Kitabı oku: «The Life and Times of Col. Daniel Boone, Hunter, Soldier, and Pioneer», sayfa 13
It was at the suggestion of the dying soldier that Colonel Floyd drew up the resolution, and the meeting a half century later was agreed upon.
The purpose accomplished, the volunteers were disbanded, and Kenton went back to Harrod's Station, where he was always most gladly welcomed.
He had acquired considerable land, which was rapidly increasing in value. With a few families he began a settlement, which prospered greatly. The soil was very fertile, they were industrious, and they were blessed with abundant crops.
The circumstances being favorable, Kenton made a journey to Virginia to visit his father and friends. Thirteen years had passed since he had fled, believing himself a murderer, and now, among the first to take his hand, after he entered the familiar place, was his former rival in love. He and his wife greeted the handsome pioneer with great cordiality, and all resentment was buried in the happiness of the meeting.
Kenton was thankful indeed to find his aged father in good health, though his mother had been dead a number of years. Accompanied by his parent and the rest of the family, he started for Kentucky, intending that his father should spend the rest of his days with him. Such was the case, indeed, but the days proved fewer than the affectionate son supposed they would be.
The parent was very feeble, and when Red Stone Fort was reached, he quietly died. He was buried on the banks of the Monongahela, and Kenton, with the remainder of the family, arrived at the settlement in the winter of 1784.
Kentucky was rapidly filling up with emigrants at this time, though, as is well known, the Indians were very troublesome. Kenton saw that the land was certain to become valuable, and he determined to occupy the fertile section around his old camp near Maysville, which he had occasion to remember so well.
He made the venture in the summer of 1784, with a company of pioneers; but the Indians were so dangerous that they were forced to retire for the time. A few months later Kenton went back with a few friends, built a block-house, and soon after was joined by several families.
Settlers continued to flock thither, and the country prospered, despite the hostility of the red men. Kenton, by his foresight, had secured the right and title to a large quantity of valuable land. One thousand acres of this he gave to Arthur Fox and William Wood, and on it they laid out the town of Washington.
Despite the severe blow administered by General Clark, the savages committed so many depredations that a retaliatory campaign was determined upon. Seven hundred volunteers gathered under Colonel Logan and invaded the Indian country, inflicting much damage, and returning with only a trifling loss.
The guide of this expedition was Simon Kenton, who also commanded a company; but it was scarcely home again when the Indians renewed their depredations with such persistency that Kenton appealed to his old friends to rally once more, and to "carry the war into Africa."
It was promptly done, he assuming the part of captain and of guide as before. Chillicothe was burned, and the expedition returned without losing a man.
By this time Kenton was acknowledged as the leader in the frontier settlement. He possessed a great deal of valuable land, was a master of woodcraft, and in all the troubles with the Indians was looked to for protection and assistance.
During the half-dozen years following, his services in the latter respect were beyond estimate. He demonstrated his skill in the ways of the woods by ambushing a party of dusky marauders who had come down to devastate the border, and by inflicting such severe loss that the others fled in terror and never attempted to molest the settlement again.
But this period will be recognized by the reader as the eventful one of General Anthony Wayne's expedition against the combined Indian tribes of the West. Disaster had followed disaster, until the United States Government saw the necessity of ending the troubles by a campaign which should be resistless, and crushing in its effects.
Simon Kenton, at the time of Wayne's expedition, was a major, and with his battalion he joined the forces at Greenville. It may be said that his reputation at that time was national, and he was recognized as one of the most skillful and intrepid pioneers of the West. His bravery, activity and knowledge of "wood lore," inspired confidence everywhere, and linked his name inseparably with the settlement of the West.
His foresight in taking up the valuable lands was now shown by the results. They appreciated so rapidly in value with the settlement and development of the country, that he became one of the wealthiest settlers in Kentucky.
But singularly (and yet perhaps it was not singular either), the same misfortune overtook him that befell Daniel Boone and so many others of the pioneers.
The rapacious speculators, by their superior cunning, got all his land away from him, until he was not worth a farthing. Worse than that they brought him in debt, and his body was taken upon the covenants in deeds to lands, which he had in point of fact given away. He was imprisoned for a full year on the very spot where he built his cabin in 1775, and planted the first corn planted north of the Kentucky River by a white man, and where for many a time he had braved hunger, death, and undergone suffering in its most frightful forms.
He was literally reduced to beggary by the cruel rapacity of the land sharks, and in 1802 he removed to Ohio and settled in Urbana. Kenton's remarkable sweetness of character, despite the fact that he was one of the most terrible of Indian fighters, was such that he scarcely ever uttered a word of complaint. No man had endured more than he for Kentucky and Ohio, and no one had ever been treated more shabbily; yet he loved the "Dark and Bloody Ground" none the less.
His services and his ability were appreciated to that extent in Ohio that he was elected a brigadier-general of militia, three years after his removal to the State. Five years later, that is, in 1810, he was converted and joined the Methodist Episcopal Church.
Reverend J. B. Finley, the well known missionary of the West, relates that his father and Kenton met at a camp meeting on the Mad River. They were old friends and the interview was a most pleasant one. The meeting was accompanied by a great awakening, during which Kenton took the elder Finley aside and told him how deeply his heart had been touched, how much he was impressed with his own sinfulness, and how desirous he was of obtaining divine pardon.
He bound the minister to keep the whole matter a secret, and the two knelt down in prayer in the woods. Kenton was speedily converted, and springing to his feet, ran shouting back to camp meeting, with the minister panting after him.
The old Indian fighter outran his pastor, and when Mr. Finley reached his congregation, the other had gathered a great crowd about him, and, with a glowing face, was telling the news of his conversion.
"I thought this was to be a secret," called out Mr. Finley, "and here, General, you are proclaiming it to every one."
"It's too glorious to keep," was the reply of Kenton.
He continued a devout and humble Christian for the rest of his life. His voice was remarkably sweet and musical, and he was fond of singing. He took part in many religious exercises and meetings, and entered into the service of his divine Master with the same ardor he had shown in that of his country, during his early and mature manhood.
In 1813, Kenton joined the Kentucky troops under Governor Shelby, with whose family he was a great favorite. He was then nearly threescore years of age, but he was rugged, strong, and as patriotic as ever. He took part in the battle of the Thames, fighting with the same bravery that was natural to him from boyhood.
It was the last engagement in which he bore a hand, and respecting it the following incident is worthy of note:
In the month of May, 1881, Ayres Lefargee, who died at Poplar Plain, Kentucky, was buried at Decatur, Illinois. He was a soldier of the war of 1812, in the fourth regiment of Kentucky troops under Governor Shelby, and was present at the battle of the Thames in which the great Shawanoe chieftain Tecumseh was killed. After the battle he went with Captain Matthews and Simon Kenton to the spot where the chief fell. "Turn the body over," said Kenton, and, upon Lefargee doing so, they found seven bullet-holes in it. Lefargee always claimed that Tecumseh was killed by a soldier named Dave Gealding.
This question has never been satisfactorily settled, though the claim of Colonel Richard M. Johnson seems as good as that of any one. His horse had fallen, and while he was endeavoring to extricate himself, a distinguished looking Indian who, it was claimed by many that knew him, was Tecumseh, made a rush for Colonel Johnson.
"I didn't stop to ask him his name," said Colonel Johnson, when questioned about it afterwards, "for there was no time for explanations, but I fired, when, had I waited five seconds longer, he would have brained me with his upraised tomahawk."
The war of 1812 finished, Kenton returned to the obscurity of his humble cabin, where he lived until 1820, when he removed to the headwaters of Mad River, Logan county, Ohio, near the very spot where, many years before, he had been tied to the stake by the Indians, when they condemned him to death.
It seemed impossible for the old pioneer to escape the annoyance of the land-sharpers. He was still the owner of many large mountain tracts of Kentucky, but he was "land poor," in its fullest sense, and these were forfeited for taxes.
Kenton became so worn out, and so distressed by poverty, that in 1824, when nearly seventy years old, he rode to Frankfort, while the Legislature was in session, to petition that body to release these comparatively worthless lands from the claims upon them for unpaid taxes.
The old hunter was clothed in dilapidated garments, and his rickety horse looked so woe-begone that the wonder was how he could carry such a large man as he was. But when it became known that Simon Kenton was in town, it caused an excitement like that which the arrival of the menagerie and circus excites.
There was no one in the capital of Kentucky who had not heard of the wonderful exploits of Kenton, and the tall handsome figure of the hunter, with his mild prepossessing features, would have attracted attention anywhere. It was hard to believe that this old gentleman with his gentle blue eyes, his soft musical voice, and his humble Christian bearing, was the hurricane-like fighter, who had torn the reeking scalp from the head of the fierce savage, who had run the gauntlet more than once, who had trailed the red Indian through the gloomy depths of the forest and who had lived in the wilderness in storm and sunshine, week after week and month after month, when he never closed his eyes with certainty he would not be awakened for an instant by the crash of the tomahawk as it clove his skull in twain.
But this was Simon Kenton, and the crowds began to gather. General Thomas Fletcher recognized him and donned him in a good respectable suit of clothing. Then he was taken to the Capitol and placed in the Speaker's chair, where the multitude, in which were the legislators and the most prominent citizens, filed through the building, and were introduced to the great adventurer, who smilingly shook their hands, exchanged a few pleasant words, and blushed like a school boy.
It was the proudest day of Simon Kenton's life, and he had every reason to look back to it with delight, for it resulted in substantial benefit to him.
His presence called up so vividly the great services he had rendered the State, and the burning injustice he had suffered, that the legislators at once released all his lands from the tax claims, and shortly after, through the exertions of Judge Burnet and General Vance, of Congress, a pension of two hundred and forty dollars a year was obtained for the old hero, who was thus secured against want for the remainder of his life.
Kenton now lived a quiet life, serene and hopeful, and quietly contemplating the end which he knew was close at hand. He was held in the greatest respect and the strongest affection by his numerous friends, while Kentucky itself felt a pride in the brave hunter, scout and pioneer.
It will be remembered by the reader, that on the 4th of November, 1782, Simon Kenton became a party to an agreement of singular and romantic interest.
During the expedition of General Clark against the Indian towns, Kenton as usual acted as guide to the army, which numbered fifteen hundred men. On the return of the force, the pioneers which composed it came to a halt, opposite the Licking, and held a conference. Captain McCracken, of the Kentucky Light Horse, had received a slight wound in the arm while fighting, and which caused him little concern at the time. But a virulent mortification had set in, and it became evident to all that he had but a short time to live. At his suggestion, Colonel Floyd brought forward the resolution by which the pioneers who might survive agreed to meet on that same spot, a half century later, to talk over old times.
The meeting was held in the unbroken wilderness, abounding with its game and with the fierce red man; and the pioneers were in the flush and vigor of young manhood, with many years of hard, perilous service before them. They all felt that such as should be spared to see the closing of the half century before them, would witness changes and developments in their beloved country, such as awed the imagination when it attempted to grasp it.
On that lonely spot, where McCracken closed his eyes and was laid mournfully away in his last long rest by his brave brother pioneers, was the heart of the magnificently growing West. His grave was in sight of the beautiful Queen city, and the howling wilderness now blossomed as the rose.
As the semi-centennial approached, it was looked forward to with a strong interest by the survivors, who were found to be quite numerous. The lives which these hardy pioneers led were conducive to longevity, provided always the wild Indians afforded the opportunity and failed to cut them off in their prime.
"And tall and strong and swift of foot are they,
Beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions,
Because their thoughts had never been the prey
Of care or gain; the green woods were their portions;
No sinking spirits told them they grew gray,
No fashions made them apes of her distortions.
Simple they were, not savage; and their rifles,
Though very true, were not yet used for trifles.
"Motion was in their days, rest in their slumbers,
And cheerfulness the handmaid of their toil.
Nor yet too many nor too few their numbers;
Corruption could not make their hearts her soil;
The lust which stings, the splendor which encumbers,
With the free foresters divide no spoil;
Serene, not sullen, were the solitudes
Of this unsighing people of the woods."
As the semi-centennial approached, Simon Kenton, who had passed his fourscore, was deeply solicitous lest he should not be able to be present. He was desirous that every survivor should be at the gathering, and published an address in which he said:
"Fellow Citizens: – Being one of the first, after Colonel Daniel Boone, who aided in the conquest of Kentucky and the West, I am called upon to address you. My heart melts on such an occasion; I look forward to the contemplated meeting with melancholy pleasure; it has caused tears to flow in copious showers. I wish to see once more before I die, my few surviving friends. My solemn promise, made fifty years ago, binds me to meet them. I ask not for myself; but you may find in our assembly some who have never received any pay or pension, who have sustained the cause of their country equal to any other service, and who in the decline of their life are poor. Then, you prosperous sons of the West, forget not those old and gray-headed veterans on this occasion; let them return to their families with some little manifestations of your kindness to cheer their hearts.
"I may add my prayer: may kind Heaven grant us a clear sky, fair and pleasant weather, a safe journey, and a happy meeting and a smile upon us and our families, and bless us and our nation on the approaching occasion.
"SIMON KENTON."Urbana, Ohio, 1832."
The year 1832 will be recognized as the terrible cholera season, when the pestilence smote the land and the whole country was in mourning. Men shrank appalled as the multitudes sank on their right and left, and business for the time was paralyzed by the awful scourge which swept from one end of the land to the other.
Cincinnati was shrouded in deepest gloom by the ravages of the fearful disease, yet when the anniversary came round a large number of the old pioneers met, and the Corporation voted them a dinner.
General Simon Kenton, in spite of his anxiety to be present, was unable to appear, owing to his feebleness and indisposition of body. His absence was greatly mourned, for he would have been the prince of all that noble band, could his venerable form have appeared among them.
With Kenton the sunset of life was as quiet and serene as the close of a summer day. In the month of April, 1836, he quietly died in his home, surrounded by his affectionate family, friends and neighbors, and supported by the sublime faith of the meek, devout Christian, who joyfully approaches the dark river and launches out for the other shore.
LEWIS WETZEL
Birth of Lewis Wetzel – His Father Killed by Indians, and Himself and Brother carried off Prisoners – Their Remarkable Escape – Murder of an Indian – Serves in Crawford's Expedition – Pursued by Four Indians, and Kills Three – Escape from the Custody of General Harmar – Wetzel's Hunts for Indians – Assists a Relative to Recover his Betrothed from Savages
When one reads of the early days of the great West and of the tornado-like encounters in which the borderers engaged, he finds that there are few more prominent figures than that of Lewis Wetzel, who was born on the Big Wheeling, Virginia, about the year 1764. He had four brothers, Martin, Jacob, John and George, and two sisters, Susan and Christina. Martin was the only brother who exceeded Lewis in age.
The home of the Wetzels exposed them to perils from the Indians, for it will be recognized by the reader as a spot peculiarly open to assaults from the red men.
This was proven by the terrible fate that overtook the family. One day the Indians suddenly appeared and made a fierce attack upon the house. Several of the smaller children were absent, and during the excitement the mother succeeded in getting away; but the old man was killed and scalped, and Lewis, then thirteen years old, and his brother Jacob, two years younger, were taken away prisoners.
In the fight, Lewis received a slight wound from a bullet, but it did not incapacitate him from traveling, and on the second night after the capture the Indians encamped on the Big Lick, twenty miles distant from the river, in what is now Ohio, and upon the waters of McMahon's Creek.
The prisoners were so young that the captors were justified in considering them of little account, and they did not take the trouble to bind them when they stopped for the night. Lewis, however, was old enough to watch for a chance to get away, and when sure all the Indians were asleep, he touched his brother and whispered to him to make ready to follow him.
They made their way out of the camp without difficulty, but had not proceeded far when they stopped.
"I don't like the idea of going home barefooted," said Lewis, "you stay here while I go back and get a pair of moccasins for you and a pair for me."
The daring lad succeeded in obtaining the necessary articles and soon rejoined his brother; but as they were about to start on again he expressed his dissatisfaction that they had no weapons.
"We can't get along without a gun; wait here a little longer and I'll bring one back."
And young Lewis did as he said he would. Now that each had a pair of moccasins, and the elder carried a good rifle, they were prepared for travel, and they plunged into the woods at once.
Lewis Wetzel displayed a knowledge of woodcraft on this occasion which was wonderful in one so young. He discovered the trail and followed it back without difficulty, and knowing he would be pursued, he kept such unremitting watch that he detected the approach of the Indians, and he and his brother hid in the bushes until they passed.
When they were out of sight, the brothers came back to the trail and followed after the Indians. It did not take the latter very long to find they had gone beyond the lads, and they turned about to find them.
But, as before, Lewis was on the watch, and he and his brother eluded them. Shortly after they discovered that two of the warriors were mounted and in hot chase after them; but Lewis gave them the slip in the same skilful manner, and reaching Wheeling the next day, they constructed a raft and crossed the river.
When they came to the ruins of their home and found that their father had been killed and scalped, they were so infuriated that they took a vow to kill every Indian that was in their power to kill, so long as they should live.
Such is the account as generally given, though a different version is entitled to equal credence. This says that the elder Wetzel was shot, in 1787, while paddling a canoe near Captina, on his return from Middle Island Creek, and that young Lewis received his first wound while standing in the door of his own home. Be that as it may, there can be no doubt that he and his brother took the barbarous oath as stated, and it is equally a matter of history that they carried it out in spirit and letter.
Martin Wetzel acted the part of a wild beast and committed acts for which no law human or divine can find justification. No red Indian ever showed greater perfidy than did he. During Colonel Brodhead's expedition in 1780, Martin Wetzel was a volunteer. An Indian messenger, under promise of protection, came into camp and held an interview with Brodhead. While they were talking in the most friendly manner, Martin Wetzel stole up behind the unsuspecting red man, and quickly drawing a tomahawk, which he had hidden in his hunting-shirt, struck the Indian in the back of the head a blow which stretched him lifeless on the ground.
Colonel Brodhead was exasperated at the atrocious act, yet he dared not punish Wetzel, for three-fourths of the army would have rallied in his defence.
In the life of Daniel Boone we gave an account of the campaign of Colonel Crawford in 1782. Lewis Wetzel served as a volunteer, being no more than eighteen years of age. The campaign was one of the most frightful disasters that ever occurred in the West, Colonel Crawford being captured and burned to death at the stake.
Among the disorganized soldiers who managed to escape the terrible vengeance of the red men, was one named Mills, who reached a spring some nine miles from Wheeling, where he was forced to leave his horse and go the rest of the way on foot. From Wheeling he proceeded to Van Meter's fort, where he fell in with Lewis Wetzel, whom he persuaded to go back with him in quest of his horse.
Wetzel cautioned him against the danger, but Mills was determined, and the two made their way back to the spring, where they saw the horse standing tied to a sapling. The scout knew what this meant, but the sight of his animal drew Mills forward, and running up to the tree, he began untying him. Before he could finish, there was a discharge of rifles from the wood, and Mills fell fatally wounded.
Knowing that the warriors were all around him, the fleet-footed Wetzel bounded off like a deer, with four of the swiftest runners speeding after him. The chase was a terrific one, and after a half mile, one of the Indians came so close that the fugitive, believing he was on the point of throwing his tomahawk, suddenly whirled about and shot him dead, resuming his flight with the same desperate exertion as before.
The art of reloading his gun while on a dead run had been practised by Wetzel, until he could do the difficult feat with ease. Never was there more urgent need of that peculiar skill than on the present occasion, for at the end of another half mile, a second Indian was so close that Wetzel turned to fire.
Before he could do so, the warrior grasped the end of the barrel, and as he was immensely powerful and active, he brought Wetzel to his knees, and came within a hair's-breadth of wrenching the weapon from his grasp. The white man, however, during the fierce struggle, managed to get the muzzle of the gun turned toward the savage, when he pulled the trigger, killing him instantly.
The struggle was very brief, but during its continuance the other two Indians had approached so nigh, that Wetzel bounded away again at the highest bent of his speed and soon had his rifle reloaded. Then he slackened his pace, so as to allow them to come up, but they were suspicious of the white man who always seemed to have a charged rifle at his service, and they held back. Then Wetzel stopped and they did the same. Several times he wheeled about and raised his gun, when they immediately dodged behind trees. One of them did not conceal his body perfectly, and Wetzel fired, wounding him badly. The remaining warrior ran for life, shouting: "Dat white man's gun am always loaded!"
Actuated by that intense hate of the Indians which marked the career of Lewis Wetzel and several of his brothers, there was but the single thought of revenge which inspired the muscular arm to deeds as savage as the red man himself ever engaged in. While General Harmar was doing his utmost to establish peace with the Indians, Lewis Wetzel and a companion hid themselves near the fort, and, in pure wantonness, the former fired upon a warrior who was riding by. He was so badly wounded that he was barely able to reach the fort, where he died that night.
General Harmar was so indignant over the murder, which Wetzel unblushingly avowed, that he sent Captain Kingsbury and a squad of men with orders to take Wetzel dead or alive. All considerations called for the prompt punishment of the murderer, but his capture was an impossibility, inasmuch as he possessed the fullest sympathy of the frontiersmen, who would have rallied to a man in his defence.
When Captain Kingsbury reached the Mingo Bottom, and his errand became known, Lewis Wetzel and a large number of equally reckless companions formed a plan for attacking the party and massacring every one of them. Only by the interference of Major M'Mahan, who persuaded the Captain of his danger and induced him to withdraw, was the crime averted.
Sometime later, however, Wetzel was seized while asleep in a cabin, put in irons and carried to the guard-house. He was greatly humiliated by the shame of being handcuffed, and sent for General Harmar, to whom he made the characteristic proposal that he should release him among the large party of Indians who were around the fort, and allow him to fight it out with them. This of course was declined by the officer, who, however, consented to knock off his irons, but kept on the handcuffs, allowing him to walk about the fort.
After Wetzel had loosened his limbs by some moderate exercise, he suddenly made a break for the woods and was soon among them. He was fired upon by the guards, and General Harmar instantly sent a number of his fleetest runners, including several Indians, in pursuit.
They almost captured him too, for a couple of the warriors sat down on the log, under which he was crouching, and Wetzel afterwards said that his great fear was that his position would be betrayed by the tumultuous throbbing of his heart. The next day he came across a friend who released him from his handcuffs, furnished him with a gun and ammunition, and Wetzel paddled down the river for Kentucky, where he could feel safe from General Harmar.
The latter issued a proclamation offering a large reward for the capture of Wetzel, but no frontiersman ever made the dangerous attempt to take him, and soon after he joined a party of scouts under Major M'Mahan. They numbered twenty men, and were organized to punish the Indians for murdering a family in the Mingo Bottom. One of the inducements for enlisting was the offer of a hundred dollars to the man who should bring in the first Indian scalp.
The scouts had not penetrated far into the hostile country, when they suddenly found themselves in the presence of a large war party. A hasty consultation was held and it was deemed best to withdraw, but Wetzel refused to return until he should accomplish something. He announced that he would never be seen at home until he lost his own scalp or brought that of an Indian with him.
It was a dangerous task he had taken on himself, but he persevered and spent several days in prowling through the woods, hunting for the coveted opportunity. At last he found a couple of warriors encamped by themselves, and he watched by them until the night was far advanced. Finally one of them got up and moved away, taking a torch with him, doubtless with the intention of watching a deer lick. Wetzel was so anxious to kill both savages that he waited until daylight for the return of the other.
He did not show himself, however, and unwilling to wait longer, the merciless white man stole up to where the sleeping warrior lay and slew him with one furious blow of his knife.
Wetzel reached his home without difficulty and received the one hundred dollars reward for the murder.
A singular occurrence took place shortly after this. From the fort at Wheeling, there had been heard on several occasions, cries such as would be made by a wounded turkey, and more than once some of the men had crossed over to ascertain the cause. The fact that several soldiers were never seen again, did not arouse a suspicion of the real explanation in the minds of any one excepting that of Lewis Wetzel.
