CHAPTER X.

COLONEL CLARK AND HIS RANGERS.

At this moment the subject of their conversation, Tom Moffat, made his appearance at the entrance. Upon seeing that he was a white man, he was admitted at once. He strode in with that independent, careless air so common to his race, paying no attention to the inquisitive looks that were cast upon him.

The first person who met him was Edwards, who had just returned from the funeral ceremonies referred to.

“Why, what brings you here?” he asked, with a smile.

“My legs, I believe. How are you thriving, George?”

“Very well. How does it go with you?”

“Tolerable only. Had quite a scrimmage here, from the look of things.”

“Yes; this is bad business—though kind Providence has watched over us thus far. His great name be praised for it.”

“How many killed?”

“Three only. This is a severe loss; but it’s nothing to that which we were compelled to inflict upon these heathens who so wantonly assail us. It seems that they should learn wisdom by their sad experience.”

“Any other of the varmint would, except them Shawnees. They kill and hack so much they’re willing to stand it just for the fun.”

“It seems that you have been indulging in some of their savage practices,” remarked Edwards, in a tone of quiet rebuke, as he glanced at the scalps at the hunter’s waist.

“Yas,” he returned, looking complacently down at them, “I sometimes indulge. There was such a smart chance of ha’r lifting that I had to walk into the business.”

“It is strange to me that any man professing to be civilized can cammit such revolting crimes that these North American Indians alone have the credit for.”

“All edycation—all edycation, George. It went kindly against the grain the first time I tried it, but I soon got my hand in; and, sir, there ain’t nothing like it. I tell you it’s high, George, to serve a Shawnee that way.”

“It is horrible, Thomas, and I would that you could be induced to cease it.”

“Now, have you ever clipped a red-skin top-knot?”

“Me! Why, of course not!”

“Then you can’t tell anything about it, my good friend without experimenting. I and any one else can see what a disgusting”——

“Beg pardon, George, I can’t you know.”

“Any one else can see what a disgusting practice it is. You have seen it thus. It struck you as such when you first contemplated it, and you admit that it required considerable effort before you could bring yourself to it.”

“Wal, now, George, it lays all in edycation. You know what imps these Shawnees are; and where they have done as them have, I can’t see the harm of serving them in the same way—can’t see the difference to save my life.”

“It’s no use talking with you, I see, Thomas. I am sorry that you are so wedded to the practice; but it will make no difference in my respect for you. We are old friends, remember, and I am glad to see you any time. Pardon me for keeping you talking so long, when I should have asked you to rest and refresh yourself.”

“Thank you, George, I don’t need rest. ’Cause why? I ain’t tired. And as for refreshments, I don’t know much about them.”

“Wel, then, consider this your home as long as you are willing to remain with us, which I trust will not be a very brief period. Do you bring any news?”

“I have a little, which I’ll give you after a while.”

“Good or bad—I suppose I may inquire?”

“Wal, it’s good; so you needn’t worry about it.”

“In that case I shall not, for we have had enough gloomy tidings and doings of late.”

“I believe I’ve got a brother somewhere ’bout these parts, or used to have,” remarked the hunter, gazing searchingly about him.

“He is in the block-house, I believe, standing watch. I will call him, or you can visit him there, as you choose.”

“What is he standing watch for? Shawnees?”

“For enemies, which are certainly thick enough around us.”

“You kin call him, then, for he’s watching for what ain’t about. I took a tramp around the settlement afore I came in, and things is all right.”

“Have our enemies indeed retreated?” inquired a spectator.

“There isn’t a shadow of one of ’em for five miles around, except the dead ones.”

“Thank Heaven for that, for we have had enough of this awful business to last a lifetime. May I ask, friend, the appearance things bear along the frontier? You are a scout, I take it, and are able to give us information.”

“Things look dubious, I must say,” replied the backwoodsman, looking down to the ground and shaking his head.

“Any fresh outrages of which we have not heard?”

“Not that I knows on, being I don’t know what you’ve heard; but I can tell you the varmint, especially these thundering Shawnees, are at it all the time. They are at Boonesborough half the time trying to come some of their tricks over the colonel, and we boys as are ranging the woods up and down the ’Hio sees tall times—wal we do. It’s hard fur the settlements and wimmen folks, but fur us scouts and rangers it’s big fun.”

“What is the probability of general war?”

“It must come sooner or later—there’s no helping it.”

“Why are you so certain, my friend?”

“’Cause I can see things as they is. If Bowman had given them a regular lambasting when he tried it, you wouldn’t have seen the trouble you have—no, sir!”

“I have no doubt of it. That unfortunate campaign has given the Indians a poorer opinion of our strength and powers and a much better one of their own.”

“Just so—exactly. If them Shawnees could get all the other to jine in like, they would feel able to sweep us clean from the airth; and I ain’t certain but what they’d be able to do it afore we got help from the East. But there’s the rub, you see, some of these tribes hate each other as much they do us; and being as they all hate us, each one is trying to finish the job without the help of the other.”

“I see no help, either, except in a war of extermination. It would be a dreadful thing to carry the struggle to the knife, but I see no other alternative. They have rejected all our offers of friendship, and are determined to exterminate us, and the safety of us and ours absolutely requires that the war should be carried into their own country, though for that matter they claim, I suppose, that it is already within their own country.”

“That’s the doctrine I’ve been argyfying for a long time and I think they’ll soon see it’s got to be done. But it ’pears to me that George is gone a long time for that brother of mine. Hello! here they come. How d’ye do, Abe?”

“How are you, Tom?”

The brothers met, and the others feeling the indelicacy of remaining, withdrew and left them alone. A conversation, which it is not necessary we shall record, passed between them.

Tom Moffat was older than his brother by six or seven years, and was one of those scouts or rangers whose business it was to skirt along the Ohio between the settlements, and to ascertain the doings and intentions of the hostile tribes and to warn the whites when danger threatened them. The services of such men were invaluable. There was hardly a movement of the Shawnees which they did not discover and communicate, and to their timely warning, in more than one instance, was the salvation of hundreds owing.

The information which the scout imparted upon this occasion was that Colonel Clark had determined, with his Kentucky Rangers, to march against the Indians at Chillicothe, and to bring them to battle. A summary chastisment was imperatively demanded, and our settlement willingly volunteered to assist their gallant friends in the expedition.

Colonel Clark, a few weeks subsequent to these events, called together his Kentucky Rangers, as they were termed, for marching against the Indian settlements at Chillicothe. Tom Moffat, the scout, conducted his brother, Kingman, and half a dozen others, through the wilderness to join them, as our settlement had already gained quite a fame for its readiness in assisting such expeditions.

This was in the summer of 1780. The Rangers collected together, and headed by Colonel Clark, a gallant and inexperienced Indian fighter, they reached the Indian town a day later; but the Shawnee runners had apprized their nation of the force marching against them, and when the villages were reached not even a squaw or pappoose was visible. This was a surprise to the whites, as they fully expected to meet the combined warriors and have a bloody battle; nevertheless, they determined that the cowardly Indians should not escape them.

Their scouts were first dispatched to reconnoitre the forest, to prevent falling into ambush. They reported that not a savage was in sight, and it was evident they were thoroughly intimidated, and had retreated to a safe distance. Colonel Clark then gave the order to burn the Indian villages and destroy their corn-fields.

In a few moments the flames from the different lodges burst forth and communicated to the others. They were made of light, combustible material, and in an incredible short space of time the whole village was one mass of roaring, crackling flame. The smoke ascended far over the tree-tops and gathered and formed a dark, heavy cloud, which settled in the horizon. These evidences of conflagration were witnessed by more than one Shawnee from his hiding-place, and he trembled, for he knew what a justly-excited people was revenging its wrongs. Not an Indian made his appearance while the rangers were at work.

When the last cabin had burned to the ground, the whites entered the corn-fields. A half hour later and not a stalk of corn was standing! Everything was destroyed upon which it was possible to lay their hands. Colonel Clark then gave orders to remain upon the ground until the afternoon, hoping that the Shawnees would still give battle. But it was useless; they had apparently lost the bravery for which they had become so distinguished, for they carefully avoided showing themselves.

Finally the rangers set out on their return homeward, burning and destroying everything along the way. While retreating, a few of the infuriated Shawnees followed them and managed to pick off several of their number from their hiding-places in the tree-tops and ledges. An attempt was made to draw them into ambush, which came uncomfortably nigh succeeding. So effectually was it arranged that the most cunning and experienced scouts did not discover it until almost upon it.

During the wars on the frontier, it was the invariable custom of the white forces in marching through the forest to keep their scouts constantly ranging the country for the double purpose of being warned of all ambushes and to gain a knowledge of the enemy’s movements. These scouts were often the salvation of the whites, and a few years later, when the great generals marched with their forces against the arrayed tribes of the West, they were enrolled and recognized as an indispensable part of the army. The brilliant and wonderful exploits of such men as Captain W. Wells, M’Arthur, Davis, M’Cleland, Beason, Williams, O’Bannion, M’Donald and others are found recorded in the history of our country.

Several skirmishes took place during the homeward march, and the rangers were constantly harassed by the Indian scouts following and lurking in the rear. Several hand-to-hand struggles took place between the whites and these scouts, and it was not until they were all within sight of their destination that the pests disappeared and our friends were allowed to proceed unmolested upon their way.

This chastisement of the Shawnees was most effectual and summary. Their depredations and outrages up to this point had increased frightfully, and scarce a day passed in which the report of a murder or a massacre did not reach the different settlements. The power of the settlers, through the blunder of Colonel Bowman, had been greatly underrated and scorned, and there were many chiefs who really believed that a vigorous, determined movement by the Shawnees alone would be sufficient to overwhelm every settlement along the Ohio river. But the expedition just returned had convinced them of their fatal mistake. They saw what a comparatively small force could do against all of their numbers, and they had sense enough to understand that nothing short of general combination of the rival tribes of the “dark and bloody ground” could offer any check to the approaching tide of civilization.

It was now the autumn of 1780. The great revolutionary struggle of the colonies was nearly terminated, and many were turning their attention toward the millions of acres of rich land beyond the Ohio. The advent of a foreign army had impoverished the country, and many a homestead had been razed to the earth and its wealth swept away for ever. Several new settlements had been implanted upon the river above, and the old ones, in spite of the disastrous circumstances by which they were surrounded, had continued to thrive and increase. It sometimes seems, when emigration commences to a new country like the West, at this time, that the settlers are without will of their own, but fulfilling destiny, for no combination of opposition, dangers and perils can check them. Rumors constantly reached the East of the horrid barbarities perpetrated, and of the numerous flat-boats that were decoyed into shore and their inmates slaughtered; and yet there was hardly a week in which some boat, freighted with its weak and defenceless load, did not launch upon the Ohio and turn their prow fearlessly forward.

Some of these were victims to the cruelty of the renegades and savages, but their places were filled by others as hopeful and eager as they had been.

And amid all these formidable circumstances there were meek and good men who hesitated not to brave all for the pleasure of their good Master. The Moravian missionaries had penetrated the wilderness, and the seed sown by them was already bearing good fruit. Numbers of Indians were converted to Christ, and withstood all the temptations of the chase and battle-field. They remained together and engaged in agriculture, and withdrew entirely from their rude and warlike brethren. It was a beautiful and instructive sight—the one small spot radiant with the smile of Heaven amid the mighty wilderness, made doubly dark and gloomy by the hand of man.

The faithful energetic followers of Wesley were already numbered among the pioneers. They were brave, resolute men, who could shoulder the rifle and lead to battle, swing the glittering ax in the forest, or point the way to heaven. Theirs was the religion for the time. Freed from the restraints and conventionalities of civilized life, it was from the heart. Its representatives were men whose words were plain to the uneducated backwoodsman, and who never set forth truth beyond their comprehension.

For a time after the expedition of Colonel Clark comparative peace reigned along the frontier. A number of flat-boats descended the river, and reported that they had not been disturbed during the passage. This made the settlers hopeful, and many began to believe war over. Numbers engaged in felling the trees around their settlements, and extending their boundaries; strong commodious cabins made their appearance; and some, more venturesome than their tired neighbors, erected their dwellings in the edge of the wood, beyond the immediate protection of the block-house, and here they removed with their families. Emigration received an impetus which otherwise would have required years.

But matters could not remain thus. The warlike disposition of the powerful Shawnees could brook restraint for a long time.

In the summer of 1781, reports reached the settlements that a boat had been stopped near the mouth of the Sciota and all its inmates—nearly a score—had been massacred. The notorious Pete Johnson and Simon Girty figured in this outrage. They made several attempts to decoy them to shore, but the whites had been warned, and would have escaped had they possessed any knowledge of the channel of the river; but unfortunately they ran ashore during the night, and before they could escape, the savages, headed by Girty, poured a volley into them, which killed or rendered helpless all on deck, and then rushed upon the boat.

The women were outraged and tomahawked, Pete Johnson leading in the latter barbarity; and, as if to incite the settlers along the river, the flat-boat was carefully preserved from injury, and with several of the mangled corpses upon it set afloat.

It glided some twenty or thirty miles when it struck the shore and grounded.

One of the rangers, passing down the river, discovered it, and suspecting foul play, waded out and climbed into it.

As he passed over the gunwale he was nearly overcome with the horrid stench of the putrefying bodies. Nothing daunted, he plunged resolutely into the cabin, where the full horrors burst upon his vision. Stretched out at full length lay some eight or nine women and men, bloated and bloody, piled upon each other, and glued together in their own blackened blood.

He waded to the shore, broke off several dried branches, and piled them at the cabin door. It was now nearly dark, and he set fire to them and pushed the boat into the stream. At last the hull, burnt to a charred cinder, dipped beneath the water and disappeared from view.