were
restored to him, and he was permitted to remain unbound.
Thanks to the intimation of the interpreter, he was
aware of the fate in reserve for him, and resolved
that he would never be carried alive to Waughcotomoco.
Their route lay through an unprimed forest, abounding
in thickets and undergrowth. During the whole
of the march, Kenton remained abstracted and silent;
often meditating an effort for the recovery of his
liberty, and as often shrinking from the peril of
the attempt.
At length he was aroused from his
reverie by the Indians firing off their guns, and
raising the shrill scalp-halloo. The signal was
soon answered, and the deep roll of a drum was heard
far in front, announcing to the unhappy prisoner,
that they were approaching an Indian town, where the
gauntlet, certainly, and perhaps the stake awaited
him.
The idea of a repetition of the dreadful
scenes he had just encountered, overcame his indecision,
and, with a sudden and startling cry, he sprung into
the bushes, and fled with the speed of a wild deer.
The pursuit was instant and keen. Some of his
pursuers were on horseback, some on foot. But
he was flying for his life. The stake and the
hot iron, and the burning splinters were before his
eyes, and he soon distanced the swiftest hunter in
pursuit.
But fate was against him at every
turn. Thinking only of the enemy behind, he forgot
that there might be an enemy before; and he suddenly
found that he had plunged into the center of a fresh
party of horsemen, who had sallied from the town at
the firing of the guns, and happened, unfortunately,
to stumble upon the poor prisoner, now making a last
effort for freedom. His heart sunk at once from
the ardor of hope to the lowest pit of despair, and
he was again haltered and driven into captivity like
an ox to the slaughter.
On the second day he arrived at Waughcotomoco.
Here he was again compelled to run the gauntlet, in
which he was severely hurt. Immediately after
this ceremony, he was taken to the council-house, and
all the warriors once more assembled to determine his
fate.
He sat silent and dejected upon the
floor of the cabin, when the door of the council-house
opened, and Simon Girty, James Girty, John Ward, and
an Indian, came in with a woman as a prisoner, together
with seven children and seven scalps. Kenton
was immediately removed from the council-house, and
the deliberations of the assembly were protracted to
a very late hour, in consequence of the arrival of
the last-named party with a fresh drove of prisoners.
At length he was again summoned to
attend the council-house, being informed that his
fate was decided. Upon entering, he was greeted
with a savage scowl, which, if he had still cherished
a spark of hope, would have completely extinguished
it. Simon Girty threw a blanket upon the floor,
and harshly ordered him to take a seat upon it.
The order was not immediately complied with, and Girty
impatiently seizing his arm, jerked him roughly upon
the blanket, and pulled him down.
In a menacing tone, Girty then interrogated
him as to the condition of Kentucky.
“How many men are there in Kentucky?”
“It is impossible for me to
answer that question,” replied Kenton; “but
I can tell you the number of officers, and their respective
ranks, and you can judge for yourself.”
“Do you know William Stewart?”
“Perfectly well; he is an old and intimate acquaintance.”
“What is your own name?”
“Simon Butler!” replied
Kenton, who had been known formerly by that name.
Never did the announcement of a name
produce a more powerful effect. Girty and Kenton
had served as spies together in Dunmore’s expedition.
The former had not then abandoned the society of the
whites for that of the savages, and had become warmly
attached to Kenton during the short period of their
services together. As soon as he heard the name,
he threw his arms around Kenton’s neck, and
embraced him with much emotion.
Then turning to the assembled warriors,
who had witnessed this scene with much surprise, Girty
informed them that the prisoner, whom they had just
condemned to the stake, was his ancient companion and
bosom-friend; that they had traveled the same war-path,
slept upon the same blanket, and dwelt in the same
wigwam. He entreated them to spare him the anguish
of witnessing the torture, by his adopted brothers,
of an old comrade; and not to refuse so trifling a
favor as the life of a white man to the earnest intercession
of one, who had proved, by three years’ faithful
service, that he was zealously devoted to the cause
of the Indians.
The speech was listened to in silence,
and some of the chiefs were disposed to grant Girty’s
request. But others urged the flagrant misdemeanors
of Kenton; that he had not only stolen their horses,
but had flashed his gun at one of their young men;
that it was in vain to suppose that so bad a man could
ever become an Indian at heart, like their brother
Girty; that the Kentuckians were all alike, very bad
people, and ought to be killed as fast as they were
taken; and, finally, they observed that many of their
people had come from a distance, solely to assist
at the torture of the prisoner; and pathetically painted
the disappointment and chagrin, with which they would
hear that all their trouble had been for nothing.
Girty continued to urge his request,
however, with great earnestness, and the debate was
carried on for an hour and a half, with much energy
and heat. The feelings of Kenton during this suspense
may be imagined.
At length the warclub was produced,
and the final vote was taken. It was in favor
of the prisoner’s reprieve. Having thus
succeeded in his benevolent purpose, Girty lost no
time in attending to the comfort of his friend.
He led him into his own wigwam, and, from his own store,
gave him a pair of moccasins and leggins, a breechcloth,
a hat, a coat, a handkerchief for his neck, and another
for his head.
For the space of three weeks, Kenton
lived in tranquility, treated with much kindness by
Girty and the chiefs. But, at the end of that
time, as he was one day with Girty and an Indian named
Redpole, another Indian came from the village toward
them, uttering repeatedly a whoop of peculiar intonation.
Girty instantly told Kenton it was the distress-halloo,
and that they must all go instantly to the council-house.
Kenton’s heart fluttered at the intelligence,
for he dreaded all whoops, and heartily hated all
council-houses, firmly believing that neither boded
him any good. Nothing, however, could be done,
to avoid whatever fate awaited him, and he sadly accompanied
Girty and Redpole back to the village.
On entering the council-house, Kenton
perceived from the ominous scowls of the chiefs, that
they meant no tenderness toward him. Girty and
Redpole were cordially received, but when poor Kenton
offered his hand, it was rejected by six Indians successively,
after which, sinking into despondence, he turned away,
and stood apart.
The debate commenced. Kenton
looked eagerly toward Girty, as his last and only
hope. His friend seemed anxious and distressed.
The chiefs from a distance rose one after another,
and spoke in a firm and indignant tone, often looking
sternly at Kenton. Girty did not desert him, but
his eloquence was wasted. After a warm discussion,
he turned to Kenton and said, “Well, my friend,
you must die!”
One of the stranger chiefs instantly
seized him by the collar, and, the others surrounding
him, he was strongly pinioned, committed to a guard,
and marched off. His guard were on horseback,
while he was driven before them on foot, with a long
rope round his neck. In this manner they had
marched about two and a half miles, when Girty passed
them on horseback, informing Kenton that he had friends
at the next village, with whose aid he hoped to be
able to do something for him. Girty passed on
to the town, but finding that nothing could be done,
he would not see his friend again, but returned to
Waughcotomoco by a different route.
The Indians with their prisoner soon
reached a large village upon the headwaters of the
Scioto, where Kenton, for the first time, beheld the
celebrated Mingo chief, Logan, so honorably mentioned
in Jefferson’s Notes on Virginia. Logan
walked gravely up to the place where Kenton stood,
and the following short conversation ensued:
“Well, young man, these people seem very mad
at you?”
“Yes, sir, they certainly are.”
“Well; don’t be disheartened.
I am a great chief. You are to go to Sandusky.
They speak of burning you there. But I will send
two runners to-morrow to help you.”
Logan’s form was manly, his
countenance calm and noble, and he spoke the English
language with fluency and correctness. Kenton’s
spirits revived at the address of the benevolent chief,
and he once more looked upon himself as providentially
rescued from the stake.
On the following morning, two runners
were despatched to Sandusky as the chief had promised.
In the evening they returned, and were closeted with
Logan. Kenton felt the most burning anxiety to
know the result of their mission, but Logan did not
visit him until the next morning. He then walked
up to him, accompanied by Kenton’s guard, and,
giving him a piece of bread, told him that he was
instantly to be carried to Sandusky; and left him
without uttering another word.
Again Kenton’s spirits sunk.
From Logan’s manner, he supposed that his intercession
had been unavailing, and that Sandusky was to be the
scene of his final suffering. This appears to
have been the truth. But fortune had not finished
her caprices. On being driven into the town,
for the purpose of being burnt on the following morning,
an Indian agent, from Canada, named Drewyer, interposed,
and once more was he rescued from the stake.
Drewyer wished to obtain information for the British
commandant at Detroit; and so earnestly did he insist
upon Kenton’s being delivered to him, that the
Indians at length consented, upon the express condition
that, after the required information had been obtained,
he should be again restored to their possession.
To this Drewyer consented, and, with out further difficulty,
Kenton was transferred to his hands. Drewyer
lost no time in removing him to Detroit. On the
road, he informed Kenton of the condition upon which
he had obtained possession of his person, assuring
him, however, that no consideration should induce
him to abandon a prisoner to the mercy of such wretches.
At Detroit, Kenton’s condition
was not unpleasant. He was obliged to report
himself every morning to an English officer; and was
restricted to certain boundaries through the day.
In other respects he scarcely felt that he was a prisoner.
His wounds were healed, and his emaciated limbs were
again clothed with a fair proportion of flesh.
He remained in this state of easy restraint from October,
1777, until June, 1778, when he meditated an escape.
He cautiously broached his project
to two young Kentuckians, then at Detroit, who had
been taken with Boone at the Blue Licks, and had been
purchased by the British. He found them as impatient
as himself of captivity, and resolute to accompany
him. He commenced instant preparations.
Having formed a close friendship with two Indian hunters,
he deluged them with rum, and bought their guns for
a mere trifle. These he hid in the woods, and
returning to Detroit, managed to procure powder and
ball, with another rifle.
The three prisoners then appointed
a night for their attempt, and agreed upon a place
of rendezvous. They met at the time and place
appointed, without discovery, and, taking a circuitous
route, avoiding pursuit by traveling only during the
night, they at length arrived safely at Louisville,
after a march of thirty days.