INDIAN WARFARE

Alleghany Ridges. ­Voyage in a canoe. ­Speech of Logan. ­Battle at the Kanawha. ­Narrative of Francis Marion. ­Important commission of Boone. ­Council at Circleville. ­Treaty of Peace. ­Imlay’s description of Kentucky. ­Settlement right. ­Richard Henderson. ­Boone’s letter. ­Fort at Boonesborough.

The valley of the Clinch river is but one of the many magnificent ravines amid the gigantic ranges of the Alleghany mountains.  Boone, speaking of these ridges which he so often had occasion to cross, says: 

“These mountains in the wilderness, as we pass from the old settlements in Virginia to Kentucky, are ranged in a south-west and north-east direction and are of great length and breadth and not far distant from each other.  Over them nature hath formed passes that are less difficult than might be expected from a view of such huge piles.  The aspect of these cliffs is so wild and horrid that it is impossible to behold them without terror.  The spectator is apt to imagine that nature has formerly suffered some violent convulsion, and that these are the dismembered remains of the dreadful shock.”

One cannot but regret that no memorials are left of a wonderful journey, full of romantic interest and exciting adventure, which Boone at one time took to the Falls of the Ohio, to warn some surveyors of their danger.  He reached them in safety, rescued them from certain death, and conducted them triumphantly back to the settlements.  So long as the white men, with their rifles, could keep upon the open prairie, they could defend themselves from almost any number of Indians, who could only assail them with bows and arrows.  But the moment they entered the forest, or any ravine among the hills, the little band was liable to hear the war-whoop of a thousand Indian braves in the ambush around, and to be assailed by a storm of arrows and javelins from unseen hands.

A few days after Boone’s arrival at the encampment near the Falls of the Ohio, and as the surveyors were breaking camp in preparation for their precipitate retreat, several of their number who had gone to a spring at a short distance from the camp, were suddenly attacked on the twentieth of July by a large party of Indians.  One was instantly killed.  The rest being nearly surrounded, fled as best they could in all directions.  One man hotly pursued, rushed along an Indian trail till he reached the Ohio river.  Here he chanced to find a bark canoe.  He jumped into it and pushed out into the rapid stream till beyond the reach of the Indian arrows.  The swift current bore him down the river, by curves and head-lands, till he was far beyond the encampment.

To return against the strong flood, with the savages watching for him, seemed perilous, if not impossible.  It is said that he floated down the whole length of the Ohio and of the Mississippi, a distance not less probably, counting the curvatures of the stream, than two thousand miles, and finally found his way by sea to Philadelphia, probably in some vessel which he encountered near the coast.  This is certainly one of the most extraordinary voyages which ever occurred.  It was mid-summer, so that he could not suffer from cold.  Grapes often hung in rich clusters in the forests, which lined the river banks, and various kinds of nutritious berries were easily gathered to satisfy hunger.

As these men never went into the forest without the rifle and a supply of ammunition, and as they never lost a bullet by an inaccurate shot, it is not probable that our adventurer suffered from hunger.  But the incidents of such a voyage must have been so wonderful, that it is greatly to be regretted that we have no record of them.

The apprehensions of Lord Dunmore, respecting the conspiracy of the Indians, proved to have been well founded.  Though Boone, with his great sagacity, led his little band by safe paths back to the settlements, a very fierce warfare immediately blazed forth all along the Virginia frontier.  This conflict with the Indians, very brief and very bloody, is usually called Lord Dunmore’s war.  The white men have told the story, and they admit that the war “arose in consequence of cold-blooded murders committed upon inoffensive Indians in the region of the upper Ohio.”

One of the provocatives to this war was the assassination by fiendlike white men of the whole family of the renowned Indian chief, Logan, in the vicinity of the city of Wheeling.  Logan had been the friend of the white man.  But exasperated by these outrages, he seized his tomahawk breathing only vengeance.  General Gibson was sent to one of the Shawanese towns to confer with Logan and to detach him from the conspiracy against the whites.  It was on this occasion that Logan made that celebrated speech whose pathetic eloquence will ever move the human heart: 

“I appeal to any white man to say if ever he entered Logan’s cabin hungry, and I gave him not meat; if ever he came cold or naked and I gave him not clothing.  During the course of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained in his tent, an advocate of peace.  Nay, such was my love for the whites, that those of my own country pointed at me and said, ‘Logan is the friend of white men.’  I had even thought to live with you, but for the injuries of one man.  Colonel Cresap, the last spring, in cool blood and unprovoked, cut off all the relatives of Logan, not sparing even my women and children.  There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any human creature.  This called on me for revenge.  I have killed many.  I have fully glutted my vengeance.  For my country, I rejoice at the beams of peace.  Yet do not harbor the 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?”

This war, though it lasted but a few months, was very sanguinary.  Every exposed point on the extensive Virginia frontier was assailed.  Cabins were burned, harvests were trampled down, cattle driven off, and men, women, and children either butchered or carried into captivity more dreadful than death.  The peril was so dreadful that the most extraordinary efforts on the part of the Virginian Government were requisite to meet it.  An army of three thousand men was raised in the utmost haste.  This force was in two divisions.  One of eleven hundred men rendezvoused in what is now Green Briar county, and marched down the valley of the Great Kanawha, to its entrance into the Ohio, at a place now named Point Pleasant.

Lord Dunmore with the remaining nineteen hundred crossed the Cumberland mountains to Wheeling, and thence descended the Ohio in boats, to form a junction with the other party at the mouth of the Great Kanawha.  Thence united, they were to march across the country about forty miles due west, to the valley of the Scioto.  The banks of this lovely stream were lined with Indian villages, in a high state of prosperity.  Corn-fields waved luxuriantly around their humble dwellings.  They were living at peace with each other, and relied far more upon the produce of the soil, than upon the chase, for their support.

It was the plan of Lord Dunmore to sweep this whole region with utter desolation, and entirely to exterminate the Indians.  But the savages did not await his arrival in their own homes.  Many of them had obtained guns and ammunition from the French in Canada, with whom they seem to have lived on the most friendly terms.

In a well-ordered army for Indian warfare, whose numbers cannot now with certainty be known, they crossed the Ohio, below the mouth of the Great Kanawha, and marching through the forest, in the rear of the hills, fell by surprise very impetuously upon the rear of the encampment at Point Pleasant.  The Indians seemed to be fully aware that their only safety was in the energies of desperation.  One of the most bloody battles was then fought, which ever occurred in Indian warfare.  Though the Virginians with far more potent weapons repelled their assailants, they paid dearly for their victory.  Two hundred and fifteen of the Virginians fell dead or severely wounded beneath the bullets or arrows of their foes.  The loss which the savages incurred could never be ascertained with accuracy.  It was generally believed that several hundred of their warriors were struck down on that bloody field.

The whites, accustomed to Indian warfare and skilled in the use of the rifle, scarcely fired a shot which did not reach its mark.  In the cautious warfare between the tribes, fighting with arrows from behind trees, the loss of fifteen or twenty warriors was deemed a great calamity.  Now, to find hundreds of their braves weltering in blood, was awful beyond precedent, and gave them new ideas of the prowess of the white man.  In this conflict the Indians manifested a very considerable degree of military ability.  Having constructed a breastwork of logs, behind which they could retreat in case of a repulse, they formed in a long line extending across the point from the Kanawha to the Ohio.  Then they advanced in the impetuous attack through the forest, protected by logs, and stumps, and trees.  Had they succeeded in their assault, there would have been no possible escape for the Virginian troops.  They must have been annihilated.

The Indians had assembled on that field nearly all the warriors of four powerful tribes; the Shawnee, Delaware, Mingo and Wyandotts.  After the repulse, panic-stricken, they fled through the wilderness, unable to make any other stand against their foes.  Lord Dunmore, with his triumphant army flushed with victory and maddened by its serious loss, marched rapidly down the left bank of the Ohio, and then crossed into the valley of the Scioto to sweep it with flame.  We have no account of the details of this cruel expedition, but the following graphic description of a similar excursion into the land belonging to the Cherokees, will give one a vivid idea of the nature of these conflicts.

The celebrated Francis Marion, who was an officer in the campaign, and an eye-witness of the scenes which he describes, gives the following narrative of the events which ensued: 

“Now commenced a scene of devastation scarcely paralleled in the annals of this continent.  For thirty days the army employed themselves in burning and ravaging the settlements of the broken-spirited Indians.  No less than fourteen of their towns were laid in ashes; their granaries were yielded to the flames, their corn-fields ravaged, while the miserable fugitives, flying from the sword, took refuge with their starving families among the mountains.  As the lands were rich and the season had been favorable, the corn was bending under the double weight of lusty roasting ears and pods and clustering beans.  The furrows seemed to rejoice under their precious loads.  The fields stood thick with bread.  We encamped the first night in the woods near the fields where the whole army feasted on the young corn, which, with fat venison, made a most delicious treat.  The next morning, by order of Col.  Grant, we proceeded to burn down the Indian cabins.

“Some of our men seemed to enjoy this cruel work, laughing very heartily at the curling flames as they mounted loud crackling over the tops of the huts.  But to me it appeared a shocking sight.  ‘Poor creatures!’ thought I, ‘we surely need not grudge you such miserable habitations.’  But when we came according to orders to cut down the fields of corn, I could scarcely refrain from tears; for who could see the stalks that stood so stately, with broad green leaves and gaily tasseled shocks, filled with the sweet milky flour, the staff of life, ­who, I say, could see without grief these sacred plants sinking under our swords with all their precious load, to wither and rot untasted in the fields.

“I saw everywhere around the footsteps of little Indian children, where they had lately played under shelter of the rustling corn.  No doubt they had often looked up with joy to the swelling shocks, and were gladdened when they thought of the abundant cakes for the coming winter.  ’When we are gone,’ thought I, ’they will return, and peeping through the weeds, with tearful eyes, will mark the ghastly ruin poured over their homes and the happy fields where they had so often played.’”

Such was life among the comparatively intelligent tribes in the beautiful and fertile valley of the Scioto.  Such was the scene of devastation, or of “punishing the Indians,” as it was called, upon which Lord Dunmore’s army entered, intending to sweep the valley with fire and sword from its opening at the Ohio to its head waters leagues away in the North.

In this campaign the Indians, while with much sagacity they combined their main force to encounter the army under Lord Dunmore, detached separate bands of picked warriors to assail the settlements on the frontier at every exposed point.  These bands of painted savages, emerging from the solitudes of the forests at midnight, would fall with hideous yells upon the lone cabin of the settler, or upon a little cluster of log huts, and in a few hours nothing would be left but smouldering ruins and gory corpses.

To Daniel Boone, who had manifested wonderful skill in baffling all the stratagems of Indian warfare, was assigned the difficult and infinitely important task of protecting these frontiers.  Three garrisons were placed under his command, over which he exercised supreme control.  He located them at the most available points; noiselessly passed from one to the other to see that they were fortified according to the most approved principles of military engineering then known in the forest.  His scouts were everywhere, to give prompt notice of any approach of hostile bands.  Thus this quiet, silent man, with great efficiency, fulfilled his mission to universal satisfaction.  Without seeking fame, without thinking even of such a reward for his services, his sagacity and his virtues were rapidly giving him a very enviable reputation throughout all those regions.

The discomfited Indians had become thoroughly disheartened, and sent couriers to Lord Dunmore imploring peace.  Comstock, their chief, seems to have been a man not only of strong native powers of mind, but of unusual intelligence.  With quite a brilliant retinue of his warriors, he met Lord Dunmore in council at a point in the valley of the Scioto, about four miles south of the present city of Circleville.  Comstock himself opened the deliberations with a speech of great dignity and argumentative power.  In a loud voice, which was heard, as he intended, by all in the camp, he portrayed the former prosperous condition of the Indian tribes, powerful in numbers and abounding in wealth, in the enjoyment of their rich corn-fields, and their forests filled with game.  With this he contrasted very forcibly their present wretched condition, with diminished numbers, and with the loss of their hunting grounds.  He reproached the whites with the violation of their treaty obligations, and declared that the Indians had been forbearing in the extreme under the wrongs which had been inflicted upon them.

“We know,” said he, “perfectly well, our weakness when compared with the English.  The Indians desire only justice.  The war was not sought by us, but was forced upon us.  It was commenced by the whites.  We should have merited the contempt of every white man could we have tamely submitted to the murders which have been inflicted upon our unoffending people at the hands of the white men.”

The power was with Lord Dunmore.  In the treaty of peace he exacted terms which, though very hard for the Indians, were perhaps not more than he had a right to require.  The Indians surrendered four of their principal warriors as hostages for the faithful observance of the treaty.  They relinquished all claims whatever to the vast hunting grounds which their bands from time immemorial had ranged south of the Ohio river.  This was an immense concession.  Lord Dunmore returned across the mountains well satisfied with his campaign, though his soldiers were excited almost to mutiny in not being permitted to wreak their vengeance upon the unhappy savages.

And here let it be remarked, that deeply wronged as these Indians unquestionably were, there was not a little excuse for the exasperation of the whites.  Fiends incarnate could not have invented more terrible tortures than they often inflicted upon their captives.  We have no heart to describe these scenes.  They are too awful to be contemplated.  In view of the horrid barbarity thus practised, it is not strange that the English should have wished to shoot down the whole race, men, women, and children, as they would exterminate wolves or bears.

This campaign being thus successfully terminated, Daniel Boone returned to his humble cabin on the Clinch River.  Here he had a small and fertile farm, which his energetic family had successfully cultivated during the summer, and he spent the winter months in his favorite occupation of hunting in the forests around.  His thoughtful mind, during these long and solitary rambles, was undoubtedly occupied with plans for the future.  Emigration to his beautiful Kentucky was still his engrossing thought.

It is not wonderful that a man of such fearless temperament, and a natural turn of mind so poetic and imaginative, should have been charmed beyond expression by a realm whose attractions he had so fully experienced.  That the glowing descriptions of Boone and Finley were not exaggerated, is manifest from the equally rapturous account of others who now began to explore this favored land.  Imlay writes of that region: 

“Everything here assumes a dignity and splendor I have never seen in any other part of the world.  You ascend a considerable distance from the shores of the Ohio, and when you would suppose you had arrived at the summit of a mountain, you find yourself upon an extensive level.  Here an eternal verdure reigns, and the brilliant sun of latitude 39 degrees, piercing through the azure heavens, produces in this prolific soil an early maturity which is truly astonishing.  Flowers full and perfect, as if they had been cultivated by the hand of a florist, with all their captivating odors, and with all the variegated charms which color and nature can produce, here in the lap of elegance and beauty, decorate the smiling groves.  Soft zéphyrs gently breathe on sweets, and the inhaled air gives a glow of health and vigor that seems to ravish the intoxicated senses.”

The Virginian government now resolved to pour a tide of emigration into these as yet unexplored realms, south of the Ohio.  Four hundred acres of land were offered to every individual who would build a cabin, clear a lot of land, and raise a crop of corn.  This was called a settlement right.  It was not stated how large the clearing should be, or how extensive the corn-field.  Several settlements were thus begun in Kentucky, when there was a new and extraordinary movement which attracted universal attention.

A very remarkable man, named Richard Henderson, appeared in North Carolina.  Emerging from the humblest walks of life, and unable even to read until he had obtained maturity, he developed powers of conversational eloquence and administrative ability of the highest order.

The Cherokee Indians claimed the whole country bounded by the Kentucky, the Ohio, and the Cumberland rivers, and we know not how much more territory extending indefinitely to the South and West.  Colonel Henderson formed an association of gentlemen, which he called the Transylvania Company.  Making a secret journey to the Cherokee country, he met twelve hundred chiefs in council, and purchased of them the whole territory, equal to some European kingdoms, bounded by the above mentioned rivers.  For this realm, above a hundred miles square, he paid the insignificant sum of ten wagon loads of cheap goods, with a few fire-arms and some spirituous liquors.

Mr. Henderson, to whom the rest of the company seemed to have delegated all their powers, now assumed the position of proprietor, governor, and legislator of his magnificent domain, which he called Transylvania.  It seems that Boone accompanied Colonel Henderson to the council of the Cherokee chieftains which was held at Wataga, the southern branch of the Holston River.  Boone had explored nearly the whole of this region, and it was upon his testimony that the company relied in endeavoring to purchase these rich and fertile lands.  Indeed, as we have before intimated, it has been said that Boone in his wonderful and perilous explorations was the agent of this secret company.

No treaties with the Indians were sure of general acquiescence.  There were always discontented chieftains; there were almost always conflicting claims of hostile tribes; there were always wandering tribes of hunters and of warriors, who, exasperated by the treatment which they had received from vagabond white men, were ever ready to wreak their vengeance upon any band of emigrants they might encounter.

Colonel Henderson’s treaty was made in the month of March, 1775.  With characteristic vigor, he immediately made preparations for the settlement of the kingdom of which he was the proud monarch.  The first thing to be done was to mark out a feasible path through which emigrants might pass, without losing their way, over the mountains and through the wilderness, to the heart of this new Eden.  Of all the men in the world, Daniel Boone was the one to map out this route of five hundred miles.  He took with him a company of road-makers, and in a few months opened a path which could be traversed by pack-horses, and even by wagons to a place called Boonesville on the Kentucky river, within about thirty miles of the present site of Lexington.

The Indian hunters and warriors, notwithstanding the treaties into which the chieftains of the North and the South had entered, watched the construction of this road with great solicitude.  They knew full well that it would ere long secure their expulsion from their ancient hunting grounds.  Though no general warfare was organized by the tribes, it was necessary to be constantly on the watch against lawless bands, who were determined to harass the pioneers in every possible way.  In the following letter Boone communicated to Colonel Henderson the hostility which they had, perhaps unexpectedly, encountered.  It was dated the first of April, and was sent back by a courier through the woods: 

          “Dear Colonel, ­

“After my compliments to you, I shall acquaint you with my misfortunes.  On March the Twenty-fifth, a party of Indians fired on my company about half an hour before day, and killed Mr. Twitty and his negro, and wounded Mr. Walker very deeply; but I hope he will recover.  On March the Twenty-eighth, as we were hunting for provisions, we found Samuel Tale’s son who gave us an account that the Indians fired on their camp on the twenty-seventh day.  My brother and I went down and found two men killed and scalped, Thomas McDowell and Jeremiah McPeters.  I have sent a man down to all the lower companies, in order to gather them all to the mouth of the Otter Creek.  My advice to you, sir, is to come or send as soon as possible.  Your company is desired greatly, for the people are very uneasy, but are willing to stay and venture their lives with you.  And now is the time to frustrate their (the Indians) intentions, and keep the country while we are in it.  If we give way to them now, it will ever be the case.  This day we start from the battle ground to the mouth of Otter Creek, where we shall immediately erect a fort, which will be done before you can come or send.  Then we can send ten men to meet you, if you send for them.

“I am, Sir, your most obedient servant,

“DANIEL BOONE.”

Boone immediately commenced upon the left bank of the Kentucky river, which here ran in a westerly direction, the erection of a fort.  Their position was full of peril, for the road-makers were but few in number, and Indian warriors to the number of many hundreds might at any time encircle them.  Many of these Indians had also obtained muskets from the French in Canada, and had become practiced marksmen.  Nearly three months were busily occupied in the construction of this important fort.  Fortunately we have a minute description of its structure, and a sketch of its appearance, either from the pencil of Colonel Henderson, or of some one in his employ.

The fort or fortress consisted of a series of strong log huts, enclosing a large interior or square.  The parallelogram was about two hundred and sixty feet in length and one hundred and fifty in breadth.  These cabins, built of logs, were bullet-proof.  The intervals between them were filled with stout pieces of timber, about twelve feet high, planted firmly in the ground, in close contact with each other, and sharpened at the top.  The fort was built close to the river, with one of its angles almost overhanging the water, so that an abundant supply could be obtained without peril.  Each of the corner houses projected a little, so that from the port-holes any Indian could be shot who should approach the walls with ladder or hatchet.  This really artistic structure was not completed until the fourteenth day of June.  The Indians from a distance watched its progress with dismay.  They made one attack, but were easily repelled, though they succeeded in shooting one of the emigrants.

Daniel Boone contemplated the fortress on its completion with much satisfaction.  He was fully assured that behind its walls and palisades bold hearts, with an ample supply of ammunition, could repel any assaults which the Indians were capable of making.  He now resolved immediately to return to Clinch river, and bring his family out to share with him his new and attractive home.