Kitabı oku: «Heroes and Hunters of the West», sayfa 8
Heroic Women of the West
The following incidents are taken from a letter addressed by Captain Nathaniel Hart, of Woodford county, Kentucky, to Governor Morehead:
Dear Sir. – Connected with your address delivered at the celebration of the first settlement of Kentucky, at Boonesborough, the circumstances attending the escape and defence of Mrs. Woods, about the year 1784-5, near the Crab Orchard, in Lincoln county, may not be without interest. I have a distinct recollection of them. Mr. Woods, her husband, was absent from home, and early in the morning, being a short distance from her cabin, she discovered several Indians advancing towards it. She reached it before all but one, who was so far ahead of the others, that before she could close and fasten the door, he entered. Instantly he was seized by a lame negro man of the family, and after a short scuffle, they both fell – the negro underneath. But he held the Indian so fast, that he was unable to use either his scalping knife or tomahawk, when he called upon his young mistress to take the axe from under the bed, and dispatch him by a blow upon the head. She immediately attempted it: but the first attempt was a failure She repeated the blow and killed him. The other Indians were at the door endeavoring to force it open with their tomahawks. The negro rose, and proposed to Mrs. Woods to let in another, and they would soon dispose of the whole of them in the same way. The cabin was but a short distance from a station, the occupants of which, having discovered the perilous situation of the family, fired on the Indians, and killed another, when the remainder made their escape.
This incident is not more extaordinary than one that happened, in the fall or winter of 1781-2, to some families belonging to our own fort at the White Oak Spring. My father settled this fort in 1779. It was situated about a mile above Boonesborough and in the same bottom of the river. It was composed principally of families from York county, Pennsylvania – orderly, respectable people, and the men good soldiers. But they were unaccustomed to Indian warfare, and the consequence was, that of some ten or twelve men, all were killed but two or three. During this period, Peter Duree, the elder, the principal man of the connection, determined to settle a new fort between Estill’s station and the mouth of Muddy Creek, directly on the trace between the Cherokee and Shawnese towns. Having erected a cabin, his son-in-law, John Bullock and his family, and his son Peter Duree, his wife and two children, removed to it, taking a pair of hand mill stones with them. They remained for two or three days shut up in their cabin, but their corn meal being exhausted, they were compelled to venture out to cut a hollow tree in order to adjust their hand mill. They were attacked by Indians – Bullock, after running a short distance, fell. Duree reached the cabin, and threw himself upon the bed. Mrs. Bullock ran to the door to ascertain the fate of her husband – received a shot in the breast, and fell across the door sill. Mrs. Duree, not knowing whether her husband had been shot or had fainted, caught her by the feet, pulled her into the house and barred the door. She grasped a rifle and told her husband, she would help him to fight. He replied that he had been wounded and was dying. She then presented the gun through several port holes in quick succession – then calmly sat by her husband and closed his eyes in death. You would conclude that the scene ought to end here – but after waiting several hours, and seeing nothing more of the Indians, she sallied out in desperation to make her way to the White Oak Spring, with her infant in her arms, and a son, three or four years of age, following her. Afraid to pursue the trace, she entered the woods, and after running till she was nearly exhausted she came at length to the trace. She determined to follow it at all hazards, and having advanced a few miles further, she met the elder Mr. Duree, with his wife, and youngest son, with their baggage, on their way to the new station. The melancholy tidings induced them, of course, to return. They led their horses into an adjoining canebrake, unloaded them, and regained the White Oak Spring fort before daylight.
It is impossible at this day to make a just impression of the sufferings of the pioneers about the period spoken of. The White Oak Spring fort in 1782, with perhaps one hundred souls in it, was reduced in August to three fighting white men – and I can say with truth, that for two or three weeks, my mother’s family never unclothed themselves to sleep, nor were all of them, within the time, at their meals together, nor was any household business attempted. Food was prepared, and placed where those who chose could eat. It was the period when Bryant’s station was besieged and for many days before and after that gloomy event, we were in constant expectation of being made prisoners. We made application to Colonel Logan for a guard, and obtained one, but not until the danger was measurably over. It then consisted of two men only. Colonel Logan did everything in his power, as county lieutenant, to sustain the different forts – but it was not a very easy matter to order a married man from a fort where his family was to defend some other – when his own was in imminent danger.
I went with my mother in January, 1783, to Logan’s station, to prove my father’s will. He had fallen in the preceding July. Twenty armed men were of the party. Twenty-three widows were in attendance upon the court, to obtain letters of administration on the estates of their husbands, who had been killed during the past year. My mother went to Colonel Logan’s, who received and treated her like a sister.
Indian Strategem Foiled
The Chippewas are a numerous people inhabiting the country north of Lake Superior, and about the source of the Mississippi. They are divided into several tribes, and are distinguished by the number of blue or black lines tattooed on their cheeks and foreheads.
Travellers have always described them as “the most peaceable tribe of Indians known in North America.” They are not remarkable for their activity as hunters, and this no doubt is owing to the ease with which they can procure both game and fish.
In their pursuit of deer, they sometimes drive them into the small lakes, and then spear them from their canoes; or shoot them with the bow and arrow, after having driven them into inclosures constructed for the purpose. Snares made of deer sinews, too, are frequently used for catching large and small game: and as these occupations are not beyond the strength of the old men and boys, they take a share in these toils, which among most of the tribes are left exclusively to the squaws.
In person the Chippewas are not remarkable; they are generally robust, their complexion swarthy, their features broad, and their hair straight and black, which is the case in most of the Indian tribes. But they have not that piercing eye, which so generally animates the Indian countenance.
The aspect of the women is more agreeable than that of the men; they wear their hair of a great length, and pay much attention to its arrangement, greasing it with considerable taste.
They appear to be more attentive to the comforts of dress, and less anxious about its exterior than of their red brethren. Deer and fawn skins, dressed with the hair on, so skilfully that they are perfectly supple, compose their shirt or coat, which is girt round the waist with a belt, and reaches half way down the thigh. Their moccasins and leggins are generally sewn together, and the latter meet the belt to which they are fastened. A ruff or tippet surrounds the neck, and the skin of the deer’s head is formed into a curious sort of cap.
A robe of several deer skins sewn together is throw over the whole; this dress is sometimes worn single, but in winter it is always made double, the hair forming both the lining and the outside.
Thus attired, a Chippewa will lay himself down on the snow and repose in comfort; and if in his wanderings across the numerous lakes with which his country abounds, he should fall short of provisions, he has only to cut a hole in the ice, when he seldom fails of taking a blackfish, or a bass, which he broils over his little wood fire with as much skill as a French cook.
At the time of the French and Indian wars, the American army was encamped on the Plains of Chippewa. Colonel St. Clair, the commander, was a brave and meritorious officer, but his bravery sometimes amounted to rashness, and his enemies have accused him of indiscretion. In the present instance perhaps he may have merited the accusation, for the plain on which he had encamped was bordered by a dense forest, from which the Indian scouts could easily pick off his sentinels without in the least exposing themselves to danger.
Five nights had passed, and every night the sentinel, who stood at a lonely out-post in the vicinity of the forest, had been shot; and these repeated disasters struck such dread among the remaining soldiers, that no one would come forward to offer to take the post, and the commander, knowing it was only throwing men’s lives away, let it stand for a few nights unoccupied.
At length, a rifleman of the Virginian corps, volunteered his services for this dangerous duty; he laughed at the fears of his companions, and told them he meant to return safe and drink his commander’s health in the morning. The guard marched up soon after, and he shouldered his rifle and fell. He arrived at the place which had been so fatal to his comrades, and bidding his fellow soldiers “good night,” assumed the duties of his post. The night was dark, thick clouds overspread the firmament, and hardly a star could be seen by the sentinel as he paced his lonely walk. All was silent except the gradually retreating footsteps of the guard; he marched onwards, then stopped and listened till he thought he heard the joyful sound of “All’s well” – then all was still, and he sat down on a fallen tree and began to muse. Presently a low rustling among the bushes caught his ear; he gazed intently towards the spot whence the sound seemed to proceed, but he could see nothing save the impenetrable gloom of the forest. The sound grew nearer, and a well-known grunt informed him of the approach of a bear. The animal passed the soldier slowly, and then quietly sought the thicket to the left. At this moment the moon shone out bright through the parting clouds, and the wary soldier perceived the ornamented moccasin of a savage on what an instant before he believed to be a bear! He could have shot him in a moment, but he knew not how many other animals might be at hand; he therefore refrained, and having perfect knowledge of Indian subtilty, he quickly took off his hat and coat, hung them on a branch of a fallen tree, grasped his rifle, and silently crept towards the thicket. He had barely reached it, when an arrow, whizzing past his head, told him of the danger he had so narrowly escaped.
He looked carefully round him, and on a little spot of cleared land he counted twelve Indians, some sitting, some lying full length on the thickly strewn leaves of the forest. Believing that they had already shot the sentinel, and little thinking there was any one within hearing, they were quite off their guard, and conversed aloud about their plans for the morrow.
It appeared that a council of twelve chiefs was now held, in which they gravely deliberated on the most effectual means of annoying the enemy. It was decided that the next evening forty of their warriors should be in readiness at the hour when the sentinel should be left by his comrades, and that when they had retired a few paces, an arrow should silence him for ever, and they would then rush on and massacre the guard.
This being concluded, they rose, and drawing the numerous folds of their ample robes closer round them, they marched off in Indian file through the gloomy forest, seeking some more distant spot, where the smoke of their nightly fire would not be observed by the white men.
The sentinel rose from his hiding-place and returned to his post, and taking down his hat, found that an arrow had passed clean through it. He then wrapt himself in his watch-coat, and returned immediately to the camp; and without any delay demanded to speak to the commander, saying that he had something important to communicate.
He was admitted, and when he had told all that he had seen and heard, the Colonel bestowed on him the commission of lieutenant of the Virginia corps, which had been made vacant by the death of one of his comrades a few nights back, and ordered him to be ready with a picket guard, to march an hour earlier than usual to the fatal out-post, there to place a hat and coat on the branches, and then lie in ambush for the intruders.
The following evening, according to the orders given by Colonel St. Clair, a detachment of forty riflemen, with Lieutenant Morgan at their head, marched from the camp at half past seven in the evening towards the appointed spot, and having arranged the hat and coat so as to have the appearance of a soldier standing on guard, they stole silently away and hid themselves among the bushes.
Here they lay for almost an hour before any signs of approaching Indians were heard. The night was cold and still, and the rising moon shone forth in all her beauty. The men were becoming impatient of their uncomfortable situation, for their clothes were not so well adapted to a bed of snow as the deer-skin robes of the hardy Chippewas.
“Silence!” whispered Lieutenant Morgan – “I hear the rustling of the leaves.”
Presently a bear of the same description as had been seen the night before, passed near the ambush; it crept to the edge of the plain – reconnoitred – saw the sentinel at his post – retired towards the forest a few paces, and then, suddenly rising on his feet, let fly an arrow which brought the sham sentinel to the ground. So impatient were the Virginians to avenge the death of their comrades that they could scarcely wait till the lieutenant gave the word of command to fire – then they rose in a body, and before the Chippewas had time to draw their arrows or seize their tomahawks, more than half their number lay dead upon the plain. The rest fled to the forest, but the riflemen fired again, and killed or wounded several more of the enemy. They then returned in triumph to relate their exploits in the camp.
Ten chiefs fell that night, and their fall was, undoubtedly, one principal cause of the French and Indian wars with the English.
Lieutenant Morgan rose to be a captain, and at the termination of the war returned home, and lived on his own farm till the breaking out of the American war. And then, at the head of a corps of Virginia rifleman, appeared our hero, the brave and gallant Colonel Morgan, better known by the title of general, which he soon acquired by his courage and ability.
Blackbird
Among the first tribes of the Great Oregon Territory, which established friendly intercourse with the United States traders, were the Omahas. The boast of these Indians was a chief named Blackbird, who was a steadfast friend of the white men and the terror of the neighboring hostile tribes. Such were his skill, courage, and success in war, that friends and foes regarded him as enchanted. He delighted in trials of strength or agility, in which he always came off victorious. In addition to these qualities, he possessed a secret which rendered him more than human in the eyes of his barbarous followers. This was an acquaintance with the properties of arsenic, which he had obtained from a white trader. Whenever he was displeased with an Indian, he prophesied his death before a certain day, and the sure accomplishment of the prophecy rendered Blackbird an object of terror and reverence.
On one occasion, the Poncas made an incursion into Blackbird’s territory, and carried away a number of women and horses. He immediately collected his warriors and pursued them. The Poncas sheltered themselves behind a rude embankment, but their persevering enemy, gaining a good position, poured upon them a well-directed fire, which did fearful execution. The Ponca chief dispatched a herald, with the calumet, but he was immediately shot; a second herald experienced the same treatment. The chieftain’s daughter, a young maiden of much personal beauty, then appeared before the stern foe, dressed with exquisite taste, and bearing the calumet. Blackbird’s heart softened, he accepted the sacred emblem, and concluded a peace with his enemy. The pledge given and received was the beautiful Ponca maiden, as wife to the fierce chieftain of Omaha.
For the first time the heart of Blackbird felt the genial influence of love. He loved the young creature who had saved her tribe, with all the ardor of untutored nature. But he was still a savage, and sometimes ungovernable bursts of rage would transport him beyond all bounds of affection or decency. In one of these, his beloved wife unwittingly offended him. He instantly drew his knife and laid her dead with a single blow. The dreadful deed calmed him in a moment. For a little while he looked at the beautiful corpse in stupid grief, and then, with his head wrapped in his robe, he sat down beside it. He ate no food, spake no word for three days. The remonstrances of his people were received with silence, and no one dared to uncover his face. At length one of them brought in a small child, and placed the foot of the unhappy warrior on its neck. Blackbird was moved by the significant appeal and throwing aside his robe, he arose and delivered an oration.
The Omaha tribe were greatly thinned by small-pox, and to this loathsome disease their great chieftain fell a victim. His dying request was bold and fanciful. Near the source of the Missouri is a high solitary rock, round which the river winds in a nearly circular direction, and which commands a view of the adjacent country for many miles around. There Blackbird had often sat to watch for the canoes of the white traders, and there it was his dying request to be buried. He was to be mounted upon his horse, completely armed, so as to overlook his lands, and watch for the coming boat of the white men. His orders were obeyed; and on that same high promontory, over the tomb of the Indian warrior was raised his national banner, capped with the scalps which he had taken in battle. Of course the Indians regard the rock with superstitious reverence, and have their own stories of the scenes which occasionally take place on and around it.
A Desperate Adventure
While encamped on the 24th of April, at a spring near the Spanish Trail, we were surprised by the sudden appearance amongst us of two Mexicans; a man and a boy. The name of the man was Andreas Fuentas, and that of the boy, a handsome lad of eleven years old, Pablo Hernandez. With a cavalcade of about thirty horses, they had come out from Puebla de los Angelos, near the Pacific; had lost half their animals, stolen by the Indians, and now sought my camp for aid. Carson and Godey, two of my men, volunteered to pursue them, with the Mexican; and, well mounted, the three set off on the trail. In the evening, Fuentas returned, his horse having failed; but Carson and Godey had continued the pursuit.
In the afternoon of the next day, a war-whoop was heard, such as Indians make when returning from a victorious enterprise; and soon Carson and Godey appeared driving before them a band of horses, recognised by Fuentas to be a part of those they had lost. Two bloody scalps, dangling from the end of Godey’s gun, announced that they had overtaken the Indians as well as the horses. They had continued the pursuit alone after Fuentas left them, and towards nightfall entered the mountains into which the trail led. After sunset, the moon gave light until late in the night, when it entered a narrow defile, and was difficult to follow. Here they lay from midnight till morning. At daylight they resumed the pursuit, and at sunrise discovered the horses; and immediately dismounting and tying up their own, they crept cautiously to a rising ground which intervened, from the crest of which they perceived the encampment of four lodges close by. They proceeded quietly, and got within thirty or forty yards of their object, when a movement among the horses discovered them to the Indians. Giving the war shout, they instantly charged into the camp, regardless of the numbers which the four lodges might contain. The Indians received them with a flight of arrows, shot from their long bows, one of which passed through Godey’s shirt collar, barely missing the neck. Our men fired their rifles upon a steady aim, and rushed in. Two Indians were stretched upon the ground, fatally pierced with bullets; the rest fled, except a lad, who was captured. The scalps of the fallen were instantly stripped off, but in the process, one of them, who had two balls through his body, sprung to his feet, the blood streaming from his skinned head, and uttered a hideous howl. The frightful spectacle appalled the stout hearts of our men; but they did what humanity required, and quickly terminated the agony of the gory savage. They were now masters of the camp, which was a pretty little recess in the mountain, with a fine spring, and apparently safe from all invasion. Great preparation had been made for feasting a large party, for it was a very proper place for a rendezvous, and for the celebration of such orgies as robbers of the desert would delight in. Several of the horses had been killed, skinned, and cut up – for the Indians living in the mountains, and only coming into the plains to rob and murder, make no other use of horses than to eat them. Large earthen vessels were on the fire, boiling and stewing the horse beef, and several baskets containing fifty or sixty pair of moccasins, indicated the presence or expectation of a large party. They released the boy who had given strong evidence of the stoicism, or something else of the savage character, by commencing his breakfast upon a horse’s head as soon as he found he was not to be killed, but only tied as a prisoner.
Their object accomplished, our men gathered up all the surviving horses, fifteen in number, returned upon their trail, and rejoined us at our camp in the afternoon of the same day. They had rode about one hundred miles in the pursuit and return, and all in about thirty hours. The time, place, object and numbers considered, this expedition of Carson and Godey may be considered among the boldest and most disinterested which the annals of western adventure, so full of daring deeds, can present. Two men in a savage wilderness, pursue day and night an unknown body of Indians into the defiles of an unknown mountain – attack them on sight without counting numbers – and defeat them in an instant – and for what? – to punish the robbers of the desert, and revenge the wrongs of Mexicans whom they did not know. I repeat it was Carson and Godey who did this – the former an American, born, in Booneslick county, Missouri; the latter a Frenchman, born in St. Louis – and both trained to western enterprise from early life.
