OHIO STATEWIDE FILES - HISTORY: Chapter 14 (Abbott, John S. C., 1875)
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			Chapter XIV.
         	  Emigration and Its Results

   The Falls of the Ohio, where General Clarke was established, as military
leader of Kentucky, are near the present City of Louisville. This is many
miles south-west of the extreme western border of Ohio, opposite the State 
of Indiana. The British authorities, who were engaged in this terrible war-
fare against the frontier settlements, were admirably situated at Detroit
for these operations. Here they held all the Indian tribes, north of the 
Ohio River, completely in hand, to hurl them in whatever direction they 
pleased. General Clarke was a man of great energy of character and of con-
siderable military ability.
   The following anecdote is worthy of record, both as illustrative of the 
mand and of the savages with whom he had to deal. Upon one of his expeditions
a large reward had been offered by the British authortities for his capture,
whether taken dead or alive. Some Indian chiefs formed a conspiracy to kill
him while asleep. The plot was discovered. They were arrested and sent to 
the guard-house. The next day they were brought, in irons, before the Gener-
al. He was engaged in business at the time, and, assuming an air of perfect
indifference, paid no attention to them whatever. When his business was trans-
acted, he turned to them very contemptuously, and said:
   "You ought to die for your treacherous attempt on my life. I had deter-
mined to put you to death. But when I reflected upon the meanness of your
conduct, in trying to catch a man and kill him asleep, I became convinced 
that you were not warriors, but old women. You are therefore too mean to be
killed by a Long Knife. You have put on men's clothes, pretending to be men,
when you are only women."
   Then turning to his orderly, he said: "Strip these people of their clothes,
and dress them in women's clothes. Then send them home. As women know nothing
about hunting, give them food for their journey. While they remain, let them
be treated, in all respects, like squaws, as they are."
   He then resumed conversation with his friends in attendance, as though the
proud warriors before him were too contemptible to be further noticed. The
offending chiefs were greatly agitated. One of them rose, and wished to offer
the pipe of peace, and to make a speech. General Clarke spurned the calumet,
and would not permit him to utter a word.
   "The Big Knife," said he, "never treats with squaws."
   Several chiefs of other tribes, who chanced to be present, moved by this
terrible humiliation of their brother chiefs, rose to intercede on their be-
half, entreating General Clarke to pity their families, assuring him that
they would deem this a disgrace which could never be wiped out. The General
replied:
   "The Big Knife never makes war upon squaws. When we come across such In-
dians as these in the woods, we shoot them, as we do wolves, to prevent their
eating the deer."
   This mediation having failed, a consultant took place among themselves. 
Soon two of their young men, advancing into the middle of the floor, sat down
and flung their blankets over their heads, to the astonishment of the whole
assembly. Two of the more venerable chiefs then arose, and, with a pipe of
peace, stood by these self-devoted victims, and offered the "lives of the 
young warriors as an atonement for the conduct of the chiefs of their tribe.
This sacrifice," said they, "we hope will appease the Big Knife." And again
they offered him the pipe of peace.
   General Clarke was deeply moved. In subsequently describing the event, he
said: "I never before felt so powerful a gust of emotion." For a moment 
there was perfect silence. Anxiety to know the fate of the victims was de-
picted upon every countenance. The history of the past has seldom exhibited
such an act magnanimity, of self-devotion, as was thus displayed by these
children of the forest. General Clarke soon recovered his self-possession, 
ordered the two heroic young Indians to arise. Then addressing them he said:
   "I rejoice to find that there are MEN in all nations. Such alone are fit
to be chiefs. With such I like to treat. I recognize you henceforth as chiefs.
Through you I grant peace to your tribe.:
   He then took them by the hand, and presented them, as chiefs, to several
American, French, and Spanish officers, who were present. Then he presented
them to the other Indian chiefs. All saluted them as chiefs of their tribe.
There was no hesitation. Presents were interchanged, and cordiality restored.
General Clarke was afterwards informed that the incident was widely talked 
of among the Indians. No one disputed the legitimacy of the title of these
young warriors to Indian nobility. 
   General Clarke very strenuously urged the colonial government to furnish
him with an army of two thousand men, with which he felt confident he could
capture Detroit, and thus, at one blow, put an end to the ravages which the
Indians were perpetrating. The savages would be comparatively powerless, 
when deprived of the abundant ammunition with which the British government
was supplying them.
   As soon as General Clarke heard of the disastrous battle at Blue Licks, 
he resolved immediately to pursue and punish the Indians in their own homes.
The savages, greatly elated, had re-crossed the Ohio, and returned to their
towns on the Little Miami for a general triumph. General Clarke ascended the 
Licking River with about five hundred men, to its entrance into the Ohio.
There he formed a junction with the troops under Colonels Logan and Floyd, 
which created a force of about a thousand men, all well mounted. Colonel
Boone accompanied this avenging army as a volunteer.
   The troops crossed the Ohio, in flat-bottomed boats, on the 30th of Sep-
tember, 1782, and commenced their march up the Little Miami, the bosom of 
every man glowing with the desire for vengeance. So rapid had been the move-
ment, and so skillfully had it been concealed, that the Indians had no sus-
picion of the approach of their foe, until they were within a few miles of
Old Chilicothe. In the utmose consternation the savages fled, men, women and
children. A thousand mounted warriors were within an hour's march of them.
Resistance was not for a moment to be thought of. Their only safety was in 
precipitate flight.
   Everything was abandoned. It is probably well for the reputation of the
colonists that the women and children had escaped. The memory of their own
burned dwellings, their comrades slain and scalped, their women and children
tomahawked, their captive friends burned at slow fires, put to death by hor-
rible tortures, so inflamed this colonial army that the women and children
would probably been shot down like she-wolves and cubs. They deemed it a 
matter of duty and of humanity to punish these savages with severity which
they should never forget; so to chastise them, as to put an end to their
horrible atrocities.
   The avenging army swept the fertile valley of the Little Miami, from its
mouth to its head-waters, a distance of about eighty miles, with utter des-
olation. Every Indian that was seen was, like panther or bear, the object of
pursuit, and the target for their bullets. Five of their towns were laid in
ashed. The torch was applied to every solitary hut. Every tree bearing fruit
was cut down.
   It was the Fall of the year. The golden corn was just ripening in their 
extensive fields. It had been carefully cultivated by the women and children,
while the warriors were devastating the settlers' homes in Kentucky. Upon 
this they mainly depended for sustenance the coming Winter. There was by no
means sufficient game in the forest to preserve them from starvation. This
whole harvest was completely destroyed, either being trampled in the dust, 
or piled in heaps and burned. The savages had fled so precipitely that al-
most nothing was saved from the awful wreck. Their homes, their blankets, 
their furs, their cooking utensils, and most of their ammunition, were des-
troyed. Absolutely nothing was left to them. In utter destitution they were
roaming the forets, with cold Winter approaching. Many of them must have
perished of starvation. As many as were able toiled through the wilderness
to Detroit, to receive from the British authorities support under the dread-
ful calamities which this adherence to the British cause had brought them.
   The punishment of the Indians was indeed terrible. They were alike aston-
ished and dismayed by it. In their ignorance they had supposed that, in the
carnage of the "Blue Licks," they had destroyed nearly all the warriors which
the colonists could bring into the field. They were rejoicing in the thought
that they could, at their leisure, recross the Ohio, and load themselves
with the booty of the desolated homes of Kentucky, and that they could bring
back with them the wives and children of the white men as captives and slaves.
Instead of that, they had scarcely reached their homes ere an overwhelming
army of a thousand white men came sweeping their valley with fire and ruin.
The tidings of this avenging campaign, in the Valley of the Little Miami, 
soon reached the ears of all the Indian tribes in Ohio. They were so dis-
heartened that they made no further attempt for the organized invasion of
Kentucky.
   In the year 1783, peace was made with England, and the independence of the
colonies was recognized. But as the waves of the ocean do not subside until
long after the gale has ceased to blow, so the agitation on the frontiers, 
between the settlers and the Indians, continued for many years. The intense
passions which had been called into exercise by the bloody conflict were too
powerful to be speedily allayed. The settlers were determined to get posses-
sion of the lands of the Indians. The Indians were determined not the re-
linquish their ancient hunting grounds.
   A wonderful tide of emigration, across the mountains, immediately set in 
from North Carolina, Virginia, and Pennsylvania. But none of these emigrants
ventured to penetrate the heart of Ohio, which was populated by such numerous
and hostile tribes. Nearly all directed their steps toward the rich and beau-
tiful region south of the river. A few families settled upon the upper waters
of the Ohio, near the fort at Pittsburgh. These emigrants generally crossed
the mountains in long lines of wagons, driving their flocks and herds before
them, till they reached the waters of either the Allegheny or Monogahela. They
then took flatbottomed boats or rafts, and, borne by the currents of those
streams to the Ohio River, floated down the stream for several hundred miles
to points near the Licking and the Kentucky. Here they scattered south through
one of the most beautiful regions of the globe, taking possession of their
lands by what was called the Tomahawk Claim.
   The Virginia Legislature, which was then the recognized proprietor of all
these regions of indefinite boundaries, allowed each settler four hundred
acres of any unoccupied lands, besides the preference right to purchase, at
government prices, one thousand more contiguous acres. These settlements were
generally marked by the initials of the claimant's name, cut with the toma-
hawk in several beech trees. These "tomahawk rights" were generally respect-
ed, even though the claimant had not taken up his actual residence on the
lands. If he had cut down a few trees, and erected a log hut, his claim was
considered as established. The pioneers were generally satisfied with one
settlement-right; but others, more ambitious of large landed estates, and of
the wealth which was sure eventually to accrue from them, bought up many of 
these frail titles. This led, in after years, to almost endless litigation.
   Nearly the whole country, from the Alleghenies to these central rivers, 
of what was then called the District of Kentucky, for a distance of nearly
five hundred miles, was an uninhabited mountain wilderness. There were, how-
ever, one or two stations along the south banks of the Ohio River. So great
was the immigration from the Atlantic States into these attractive fields, 
that by the close of the year 1784, the population of Kentucky was estimated
to amount to nearly thirty thousand souls.
   By the Treaty of Paris, 1783, Great Britain renounced all claim to all the
territory south of the Great Lakes, and east of the Mississippi to its sour-
ces. The British Government also stipulated to withdraw her garrisons from 
all that territory. The most important stations, then held by the British, 
were at Niagara, at Detroit, and on the Miami and Maumee Rivers, and near the 
head-waters of the Wabash. This region, then called the Northwestern Terri-
tory, was a vast undivided realm, almost entirely uninhabited by white men.
The powerful Indian tribes, clustered through the valleys of the tributaries
of the Ohio, flowing from the North, had been nearly all enlisted under the 
banners of Great Britain. The horrible atrocities which these savages had
perpetrated had enkindled in the bosoms of the Americans, generally, undy-
ing hatred. Still there was a disposition to conciliate the savages, as peace
on the frontiers was essential to the prosperity of the rapidly-growing
settlements there.
   The Federal Government consequently adopted a humane policy, and did every-
thing in its power to restrain the exasperated western people from aggressions
upon the Indians. Every effort was made to prevent collision, and to culti-
vate friendly relations with these still formidable tribes. Indian agencies
were established to confer with the chiefs upon all measures of importance.
Annuities were granted, which perhaps too often assumed the form of bribes, 
to induce the leading men of the nation to enter into treaties, by which
they relinquished large portions of their lands.
   These agents were required strictly to enforce the laws of Congress, pro-
hibited lawless white men from residing in the Indian country, and from car-
rying on contraband trade with the Indians. Trading posts were established, 
under governmental control, to supply them with useful articles at fair 
prices, and to rescue them from the impositions of fraudulent traders.
   A large council of the chiefs of the Ohio Indians was held at Fort McIn-
tosh on the 21st of Jamuary, 1785. This fort was in the extreme western fron-
tier of Pennsylvania. The Ohio tribes represented were the Wyandots, Dela-
wares, Ottawas, and Chippewas. These tribes occupied the extreme northern 
portions of the present State of Ohio, west of the Cuyahoga River. In this
treaty, the chiefs, sachems, and warriors of these tribes relinquished to 
the United States all the lands south of Lake Erie, and east of the Cuyahoga
River, as well as all the southeastern portion of the present State of Ohio.
   The boundary line, which was definitely laid down, was as follows: Begin-
ning at the mouth of the Cuyahoga River, on the southern shore of Lake Erie,
it ran up the east bank of that stream till it reached the head-waters of
the Tuscarawas. Thence it followed that stream to its junction with Walhoun-
ding Creek. Then the line ran across the country a distance of about 150 
miles to the mouth of the Mad River, one of the largest tributarties of the 
Great Miami. Thence it followed the main branch of that river to the portage
across to the St. Mary's. Then it followed that river in its very circuitous
course till it reached the Maumee, lands east and south of this line were 
ceded to the United States.
   On the other hand, the government recognized the title of the Indians to 
all the land north and west of this line, to be occupied by them as dwelling
places and hunting grounds, free from encroachment from the whites. The gov-
ernment also reserved the right of constructing certain roads through the
Indian Territory, and the possession of six miles squares, contiguous to all
its military posts on the Northwestern frontier.
   Though there were thus nominally peaceful relations between the United
States Government and the chiefs of these tribes, still there were malcon-
tents on both sides, who paid no regard to treaties. They were equally sa-
vage, and their atrocities were equally fiend-like. In the month of March, 
1785, a lawless band of Shawanese Indians crossed the Ohio, burned the house
of a Mr. Elliott, killed him and took his scalp. In some way, members of his
family escaped, carrying the tidings to other settlements, exciting great
indignation and alarm. The main object of these marauding bands of Indians
seems to been not so much to take scalps as for the purpose of stealing hor-
ses. In parties of three or four, these gangs of savage horse-thieves, ever
at home in the wilderness, would cross the Ohio, skulk in concealment around
some settlement, and in the morning several of these valuable animals have
disappeared, no one knew where. Not an Indian would have been see, and all 
traces of the direction of their flight would have been carefully concealed.
   Towards the close of 1786, these depredations became so frequent, that 
the settlements were very seriously disturbed and injured by them. The horse
had become an absolute necessity in the agricultural operations and the so-
cial habits of the country. But no man was safe in the possession of this
property. The horses must graze in the open fields. The farmer could not 
guard them, gun in hand, night after night. The prowling savage, having 
watched his chances from his covert by the light of day, in the dead hour of
darkness and sleep seized his booty, and when the morning dawned was far away
beyond pursuit.
   It was no uncommon occurrence for a party of five or six Indians after an
absence of a week or ten days, to return to their rendezvous with ten or 
fifteen horses. Sometimes each individual would bring in one every night, 
until their complement was full. These free rangers of the forest, descend-
ing from the Valleys of the Great and Little Miami, the Scioto, and others
of the Ohio Rivers, would penetrate Western Virginia, Pennsylvania and Ken-
tucky, often extending their raids two or three hundred miles. They moved in
silence and unseen, like spirits of darkness, leaving no indication of their
coming or going, save in the disappearance of the horses. It is said that
during the five years preceding 1791, these frontier settlements had been
robbed of not less than twenty thousand horses. And these estimates were 
based on authentic information.
   To prevent, as far as possible, these depredations and to discover the
trail of these thieving bands, each settlement employed scouts or rangers to
be continually traveling the forest around in search for any signs of the 
Indians. Thus in the midst of nominal peace, the most cautious measures of 
war had to be adopted. Though these rangers made every possible effort to 
search out the trail of the marauders, yet the savages were so cautious that
it was very seldom that any of their movements were discovered. It was as-
certained that the most active of these plunderers came from the upper waters
of the Sandusky, and of the Great and Little Miami.
   They infested the banks of the Ohio River, continually attacking and 
plundering the boats descending to different points on the Kentucky shore.
Frequently whole families were massacred.
   It is estimated that during the years of 1783 and 1784, twelve thousand
persons, mainly from Virginia and Pennsylvania, emigrated to Kentucky. The
following incidents will show the perils they had to encounter, and the 
caution with which it was necessary to move.
   Colonel Thomas Marshall, a man of much distinction in those days, crossed
the Alleghenies with his large family. At Pittsburgh he purchased a flat-
bottomed boat, to float down the Ohio. He had passed the mouth of the Kenhawa
without encountering any incident of note. One night, about ten o'clock the 
boat had drifted quite near the northern or Ohio bank of the stream, when he
was hailed in English by a man upon the shore, who inquired who he was, and
where he was bound. Upon receiving a reply he added:
   "I have been stationed here by my brother, Simon Girty, to warn all boats
of the dangers of being decoyed ashore. My brother regrets very deeply the
injury he has inflicted upon his countrymen. To convince them of the sincer-
ity of his repentence, and of his earnest desire to be restored to their
society, he has stationed me here to warn all boats of the snares which are
spread for them by the cunning of the Indians. Renegade white men will be
placed upon the banks, who will represent themselves as in the greatest dis-
tress. Even children, taken captive, will be compelled, by threats of tor-
ture, to declare that they are all alone upon the shore, and to entreat the 
boats to come and rescue them. But keep in the middle of the river, said 
Girty, and steel your hearts against any supplications you may hear."
   Colonel Marshall thanked him for his warning, and floated unmolested down
the stream. This caution was by no means a needless one. There were many
incidents like the following. A boat was descending the stream with an emi-
grant family on board. A band of prowling Indians discovered it and following
along, in concealment, through the forest, watching an opportunity for its
capture. The large flat-bottomed boat, almost an ark, containing the family, 
their cattle and all their household goods, touched at a point of land for a 
supply of fuel. The Indians, in ambush, fired upon their victims, and then
rushing upon them with the tomahawk, soon silenced all in death except one
girl of fourteen. They took her captive, and began to ascend the stream in
search of another boat. At length they saw one descending the river.
   They gave their captive some dreadful experience of what were horrors of
the Indian torture, and then told her that they would thus torture her to
death, unless she would implicitly obey their directions. They tied her feet,
so that she could not plunge into the river, placed themselves in ambush, at
a distance of but a few yards, and then compelled her to cry as though her
heart were breaking, and to tell a piteous story, that she was descending
the river in a boat, with all her family, that she had escaped in the night,
and that she was almost dead of hunger and of terror lest she should be re-
captured. And then, in the most heart-rending tones, she entreated them to
come to her rescue.
   The agonizing cries of the poor child touched every heart. With much hes-
itation they cautiously moved towards the shore. The moment the bows of the 
boat touched the beach a deadly fire was opened upon them from the ambush; 
the howling, leaping savages rushed with gleaming tomahawks upon their vic-
tims, and the fiend-like deed of blood and death was soon accomplished. All
perished.
   About the same time Captain James Ward was taking several horses down the
river for sale. He purchased at Pittsburgh a large flat-bottomed boat, forty-
five feet long and eight feet wide. His crew consisted of half a dozen men 
and a lad, his nephew. The gunwale of the boat was composed of a single pine
plank, about two inches thick. It was a lovely season of the year, and as the 
boat glided gently along through enchanting scenery, everything presented an
aspect of peace and loveliness. There was nothing to mar the enjoyment of the
hours save the dread which man had of his brother man.
   Several sunny days thus passed away as the boat floated along, past mea-
dows and headlands and forests, which seemed to have been created by God for
blissful homes. One morning, as they had been swept by the stream within
about one hundred and fifty feet of the northern shore, suddenly several 
hundred Indians appeared upon the bank, and uttering savage yells, opened upon
them a terrible fire from their rifles. There was no protection for the horses, 
and soon every one was shot. Some were instantly killed; others, severly 
wounded, kicked and struggled so violently in death agonies, that the frail
and heavily-laden boat dipped water, threatening to engulf all together. In
the conflict Captain Ward's nepher, pierced by a ball in the breast, fell
dead in the bottom of the boat. All the crew, except Captain Ward, were so 
panic-stricken by this sudden and fierce assault, that, as the only refuge
from otherwise certain death, they threw themselves flat upon their faces
in the bottom of the boat, among the convulsed animals, while a storm of 
bullets swept over them. It was in vain for six men to attempt resistance, 
when even a hand exposed would be a target for a hundred rifles. Fortunately
there was a heavy post attached to the gunwale of the boat, which afforded
Captain Ward some protection as he stood at the helm. With his oar, which
he used as a rudder, he endeavored to guide the boat to the other side of the
river. As the savages had no canoes, they could not attempt to board, but 
for more than an hour they ran along the banks of the stream, yelling, and
keeping up a constant discharge of their rifles. At length the current swept
the boat beyond their reach, and the wretched, with howls of rage, abandoned
the pursuit and disappeared.
   We will relate another incident illustrative of the perils which in those
days attended the navigation of the beautiful Ohio, where peace and plenty
now hold their happy reign. A gentleman by the name of Rowan, with his own, 
and five other families, wished to emigrate to Green River, which was some 
distance below the Falls of the Ohio. For the long voyage they constructed
two very large flat-bottomed boats; one for the families, and the other for 
the cattle and furniture. As these boats would have no storms to encounter, 
and were merely to float along upon the current of the stream, they were 
frail in their structure, being scarcely more than floating rafts with gun-
wales three feet high.
   The boat which contained the families had quite a commodious cabin, or 
hut, in the stern, made of rough boards, which afforded entire protection 
from both wind and rain. Here they cooked their food, and slept. In the sunny
days they had nothing to do but to float along, admiring the beautiful scen-
ery, with occasional opportunities to shoot ducks upon the river, or a deer
or turkeys upon the banks.
   A canoe was attached to the massive boat, with which they could easily
fetch in their game. One can hardly imagine a voyage of hundreds of miles
more delightful than was here presented. There was no sea-sickness, no danger
from storms, no toil, shelter from all unpleasant exposure, and an abundant
supply of food.
   The two boats had floated about one hundred miles, through an uninhabited
region of great loveliness, when one night, about ten o'clock, their atten-
tion was arrested and their fears excited by prodigious shouting and yelling
of Indians farther down the river, on the northern shore. Soon as they roun-
ded a bend in the stream they came in full view of the scene of carousal. It
would have been very beautiful, had it not been for the terrible apprehensions
which it had excited.
   In a grove on the river banks, beneath whose majestic trees there was no
underbrush whatever, there was an encampment of several hundred Indians. 
Immense bonfires were blazing, and the savages were dancing around them, 
feasting and shouting in the celebration of some great festival. It after-
wards appeared that they had seized and plundered an emigrant boat, and in
their orgies, were exhulting over their victory. Mr. Rowan immediately or-
dered the two boats to be lashed firmly together; and then the men strained
every nerve, with their immense oars, to push the boat as far as possible 
over towards the Kentucky shore. The faint hope was cherished that in the 
darkness, and under the shadow of the cliffs, the boats might possibly glide
by unseen.
   There were hundreds of Indians on the shore. There was a fleet of birch
canoes upon the beach. The Indians were all armed with rifles, and knew well
how to use them. The camp fires extended along the grove for a distance of 
nearly half a mile. Of the six families in the emigrant's boat, there were
but seven men capable of offering any resistance to the Indians - the re-
mainder were women and small children. As the boats glided noiselessly along,
the Indians, all absorbed in their carousal, did not discern them till the
great central fire, which threw its brilliance across the whole breadth of 
the river, brought them clearly to view. A simultaneous shout from hundreds
of savage throats greeted this discovery. The warriors, seizing their rifles,
rushed to their canoes. The situation of the emigrants seemed utterly des-
parate. What could seven men do to repel an assault from several hundred
savages completely surrounding them in their swift canoes.
   Fortunately it wa a moonless night, and very dark. In a few moments the 
current swept them beyond the illumination of the camp fires into a region
of midnight darkness. As the boats, crowded with Indians, came rushing down
upon them, the emigrants' boat could be discerned only at the distance of a
few rods. The Indians are very brave when they can fight from behind a 
rock, tree, or stump, but they are very timid when they must present their
unprotected breasts to the sure aim of the white man. They did not know but
that there were fifty of these sharp-shooters in these two immense boats. 
They did not know but that the gunwales of the boats were bullet-proof and
so port-holed that the white men in safety could take their aim. And they 
did know that these white men, were they more or less in number, would fight
in the utmost desparation, and that the frail birch - bark canoes afforded not
the slightest protection against their bullets.
   Mr. Rowan ordered all the men to conceal themselves behind the gunwales of
the boats, and to keep perfect silence. Not a gun was to be fired until the 
Indian at whom it was discharged was so near that the powder would burn him.
Thus every shot was to be the certain death of a warrior. The boat was still
rapidly floating down the stream, when the noise of the paddles and the yells
of the warriors announced the near approach of a fleet of canoes. When they
arrived within about a hundred yards, and could just be discerned through the
darkness, they suddenly slackened the eagerness of their pursuit.
   Every warrior seemed to feel that his bosom was the target for fifty rifles.
They perceived at once that under the circumstances in which they were placed,
that every flash of a rifle would be the death of some one of their number; 
that bullet holes in their canoes would sink them; that all the canoes were 
so filled that those warriors struggling in the water in midnight darkness, 
could not be taken into any of the others. It was manifest that with the
rapidity with which these trained riflemen could load and fire, perhaps a
hundred of their warriors might be shot before the prows of their canoes
should touch the boats. And then the force of the white men might be such 
that all their remaining warriors might be drowned or captured. Ignorant as
they were of the numerical weakness of their foes, it was indeed one of those
cases in which the better part of valor was discretion.
   The heroic Mrs. Rowan, as she saw the canoes approaching, supposing that
the savages would endeavor to board the boat, crept quietly around in the
darkness, collected all the axes and placed one by the side of each man, 
leaving the handle against his knee. She performed this significant act in 
silence, speaking not a word. She then returned to the post of defense which
she had selected for herself, and sat down with a sharp hatchet at her side.
   The Indians did not venture to approach any nearer. Still they kept up
the pursuit down the river for a distance of nearly three miles, assailing
the white men only with harmless yells. At length, despairing of success, 
they relinquished the pursuit, and returned to their orgies around their
camp-fires. The boat, thus wonderfully rescued, floated on and reached its
destination safely. A son of Mr. Rowan, then but ten years of age, and who
afterwards became one of the most prominent citizens of Kentucky, often in
after years alluded to the emotions excited in his bosom by the scenes of
that terrible night.
   "The gloom of the night, the solemn flow of the majestic river, the dim
line of the forests on either side, the gleam of the camp fires of the In-
dians, around which the half-clad savages were dancing in hideous contortion;
the uneartly yells in which every demoniac passion seemed contending for the
mastery; the shout which was given when they discovered the boats beneath the
shadows of the opposite cliffs; the pursuing of the canoes, with redoubled
vehemence of hooting; the rapidity with which with brawny arms the savages
paddled their boats to and fro; the breathless silence which pervaded the 
flat boat, while for more than an hour the occupants awaited, momentarily
expecting the terrible onset; and, above all, the fortitude and heroism
displayed by his mother, - all these combined to leave an impression upon
the mind of the boy, which could never be obliterated." (Abbott's "Life of 
Daniel Boone)
   The treaty of peace with England was signed in September, 1783. It was, 
however, one or two months before the knowledge of it reached the British
posts on the frontier. A very curious document has been transmitted to us, 
giving an account of the announcement of the fact to a large council of
hostile Indians, on the Wabash, by Mr. Dalton, a government agent, and the
very characteristic response of one of their chiefs, a warrior of great
renown, Piankeshaw by name. Mr. Dalton said:
   "My children: What I have often told you has now come to pass. This day
I received news from my great chief at the Falls of the Ohio. Peace is made 
with the enemies of America. The tomahawk is buried. The Shawanese, the Del-
awares, the Chickasaws and the Cherokees, have taken the Long Knife by the 
hand. They have given up the captives they had taken. My children on the 
Wabash, open your ears, and let what I tell you sink into your hearts. You
know me. Near twenty years I have been among you. The Long Knife is my na-
tion; I know their hearts. Peace they carry in one hand and war in another.
Consider now which you will choose. We never beg peace of our enemies. If
you love your women and children, receive the belt of wampum I present you.
Return to me the captives you have in your villages, and the horses you stole
from my people in Kentucky. Your corn-fields were never disturbed by the Long
Knife, while your warriors were killing and robbing my people."
   Mr. Dalton then presented the chief with a belt of blue and white wampum.
There were several tribes represented on the occasion, but Piankeshaw was
recognized as the head chief of the most powerful tribe. He accepted the em-
blem of peace, and then, with much dignity of manner, replied:
   "My Great Father, the Long Knife: You have been many years among us; you
have suffered by us. We still hope you will have pity and compassion upon us,
on our women and children, the sun shines on us, and the good news of peace
appears in our faces. This is the day of joy to the Wabash Indians. With one
tongue we now speak. We accept your peace belt.
   "We received the tomahawk from the English. Poverty forced us to it. We
were followed by other tribes. We are sorry for it. To-day we collect the 
scattered bones of our friends and bury them in one grve. Here is the pipe
that gives us joy; smoke out of it. We have buried the tomahawk; have formed
friendshiips never to be broken, and now we smoke out of your pipe.
   "We know that the Great Spirit was angry with us for stealing your horses
and attacking your people. He has sent us so much snow and cold weather as
to kill your horses with our own. We are a poor people. We hope that God will
help us, and that the Long Knife will have compassion on our women and chil-
dren. Your people who are with us are well. We shall collect them when they
come in from hunting. We love them, and so do our young women. Some of your
people mend our guns. Others tell us they can make rum out of corn. They are
now the same as we. In one moon after this we will take them back to their
friends in Kentucky.
   "My Father: This being the day of joy to the Wabash Indians, we beg a 
little drop of your milk, to let our warriors see that it came from your
own breast. We were born and raised in the woods. We could never learn to 
make rum. God has made the white men masters of the world."
   Having finished his speech, Piankeshaw presented Mr. Dalton with three
strings of wampum as the pledge of peace. Every reader must be impressed
with the tone of despondency which pervades this address. It also excites
melancholy emotions to observe the imploring tone with which the chief asks
for rum, the greatest curse which ever afflicted his people.