Part 6

“Every man forgot his troubles. It was now that we had to display our abilities. The plain between us and the town was perfectly level. The sunken ground was covered with water full of ducks. We observed several men out on horseback, shooting them, and sent out many of our active, young Frenchmen to decoy and take one prisoner,—which they did.

“We learned that the British had that evening completed the wall of the fort, and that there were a good many Indians in town. Our situation was now truly critical. There was no possibility of retreat in case of defeat, and we were in full view of a town with six hundred men in it,—troops, Indians and inhabitants.

“We were now in the very situation that I had labored to get ourselves in. The idea of being taken prisoner was foreign to almost every man, as they expected nothing but torture. We knew that success could be secured only by the most daring conduct. I knew that a number of the inhabitants wished us well: that the Grand Chief—Tobacco’s son—had openly declared himself a friend of the Big Knives (Americans). I therefore wrote and sent the following Placard.

“TO THE INHABITANTS OF POST VINCENNES:

“GENTLEMEN:—Being now within two miles of your village with my army, determined to take the fort this night, and not being willing to surprise you, I take this method to request such as are true citizens to remain still in your houses. Those, if any there be, that are friends to the King, will instantly repair to the fort, join the ‘Hair buyer’ general, and fight like men. If any such do not go, and are found afterwards, they may depend on severe punishment. On the contrary, those who are true friends to liberty may depend on being well treated, and I once more request them to keep out of the streets. Every one I find in arms on my arrival, I shall treat as an enemy.

“G. R. CLARKE.”

This was written by a pioneer general with two hundred half-starved, half-frozen, and undrilled troops. Behind the walls of the fort were twice this number of well-drilled, well-fed, well-clad men. We can but admire his audacity and impudence. But did he fulfil his promises to his people at home. And did he take Hamilton?

The frontiersmen were soon in motion and marched upon the town. A hill intervened, and when he reached it, Clarke deployed his men across it several times. When they would get over, Clarke would run them around the base to the rear of the knoll—where they would be out of sight of the people in the fort—and then would march them across again. In this way he made the inmates of the fortress of Vincennes believe that he had a much larger force than was really his. The borderers soon seized all the positions which commanded the fort and waited until dusk before beginning the assault. “I fear that they will know my numbers, if I attack during daylight,” said the Kentuckian, “and this I do not want them to know.”

As night began to draw near, the crashing of rifles awoke the echoes of the forest and the fort was hotly assailed from every point of vantage. The Kentuckians were able marksmen and soon silenced the cannon of the redoubt. No sooner would a porthole be thrown open than the gunners would be shot down as they stood. After an hour of such work the firing ceased, and the garrison was summoned to surrender.

Hamilton was dumbfounded at the audacity of the Kentuckians. He was also much disconcerted by the actions of one hundred of his redskin allies, who, seeing the boldness of the frontiersmen, immediately transferred their allegiance to them and were anxious to join in the assault upon the post. In spite of this he refused to surrender.

A far heavier rifle fire was now opened upon the fort, so that no defender could look out of a porthole or expose himself in any manner whatsoever, without being shot down. An assault was determined upon.

At this juncture a couple of figures emerged from the principal gateway of Vincennes, bearing a flag of truce. When the emissaries arrived before Clarke, they brought word that Hamilton proposed a three days’ truce and an immediate conference. Clarke did not wish the British to know his real numbers, so he declined the truce. But he assented to have a talk with the English commander, some distance from the fort, at a place where the Englishman’s eyes could not see the small numbers of the Kentuckians.

After a long interview nothing came of the pow-wow. Hamilton asked to march out with all the honors of war and to be allowed to depart to Detroit, after giving the assurance that neither he nor his men would ever again bear arms against the Americans. Clarke was afraid that the soldiers would not keep their word and demanded a greater amount of money and stores than the Britisher was willing to allow him.

“I have sufficient force to take the fort by storm at any time I choose,” said Clarke. “Furthermore, I propose to capture all the detached parties that are now in the woods and are headed for Vincennes. Having put them out of the way, I intend to take the fort at my leisure. I will thus—at one stroke—put an end to all of those people that have been harassing the American frontier. In case I take you by storm, I intend to shut my eyes and let my men do their own pleasure, for such is the treatment that has been accorded to our own people by the officers of the Crown.”

The conference broke up, and so terrified was a Major Hay, who represented the English commander, that he could scarcely make his way back to Vincennes. As he wobbled along, a party of redskins—led by a white man painted as an Indian—was seen to approach the town. The newcomers apparently had no knowledge that the Kentuckians were foes, for they walked up as if they were nearing their own people.

When they had approached within a few yards of the men under Clarke, they were fired upon and two were killed. Three others were badly wounded. The remainder—six in all—turned in flight, but were soon taken prisoners. They were tomahawked by the red allies of the Kentuckians; their bodies were thrown into the river; and wild war-whoops announced this fact to the red men in the fort. These became enraged and frightened when they discovered that Hamilton was unable to protect them.

Clarke only smiled, for he had hoped that they would bring on a mutiny within the walls of Vincennes, and it is exactly what occurred. Seeing that he was unable to hold the allegiance of his own red adherents, the once bold Hamilton decided upon capitulation. On February twenty-fourth a white flag was displayed over the log walls, and, after a short parley, a truce was decided upon. The Kentuckians secured fifty thousand dollars’ worth of military stores. Besides this they detached the Indians from the English and took away from the Britons the entire northeast territory, which would otherwise have been held by them when peace was concluded. Clarke, with his two hundred raw Kentucky riflemen, had won a notable victory.

Think of it! The long march, the terrible rivers of frozen ice, the lack of proper food, the toilsome journey through deep forests! Then the cheek and gall of that saucy message to Hamilton, safe in a strong fortress with twice the number of men as those half-frozen backwoodsmen outside! Then the daring attack, the wonderful accuracy of the rifle fire, and the final victory! Such men were heroes. Whether your sympathies be with Kentuckian or Britisher, you must admit it, and you must—I own—take off your hat to Clarke: the twenty-seven year old leader of this gallant band.

But what of the subsequent career of this wonderfully successful man? Alas! What we know of his thereafter does not abound to his credit. To the enthusiasm of youth he joined the daring ambition of the born soldier: never satisfied. Always anxious to move forward and on, he asked the Kentucky Assembly for men and agreed to capture Detroit; to destroy the English power for all time; and to prevent further combination of unfriendly tribes of red men. He was promised both soldiers and ammunition, but they never came. It is said that in disgust at his forced inaction he took to drink for relief from his worries. He became dissipated, morbid, and a recluse.

For some time he rested in inactivity near the Falls of the Ohio, and about the year 1780 built Fort Jefferson on the Mississippi. He then journeyed to Richmond, Virginia, in order to appeal in person for the necessary means for taking Detroit. His plans were thought well of and were approved. But the measure never passed the legislature. Before it could be put into effect he was appointed to command a body of troops who were to check the aggressive operations of Benedict Arnold. He was made a Brigadier-General and was authorized to collect a large force, which was to meet at Louisville (the Falls of the Ohio) and was to fall upon Detroit and destroy this strong citadel of British authority.

Misfortune seemed to follow upon his footsteps. The force was never collected and the projected campaign had to be abandoned. He and his men had several brushes with marauding bands of Ohio Indians, and in 1782 took part in the unfortunate battle of Blue Licks, in Kentucky. Rallying a detachment of one thousand men, Clarke invaded the Indian towns, but the savages fled from their villages and scattered, so that there was no one to fight when the borderers entered. Fortune had forsaken George Rogers Clarke, and, although in 1786 he led another expedition of one thousand men against the Indians on the Wabash River, it resulted in an absolute failure. His followers were mutinous. The campaign had to be abandoned. The hero who could inspire a march of two hundred miles through half-frozen forests had lost his former magnetism. He had begun to go down hill.

Dispirited, somewhat broken in health, and faint-hearted, the bold frontiersman sought the seclusion of his hut near the Ohio River. Here, he was offered and accepted a commission in the French armies west of the Mississippi, for this land was then under the lilies of France. An expedition was about to be made against the Spaniards upon the lower reaches of the river, but a revolution in France overturned the party in power and destroyed all the plans of those in America. Clarke was soon no longer Major General, and, forced to a life of inactivity, he returned to an isolated and lonely existence in his log hut. At forty years of age he was a prematurely old man, and in 1817 he died at Louisville, Kentucky: a town which was growing rapidly in size and which had been the scene of many of his early triumphs. Exposure and neglect of the proper laws of living had done their work.

George Rogers Clarke was a remarkable man. As a youngster he was brimful of enthusiasm, of vigor, of magnetism. He carried an expedition through to success in the face of fearful obstacles. Had he shown the white feather for an instant he would have met with ignominious failure. His courage, his cheerfulness, his optimism impelled him on to victory. Had he been able to govern his appetite for liquor he would have been a man of splendid usefulness in his later years. His collapse at the early age of forty is full witness to the deplorable effects of the inability of a strong man to curb his passions. One can but look upon his career with sadness and regret.

JOHN SLOVER:

SCOUT UNDER CRAWFORD AND HERO OF EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURES

TWO red men paddled down the White River, far in the western portion of the state of Virginia, one bright morning in the month of May, 1765. As they rounded a bend in the stream, before them was a little trapper’s son, apparently with no one with him. He was throwing pebbles into the water and was laughing as they splashed upon the surface of the stream.

“How!” grunted one of the braves. “I like to have young paleface in my lodge. I make him take the place of my own papoose, whom the Great Spirit has stolen from me.”

“You can get him,” suggested the other. “Come on, let us paddle towards the little one and capture him.”

As the redskins approached, the boy looked at them with no sign of fear, and laughed at their solemn-looking faces. But they did not laugh. Instead of this, the one in the bow leaped upon the shore, seized the youngster, and carried him to the canoe, where he was bound by deer thongs and was quickly paddled down stream. His parents looked for him in vain that evening, and for many evenings, but their little son never returned. Thus John Slover became a ward of the redskins.

The Indians were then living at Sandusky, upon the Ohio River, and here the little white boy grew up to be a man. Adopted by the Miami tribe, he learned to love their ways, to live the wild, roving life as a trapper and hunter, and to be more at home in the forest than in the houses of those of his own race. In the autumn of 1773, a treaty was made at Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, between the Miamis and the whites, and at this place was a big gathering of the savages and frontiersmen, with their families. Jack Slover was interested in the affair and hung around the clusters of talkers, who were eagerly discussing the terms of the articles of agreement.

“Hello!” came a voice, as he was near one animated group. “If this isn’t little Jack Slover grown to be a man! Turn around, son, and see if you don’t recognize me.”

The adopted ward of the Miamis spun about upon his heel, and there saw a raw-boned trapper, who was gazing at him with an inquiring eye.

“I certainly do not recognize you,” he replied. “Who are you, anyway?”

The young fellow knew of his kidnapping, when a small boy, but had never cared to go back to his own people.

The frontiersman now seized him by the shoulders. “Why, I’m your father’s brother, Tom Slover! I saw that you were not a Miami the minute I looked at you, and I found out that you had been captured many years ago by the Indians. Upon closer inspection it was easy to perceive that you were my brother’s son. My boy, we have been waiting to find you for years. You will now come back to us, won’t you?”

Young Slover hung his head, for he was loath to part from the friends and companions of his youth. He was on the point of refusing, but, just then, another frontiersman approached who announced that he was his father. The meeting between son and parent was not demonstrative; in fact, the youth rather drew away from his own flesh and blood. Soon, however, he became more reconciled, and, after an hour’s conversation, agreed to accompany his kinsmen to their home in Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania.

The conference was soon over, both Indians and whites were agreed upon the terms of the treaty, and the captured son of the pioneer went back to his own country, where he seemed to be contentedly abiding at the outbreak of the American Revolution. He was one of the first to enlist, and, because of his experience in woodcraft, was made a sharpshooter. In this branch of the service he did good work, and was honorably discharged at the close of the struggle with the Mother Country.

Some years after the Revolutionary War—in 1782—the redskins of the Middle West became very bold, and made frequent incursions upon the white settlements of Ohio, Pennsylvania, and West Virginia. Prompt vengeance was demanded by the pioneers who had penetrated into the wilderness and had there built their homes. An expedition was determined upon, and Colonel William Crawford—a brave officer of the Revolutionary War—was selected as its commander. The time and place of rendezvous were fixed for May 20th, 1782, at a point on the western shore of the Ohio, forty miles above Fort Pitt. There were four hundred and fifty volunteers; among them an accomplished surgeon, Dr. Knight.

Just before the expedition got under way, Colonel Crawford approached Slover, and said:

“My good friend, we are in need of a scout and guide upon our expedition. You know this country like a book, so I would like to engage you as one of our forerunners and assistants. Will you go with us?”

The adopted ward of the Miamis was reluctant to accept.

“I have lived with these Indians whom you intend to attack,” said he. “I have slept with them; hunted with them; have eaten with them. Surely you would not have me turn upon all of my old friends?”

The Colonel smiled.

“Yes, but what sort of friends?” he answered. “Here they have been murdering innocent women and children. Have been burning homes, killing cattle and horses. They have been subjecting their prisoners to horrible tortures. You are too much of a man not to appreciate the need of checking these onslaughts upon our people.”

“The whites are gradually encroaching upon their lands,—the lands which they believe that the Great Spirit has given to them,” replied Slover, in a deliberate tone. “Can you blame them for resenting these advances? They are children, too, of the wilderness and they fight like the wild beasts who surround them.”

“Then you refuse to accompany us?”

“No, not so. Upon thinking over the matter, I believe that it is impossible for the two races to live side by side, unless one race is supreme. That the whites will overrun the country is only too evident. I will go with you, for I certainly do not approve of the manner in which they have conducted their warfare, and I believe that they must be punished.”

The march was soon commenced, but, in a few days, some of the volunteers broke ranks and started for their homes. It was impossible to hold them. Further signs of insubordination were soon in evidence, some of the men demanding that they be sent back to their cabins, declaring that their horses were jaded and that their provisions were almost exhausted. Not long afterwards two skulking Indians were seen spying upon the advance. They were fired upon, but escaped. It was now evident that all secrecy was out of the question. The men grew mutinous and were so unruly that the officers requested them to continue for only one day longer, and then if no Indians were found they were to return. This was being discussed when one of the advance pickets dashed in, crying out: “The Indians are ahead of us about a mile. They are drawn up in the timber and are waiting for us!”

At this news a loud whoop came from the lusty throats of the frontiersmen, and they discontinued their complaints. Priming their rifles and fingering their powder-horns, they pressed forward to the attack, while their leader, Crawford, who had fine military judgment, saw that the enemy had seized a position of great strength, from which they must be driven at once. He therefore urged on his men to the charge.

As the order came, the pioneers dismounted and rushed boldly upon the redskins in front and upon the flanks, hunting them from the woods, across an open field, and into some dense forest-land in the rear. Here the savages were heavily reinforced, and Crawford’s Rangers were almost driven from the timber by the wily braves, who were now fighting from every bush, stump, hillock and tree. The battle waged with great fury until dark, when the savages withdrew, and the trappers slept upon the ground, ready to resume the affair in the morning.

As daylight appeared the battle was renewed at long range, neither side being anxious for a hand-to-hand engagement. It was plainly evident that the Indians were constantly being reinforced. Their whooping and yelling grew more and more derisive, and they began to extend their lines so as to flank the men of the frontier. For this reason, the officers decided upon a retreat.

Slover, the scout, was far over to the right, watching some horses, and no news of the intended movement was brought to him. Soon the uproar of retreat came to his ears and warned him of his danger. He therefore selected the finest horse among those under his charge, mounted it, and fled after his comrades, who became rapidly disorganized. The red men fired a volley in the direction of the frontiersmen, at which one of the Crawford Rangers shouted: “The enemy have found out our design! Save yourselves! Save yourselves!”

Panic now became general, and so great was the disorder that it was plainly heard in the lines of the Indians, among whom was the famous renegade, Simon Girty. “Out, men,” he cried, “and pick up the stragglers, for these Americans have whipped themselves!”

Those who had been wounded were dropped at the beginning of the rout and were speedily dispatched by the tomahawks of the savages. The rest fled in whatever way they could, without semblance of order or discipline, and, as they ran helter-skelter through the forest, were pursued by the exultant redskins with wild and blood-curdling whooping. Slover galloped along with some difficulty, as the ground was very rough, and soon found further obstructions in his path, for a wide bog lay before him, which extended for a great distance in either direction.

Some of the fugitives were unable to get across the bog on foot, but Slover and a few others were able to cross on their horses. As they fled on through the darkness of night, behind them echoed the horrid yells of the savages, the rifle shots of the whites, and the shrieks of the wounded. Six fugitives joined the fleeing scout, two of whom had lost their rifles, and, as the Indians were pressing them furiously, they headed for the settlement of Detroit, hoping to elude the red men as they went. They ran into another portion of the swamp a few hours later, and halted there for a slight repast of cold pork and corn bread—of which they had a small supply in their haversacks.

As they were seated upon some stumps, and were munching their repast, they were startled by an Indian whoop very close at hand.

“We are discovered,” whispered Slover. “Hide yourselves, my men, in the tall grass.”

Not many moments afterwards, a band of Shawnees passed by, laughing and talking among themselves, apparently with no idea that the pioneers were near. They were well satisfied with the signal defeat which they had administered to Crawford and his men; had many scalps and much plunder. When they were gone, Slover and his companions continued on their way, entering upon a sea of waving grass, which made it evident that any skulking red men would soon discover their whereabouts.

Silently they plodded across the prairie, but suddenly the man in advance called their attention to the fact that some moving objects were approaching.

“Lie low, boys!” he shouted. “I think that a crowd of redskins are just in front of us.”

He was right, and, as they hid in the tall grass, a troop of Indians passed by, moving rapidly and noisily along. Fortunately the red men did not discover their trail, and with great shouting and singing had soon walked out of hearing. The trappers arose, continued their flight, and kept a sharp lookout for enemies. They were soon to meet with more children of the forest.

Two of the fugitives now became very lame and were unable to keep up with the rest of the party. One had a bad attack of rheumatism; so bad, in fact, that he fell way behind the rest and did not come up, although they whistled, called, and strove to attract his attention in every possible way, in spite of the danger of being discovered by lurking redskins. They finally went on without him, and gave him up for lost. He at length reached Wheeling in safety, having passed through many dangers and hairbreadth escapes from capture by roving Indians.

Slover and his friend were hurrying towards the settlements, and naturally left a well-defined trail behind them. This was followed for several days by a band of Shawnees, who finally decided that the whites would be easy to capture and decided to ambush them.