OHIO STATEWIDE FILES OH-FOOTSTEPS Mailing List *********************************************************************** USGENWEB NOTICE: These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced in any format for profit or presentation by other organization or persons. Persons or organizations desiring to use this material, must obtain the written consent of the contributor, or the legal representative of the submitter, and contact the listed USGenWeb archivist with proof of this consent. The submitter has given permission to the USGenWeb Archives to store the file permanently for free access. *********************************************************************** OH-FOOTSTEPS-D Digest Volume 99 : Issue 638 Today's Topics: #1 Abbott's History of Ohio - Chapter ["Maggie Stewart" To: OH-FOOTSTEPS-L@rootsweb.com Message-ID: <002f01beef2e$bf4421c0$0300a8c0@local.net> Subject: Abbott's History of Ohio - Chapter 11 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Transcribed by Kay L. Mason Chapter XI Disaster and Revenge There were but fifty men in the garrison at Boonesborough. They were assailed by a body of Indian warriors, outnumbering them more than eight to one. These savages were led by the renowned Shawanese Chieftain, Blackfish, who had adopted Boone as his son, and who was tremendously exasperated against him, for his ungrateful escape from so loving a father. The British commander had but very slight control over these wild men. He could supply them with the best of the weapons of war, and through their Chieftain, guide their general movements, but there his authority ended. Still the alliance of sav- age ferocity, with British intelligence, was dreadful. Captain Duquesne, as before mentioned, was acting under instructions from Governor Hamilton. This induced Boone to accede to his proposal of holding a council to confer respecting a treaty of peace. He, however, having spent his life among the Indians, was far better acquainted with their character, than was Duquesne. He knew full well that if his father-in-law, the Chief- tain, Blackfish, mediated perfidy, Duquesne had no power whatever to arrest his uplifted hand. He therefore, to guard against treachery, appointed the place of meeting at but one hundred and twenty feet distant from the fort, upon a spot which would be perfectly commanded by its rifles. Every man in the garrison was secretly placed in position, with guns loaded and primed, to take fearful vengeance upon the enemy, if any perfidy were attempted. In addition to this, he selected to accompany him nine of the most muscular and athletic men under his command, each one of whom was more than a match for the most powerful of the Indians. The terms proposed by Captain Duquesne were liberal, and it is by no means certain that he intended to be guilty of any dishonor. They were such as ought to have been satisfactory to any fair-minded Englishman. Colonel Boone therefore thought it not improbably that he might be sincere in the sugges- tion. The only object of the British government was, to bring the colonists back to their allegiance to the crown. But the Indians, on the warpath, were like wolves who had lapped blood rushing towards the sheep-fold. They were not only eager to drive the colonists back from their hunting-grounds, but they wished to load themselves with the plunder of their dwellings - to obtain glory by the exhibition of their scalps, and to gratify their savage natures by the shrieks which torture could extort from their prisoners at the stake. Boone, and his little band of hardy pioneers, had for years been buried in the depths of the wilderness, hundreds of miles west of the Allegheny Mountains. They could know very little of the controversy which had arisen between the colonists and the mother country, and could take but little personal interest in the quarrel. They had always regarded the British King as their lawful sovereign. When, therefore, Captain Duquesne proposed that they should take the oath of allegiance to the king, they were not particu- larly averse to doing so. And even should it be insisted that they should abandon Boonesborough, and return, unmolested with their possessions, to their old homes and friends east of the mountains, this was far preferable to remaining in the wilderness to be attacked by thousands of merciless sav- ages, abundantly provided with the munitions of war from British arsenals. The commissioners on both sided appeared at the appointed time and place, as usual entirely unarmed. After brief discussion, a treaty was drawn up and signed, allowing the inmates of the fort to withdraw with all their trans- portable property, under the pledge of protection from harm. While the con- ference was going on, the watchful eye of Boone observed that a large number of Indian warriors, the old chieftain Blackfish among them, who seemed to be listlessly loitering around, were gradually approaching the place of council. As the ceremony of signing the treaty was proceeding, they drew near, as if lured by curiosity alone. He noticed that Blackfish regarded him with an exceedingly unamiable expression of countenance. As soon as the sig- natures were attached to the articles, the old chief stepped forward and said, in the most pompous styly of Indian eloquence, that the bravery of the two armies were equal, and that he and his warriors desired only peace and friendship with all the white men. He closed his long harangue with the words: "It is the invariable custom with the Indian braves to ratify every im- portant treaty by shaking of hands. On such occasions, in token of our en- tire fraternity, two red men shake hands with each white man, one Indian taking the right hand, and the other the left at the same time." This very shallow pretense was, of course, at once comprehended. It was scarcely up to the sagacity of ordinary children. Blackfish supposed that two savages grappling, at the same moment, the hand of one of the garrison, would be able to at least to make him a prisoner. Thus the whole nine would be captured. Then, by binding them to stakes, piling the fagots around them, and threatening them with death by the most cruel tortures, in face of the whole garrison, they might compel the surrender of the fort. The precautions of Colonel Boone had prepared him for the emergency. No two savages could drag away any one of the burly pioneers whom he had brought with him from the fort. And there were forty unerring riflemen ready to strike down, in an instant, forty warriors, should the crime be attempted. They had also other guns ready at their sides to repeat, with scarcely an instant's cessation, the volley of death. Boone, assuming to be satisfied of their honesty, assented to the arrange- ment. The grasp was given. Instantly the fiend-like savages raised the war- whoop, as they endeavored to drag off their victims. Terrible was the scene that ensued. Eighteen savages had seized nine white men. Without one moment's delay the report of forty rifles was heard, and nearly every one of those eighteen warriors dropped in his blood. The intended victims were thus re- leased from their clutches. At the same moment more than four hundred savage warriors made the welkin resound with their yells, as they rushed forward to seize those whom they supposed to have been captured. But the soldiers, pro- tected by the incessant fire of their comrades, on swift feet reached the fort in safety; only one, the brother of Colonel Boone, being slightly woun- ded. We have no means of knowing whether the British officer was ashamed of the perfidy of his savage allies. We simply know that Captain Duquesne and Chieftain Blackfish immediately combined all their energies in the prosecu- tion of the seige. They divided the savage army into two forces of about two hundred and twenty men each. They had an abundant supply of ammunition, and, for nine days and nights, they kept up almost an incessant fire upon the fort. This fort, so important in the early history of the great valley, was built upon the left bank of the Kentucky River, not far from the center of the state. It consisted of several log huts, so arranged as to enclose a square of about one acre of ground. The spaces between the log houses were filled with palisades of stout timbers planted closely together, and about twelve feet high. These palisades and walls were bullet-proof. The fort was built so near the river that one of the angles reached into the river, fur- nishing them thus an unfailing supply of water. Each of the corner houses projected a little, so that from the port-holes any assailant could be shot who should approach with ladder or hatchet. It was really an artistic struc- ture, and presented a very formidable obstacle to any foe who should attack it without artillery. Colonel Boone, describing the scene from the moment when they presented their hands to the savages, writes: "They immediately grappled us. But although surrounded by hundreds of savages, we extricated ourselves from them, and all escaped safe into the garrison except one, who was wounded by a heavy fire from their army. They immediately attacked us from every side, and a constant heavy fire ensued between us, day and night, for the space of nine days. In this time the ene- my began to undermine our fort. They began at the watermark and proceded in the bank some distance, which we understood by their making the water muddy with the clay. We immediately proceeded to disappoint their design, by cut- ting a trench across their subterranean passage. The enemy discovering our countermine, by the clay we threw out of the fort, desisted from that stra- tegem. Experience now fully convincing them that neither their power nor their policy could effect their purpose, on the twentieth of August they raised the siege and departed. "During this siege, which threatened death in every form, we had two men killed and wounded, besides a number of cattle. We killed thirty-seven, and wounded a great number. After they were gone, we picked up one hundred and twenty-five pounds weight of bullets, besides what stuck in the logs of our fort, which is certainly a great proof of their industry." At one time the Indians succeeded in throwing upon the roof of one of the buildings some flaming combustables attached to an arrow. The roof was almost as dry as powder. The fort was threatened with immediate and fatal conflagra- tion. One of the young men, at the imminent peril of his life, exposing him- self to the fire of the savage sharpshooters, succeeded in extinguishing the flames. All the region directly around the fort was cleared of stumps and trees, so that the rifles of the garrison compelled the assailants to keep at a very considerable distance. The repulse of the savages at Boonesborough greatly disheartened them. They returned, much chagrined, across the Ohio to their home on the Little Miami, without a single scalp to exhibit as the trophy of their expedition. Soon, however, they had an opportunity for petty revenge. Colonel Rogers, an officer of the colonial army, was ascending the river from New Orleans to Pittsburgh, with supplies for that station. He had several boats, protected by a force of between sixty and seventy soldiers. When he arrived near the mouth of the Little Miami, he saw a large number of Indian warriors, decorated with their war paint and well armed, crossing the Ohio River to the Kentucky shore. They were on the march to carry fire and blood to some lonely settle- ment on the frontier. Colonel Rogers, supposing himself to be unseen by the savages, and greatly under-estimating their numbers, resolved to attack them, hoping to take them by surprise. He accordingly landed his men, and was cautiously advancing through the forest, when he suddenly found himself almost surrounded by an overwhelming number of savages, throughly armed with rifles. They fell upon him with great fury. In a few moments, Colonel Rogers himself and sixty of his men were shot down. Two or three only escaped to carry up the river, to the settlements, the sad tidings of the massacre. It was immediately resolved by the colonial authorities to avenge this disaster. Colonel Bowman issued a call for all the frontiersmen, in the var- ious posts and settlements, who were willing to volunteer to punish these Ohio Indians, to rendezvous at Harrodsburgh, a small station about fifty miles west of Boonesborough. A well-armed body of hardy pioneers, three hundred in number, were soon assembled at that point. With rapid march, they directed their steps northward, a distance of more than a hundred miles, before they reached the Ohio River, nearly opposite the present site of Cincinnati. In frail boats, hastily constructed, they crossed the river, and soon entered the Valley of the Little Miami. With cautious but rapid tread, they pressed along in the ascent of the valley, till just before nightfall, about the most important Indian town in the valley. It was determined to divide their forces and attack the town by surprise, just before the dawn of the morning. Colonel Bowman was to attack in front. Colonel Logan, leading a hundred and fifty men, groped his way through the forest to be ready, at a given signal, to attack the foe in the rear. Successfully and undiscovered he accomplished his movement, and was con- cealing his men behind trees, stumps and logs, to await the signal of attack, when the sharp ear of a watch dog caught some unusual sound, and he commenced barking very furiously. The troops were then at the distance of but a few rods from the Indian lodges. A savage came out from his hut, and looking anxiously aroung, came near the concealed troops. One of the party, either by accident of through great impudence, discharged his gun. The savage im- mediately gave an exceedingly shrill war whoop. The Indians lose no time in dressing. In an instant every man, woman and child was out of the lodges. The bewildered warriors were rushing about, preparing to battle an unseen foe. In the dim light Colonial Logan could see the women and children, in a continuous line, fleeing over a ridge to the protection of the distant forest. The Indian warriors, in the display of unexpected military skill - which skill was probably taught them by British instructors in the art of war - immediately gathered in several strong block-houses. These were admirable arranged for defense, being impervious to bullets, supplied with loop-holes, and the ground around so cleared as to afford no protection whatever to an assailing foe. In an instant the whole aspect of affairs was changed. The Indians were in an impregnable position. To advance upon them was certain defeat and cer- tain death. Colonel Logan, greatly chagrined, was compelled to order the im- mediate retreat of his men, that all the troops could be reunited to meet any assault which might be made upon them. The Indian warriors manifested great bravery. As soon as they caught sight of their foes, and saw them on the re- treat, they emerged from the their protecting walls, and, cautiously pursuing, kept up a constant fire upon the rear of the fugitifves. The valiant Black- fish led this band of warriors. The result of the conflict might have been still more fatal than it was, had not a chance bullet struck down the chief in instant death. The warriors were so disheartened by this calamity that they abandoned the pursuit, and returned to their fortress with the dead body of their chief. The colonists, having lost nine men in killed and one severly wounded, continued their flight all that day and the ensuing night, until they had placed the broad Ohio Ri- ver between them and their foes. They then, chagrined and greatly dejected, continuing their retreat, returned to their homes. They had accomplished no- thing, and the savages of the Little Miami were greatly elated by the repulse which they had effected. An instance of individual heroism and suffering which occured about this time, and which is peculiarly illustrative of the nature of this warfare, may be recorded here. Colonel Boone had organized what might be called a corps of explorers, whose business it was to go out, two and two, in various directions through the wilderness, in search of indications of the approach of the Indians. One of these explorers, Simon Kenton, was a very remarkable men, whose achievements as a pioneer and an Indian fighter, ever manifesting the most reckless and desparate bravery, ahd already acquired for him much renown. He had fled from serious difficulties, on the other side of the moun- tains, to the haunts of the savages, and seemed to set but very little value upon his own life. He erroneously thought that, in a quarrel, he had killed a rival lover. In grief and despair he fled from civilization. But the woun- ded man recovered, though he knew it not. He subsequently became, we trust, a true disciple of Jesus Christ, and was one of the prominent actors in lay- ing the foundations of the noble State of Kentucky. It would be difficult for the imagination of any romancer to create a tale more full of wild and wonderous adventure than is to be found in the career of this man. Simon was a boy of but sixteen years of age when he had a quarrel with another young man, by the name of Veach, who was his rival in love. They met, and, after a few words of altercation, had a pitched battle. Simon threw his antagonist to the ground and kicked him in the breast. Veach vomit- ed blood and fainted away. Simon, terrified, raised him in his arms and spoke kindly to him. But receiving no answer, and seeing Veach apparently lifeless, he thought that he was dead. Overwhelmed with grief and remorse, the poor boy fled into the forest, directing his steps to the wildest fast- nesses of the Alleghenies. Ever apprehensive that the officers of justice were after him, he concealed himself by day and traveled by night. Veach, however, soon recovered, having received no serious harm. At length, after innumerable and wonderful adventures, young Kenton reached Fort Pitt in rags and almost starved. Here he took the name of Simon Butler, and was employed as hunter for the fort. He soon recovered equinamity of mind, and, in the congenial employment in which he was then engaged, passed, as he ever afterwords said, the happiest period of his life. He was in perfect health, was blest with a very robust constitution, which gave him great strength and agility, and he found the streams abounding with fish, and the forests and meadows alive with game. Here he spent his time in that happy state of busy idleness which is the great glory of the hunter's life. One cold evening in the month of March, Kenton and two companions had en- camped for the night on the bank of the Kanawha River. They had built a rous- ing fire, had cooked their supper of the most delicious bits of game, and wrapped in bear-skin robes, which were impervious to the cold, they were in the enjoyment, for them, of about as much luxurious indulgence as can be found in this world. The crackling of the fire was music to their ears. Its flame illuminated the flowing river and the sublime forest far and wide. Suddenly the sharp crack of a rifle was heard, which laid one of their num- ber still in death, while the yell of a small band of savages, rushing upon them, echoed through the forest. Kenton and his surviving companion fled like deer, abandoning everything, without even time to catch their rifles. It was, as we have said, the cold and cheerless month of March. They had no means of building a fire; they could take no game; there were no berries. For six days and nights they wan- dered through the forests, barely sustaining life on a few roots. At lenght they reached the Ohio River so enfeebled, so near death, that for the last two days they had been able to travel but one mile each day. Here, fortun- ately, they met a party of hunters descending the Ohio River, by whom they were rescued. During Lord Dunmores war, Simon Kenton accompanied the expedition, dis- charging the difficult and very perilous office of a spy and scout. Upon his return from the war, he set out on a solitary hunting expedition, in the valley of the Elkhorn, one of the tributaries of the Kentucky River. This was, as he supposed, in the very heart of an unpopulated wilderness. One companion only, whose name was Williams, accompanied him. They descended the Ohio River to the present site of Maysville, and there struck directly across the country, a hundred and fifty miles, in a southwest direction, till they reached the valley of this lonely stream, which valley a white man's foot had never trodden, and which the Indian, even, had rarely visited. Here, in this utter silence and loneliness, these strange adventures, enamored with the solitude of the forest, reared a log hut. They found a green and tree- less lawn of a few acres, with a sunny exposure, surrounded by the forest. The crystal stream flowed gently in front of their door. It was the elysium for the hermit. There was fish in the stream, and all kinds of game in their magnificent park. The softly tanned skin of the deer supplied them with every article of clothing, which their own hands easily manufactured. A full supply of fur robes, furnished them with a couch for the night. They probably had one or two horses with them, to convey the necessary camp equipage, for this was the almost invariable custom of the hunter. In the rich pastures of Kentucky the animals would grow fat. With their tomahawks they cut through the sods, and planted their corn. Soon they had the pleasure of seeing the field waving with this most bountiful of growths. They wanted for nothing. Dressed in the Indian costume, with skin browned by exposure, no one could easily distinguished them from the Indians. Indeed, it had become the custom of these hunters, as a precaution against sudden attack, to assume, in full, the disguise of the savage dress. One day Kenton had gone out alone, some miles from the hut, in pursuit of game, when suddenly, in the dense forest, which was free from under-brush, he came upon apparently an Indian, within half rifle shot. Kenton sprang instantly behind a tree for protection. The savage did the same. There they stood, for sometime, peering at each other, and each attempting, by all the arts of Indian manoeuvering, to draw the other's fire. Should one discharge his rifle, without striking his antagonist, the other could easily rush from his covert and shoot him down before he had time to reload. At length Ken- ton's antagonist, who was also a white hunter, in the disguise of an Indian, perceived something in the movement of his foe, which led him to suspect that he might also be in disguise. This led him to shout from his covert, "For God's sake, if you are a white man, speak." An explanation ensued, and the stranger introduced himself as Michael Stoner, of North Carolina. He accom- panied Kenton to his hut, where he spent several days in the enjoyment of its profuse hospitality. It seems that Kenton was entirely unacquainted with the little settlement at Boonesborough, which was about one hundred miles southeast from him, far up the Kentucky River. He had supposed that he and Williams were the only settlers in Kentucky. Stoner conducted Kenton to Boonesborough, and intro- duced him to the heroic Daniel Boone. After a short visit Kenton returned to his hut, on the Elkhorn, where he had left his companion. Here a sad specta- cle was presented to him. The Indians had been there; his hut was in ashes; all its contents had disappeared. Near by there was a stake driven firmly into the ground, surrounded by blackened brands; and charred bones were found among the ashes. This revealed too plainly the awful fate of Williams. Kenton immediately hastened back to Boonesborough, attaching himself to a small band of settlers, who were forming a station at Harrodsburgh. Here he was actively employed as hunter and as ranger, to give warning of the ap- proach of Indians. He had then but just attained the age of full manhood, and is described as remarkably graceful in form and handsome in features. He was over six feet tall, with light hair, a soft blue eye, and with a smile really fascinating. He was capable of the most astonishing endurance. Not long after he repaired to Boonesborough, and became connected, as friend and companion, with Daniel Boone - a congenial spirit. One morning in 1778, Kenton and a companion were leaving the fort on a hunting excursion. Just then two men, who had gone into a field, at a little distance from the fort, to drive in some horses, were attacked by five Indians. The men fled, and were hotly pursued. The savages, in the eagerness of the chase, probably did not perceive Kenton, who was partially concealed behind tall grass and shrubs. One of them overtook one of the white men, struck him down with his tomahawk, and uttering a triumphant yell, was just beginning to scalp him, when a bullet from Kenton's rifle pierced his heart, and he fell dead. The four, witnessing the fate of their leading warrior, turned on their heels in precipitate fight. Daniel Boone, always on the alert, had already emerged from the gate of the littel fortress, at the head of ten men, and with Kenton and his compan- ion, entered into a full pursuio of the savages. But they soon found that the forest was full of the foes. Kenton saw an Indian from behind a tree ta- king deliberate aim at Colonel Boone. Quick as a flash Kenton's rifle was discharged, and the savage dropped dead. He had saved Boone's life. Boone gratefully bowed his acknowledgments. Just then, not a little to their dismay, they heard a yell of a large band of Indians, who had rushed between them and the fort, to cut off their re- treat. Their peril was extreme. Their only possible hope was in a desparate charge through the savages. Boone gave orders for every man to take deliber- ate aim, so that each should be sure to bring down some one of their war- riors, and then to dash through the band with clubbed guns, and reach the fort, if possible. Again it was Kenton's fortune to save his commander's life. The bullet of an Indian broke Boone's leg, and he was helpless. Kenton, with gigantic strength, grasped Boone in his arms, though he were a child, and rushed with him into the fort. All escaped, though of the twelve seven were seriously, though none mortally, wounded. Not long after this event, Kenton and two other men, Montgomery and Clarke, were sent across the Ohio River to ascend the Valley of the Little Miami, to spy out the condition of the Indians there, and to report if they were preparing for any military expedition. Colonel Bowman had been sent from beyond the mountains, with a hundred and forty men, to protect the feeble settlements in Kentucky. Under his orders Kenton and his companions were acting. They reached the Ohio River, and succeeded in crossing the broad and rapid flood unseen. Stealthily they crept through the forest by night, con- cealing themselves by day, until they reached Old Chilicothe. Here they found in an enclosure, just outside of the town, seven well-fed and fine horses. They each mounted an animal, and, not willing to leave any behind, which might aid the Indians in pursuit, by hastily constructed halters led the rest. The tramp of the animals reached the quick ear of the Indians, and soon the whole town was in an uproar. The bold adventurers dashed down the valley at their utmost speed. Thus they drove on through the whole of the remainder of the night, the next day, and the next night. On the morning of the second day they reached the Ohio River, and there the majestic flood rolled before them, its beauty being lost in the gran- deur. A fierce gale was blowing, and the surface of the stream was lashed into angry waves. It was not possible for the horses to swim the stream in so boisterous a wind. Anxious to retain animals so valuable, and thinking they had got so much the start of the Indians that they could not be speedi- ly overtaken, they very imprudently decided to remain on the northern bank till evening, trusting that the gale would abate with the setting sun. But instead of this, as night came on, the storm raged with increasing fury. The next morning Kenton, who chanced to be separated a short distance from his two companions, saw three Indians and one white man, all well moun- ted, close upon him. He instantly raised his rifle, took aim at the breast of the foremost Indian, and pulled the trigger. The powder flashed in the pan. He then endeavored to escape by flight, but was speedily overtaken and captured. The savages seemed greatly exasperated by the loss of their horses. One of them seized him by the hair and shook him "till his teeth rattled." With the utmost scorn he exclaimed, "You horse thief." The others cut swit- ches, and, with savage mercilessness, scourged him over the head and face, crying out at every blow, "You steal our horses, hey? you steal our horses?" Just then Kenton saw his companion, Montgomery, running boldly to his aid. Two Indians discharged their rifles at him, and he fell dead. Probably he sought this death, as his only refuge from torture. He was instantly scalped, and the savages slapped the face of Kenton with the bloody trophy. Clarke, unseen by the Indians, plunged into the forest and escaped. The captors threw their victim, with great violence, to the ground. Pla- cing him upon his back, they fastened his neck strongly to a sapling. His arms, extending to their full length, were bound to stakes, and his feet were pinioned in the same manner. A stout stick was then passed across his breast, and was firmly bound to stakes, and was firmly bound to stakes. Thus fettered, he could scarcely move a muscle of his body. All this was done in the most cruel manner, interspersed with kicks and cuffs. The vagabond In- dians had learned many of the white man's oaths. Kenton was assailed with a shower of these oaths, attached to the words, in broken English, or "tief," "rascal," "hoss tief." Thus bound, and in the endurance of cruel suffering, the unfortunate man passed all that day and the next night. The ensuing morning, the Indians, having collected the scattered horses, commenced their return up the Valley of the Little Miami. They placed their prisoner on a spirited colt, bound his feet under the horse's belly, and tied his hands firmly behind him. The country was rough, with many thickets and brambles. Kenton could do nothing to protect himself. The savages took pleasure in driving the horse through those places where the flesh of their victim would be most severly lacera- ted. When night came, Kenton was again bound to the earth as before. The next day they reached the village of Old Chilicothe. As they were drawing near, a courier was sent forward to announce their approach. The whole village - men, women and children - came rushing out to meet them. The renowned chief Blackfish was there. He came to Kenton with a stout hickory stick, and an- grily said: "You have been stealing our horses, have you?" Kenton, all helpless as he was, knowing that the only way of securing any respect from the savage was to assume a bold air, defiantly replied, "Yes, I have." "Did Colonel Boone," inquired the chief, "tell you to steal our horses?" "No!" Kenton replied. "I did it on my own account." The savage then assailed him with the utmost ferocity, beating him over the head so that the blood streamed down his body. In the meantime the whole crowd was dancing around him with yells of rage. A stake was planted in the ground. He was bound to it without clothing. All united then - men, women and children - in the torture. We are told in the Bible that God created man in his own image, but lit- tle lower than the angels. Fallen man has indeed descended to a very low es- tate. Demons from the pit could not have been worse than were these savages. We will not describe the torture. It was loathsome and horrible. The Indian women were prominent in acting the part of incarnate fiends. The wretched victim was kept at the stake till midnight. Wishing to pro- long his sufferings, they were very careful not to pierce any vital point. Fainting and bleeding, he was carefully guarded in a hut through the night. The next morning he was led out to run the gauntlet. This was one of the principle amusements of the Indians with their captives. Three hundred Indians, of all ages and both sexed, were ranged in two parallel lines, about six feet apart. They were all armed with sticks suf- ficiently stout to give painful but not deadly blows. These lines extended nearly half a mile. Kenton was to run between them while every one struck him, with all his force, in the face, over the head, or whatever he could inflict a blow. If he could thus reach what was called the council-house alive, it would prove to him, for a little time, an asylum. At a given signal Kenton started. He ran for some distance, receiving terrible blows, when he saw, just before him, a savage with a gleaming knife in his hand. The plunge of that knife, or a severe cut from it, would be certain death. He broke through the line, and, pursued by the whole yelling crowd, rushed for the council-house. A burly savage intercepted him, and threw him, in his exhaustion, to the ground. Here they all beset him with blows and kicks and he was left apparently lifeless. A few hours afterwards he partially revived, and some one brought him food and water. He was taken to a hut where, under his marvelous strength of constitution, he slowly recuperated. The Indians then held a council and decided to burn him at the stake. They fixed the place of execution farther up the valley, at an Indian village called Wappatomica, upon the present site of Zanesville, in Logan County, Ohio. At this point there was a British trading post, and here the captive met a friend of former years, the Tory, Simon Girty, who was now, by adoption, an Indian chief. Girty had come, as policy compelled him to do, with swarms of Indians, to witness the torture of the doomed captive. In the mangled condition of Kenton, Girty did not recognize him. But as soon as Kenton made himself known, even the hard heart of Girty was touched with compassion. He interceded for his old friend, urging upon the Indians the policy of pre- serving the life of one who might join them, and who was so intimately ac- quainted with all the white settlements. His plea was unavailing, though he obtained a respite and a removal of the prisoner to Sandusky. The celebrated Indian chief Logan, "the friend of the white men," chanced to be there. He interceded with a British officer, Captain Dwyer, in behalf of Kenton, representing that the prisoner would be of great value to the Governor, at Detroit, in giving him information respecting the location of the colonial settlements and the strength of the garrisons. He represented to the Indians that, by taking Kenton to Detroit, they could get a large ransom for him. For once, avarice prevailed over the love of revenge. Kenton was taken to Detroit, where the commandant paid one hundred dollars for his ransom, and held him as a prisoner of war. Though humanly treated he was carefully guarded. At length he effected his escape through the friend- ly aid of Mrs. Harvey, the wife of one of the British traders of Detroit. It was the 3d of June, 1779, when Kenton, with two fellow prisoners from Ken- tucky, commenced their long and perilous flight through the wilderness to the settlements on the Kentucky River. Mrs. Harvey had secretly concealed for them, in the hollow of a tree, powder, lead, moccasins, and a quantity of dried beef. One dark and stormy night, she met Kenton in the garden, and gave him three excellent rifles, which she had selected from some stacked near the house. To avoid the hostile bands, who were ever traversing the much-frequented route between Detroit and Kentucky, the fugitives took a very circuitous route, down the Valley of the Wabash, in the present State of Indians. They pursued their lonely jour- ney on foot, depending upon their rifles for sustenance. For thirty-three days they did not see the fave of another human being. They they reached the Falls of the Ohio in safety. From this time to the close of the war, Simon Kenton was the inveterate foe of the Indian race. He was never able to forget his wrongs, and was al- ways eager to join in any expedition against those from whom he had suffered so much. He was engaged in many a bloody fight, and the savages often felt the weight of his avenging hand. Upon the conclusion of peace he retired to his farm, near Washington, in Mason County, Virginia. Here he became much endeared to the whole community for his gentle virtues, his warm affections, and his unbounded hospitality. He supposed himself to be quite wealthy; in the possession of large landed estates, and many cattle and horses, and do- mestic stock of various kinds. He was thus in the enjoyment of a green old age when a new storm darkened his path. Ignorant of the technicalities of the law and the intricacies of land titles, he found, to his surprise and grief, that he had no valid title to the lands he claimed. He was nearly fifty years of age. One suit after another was decided against him, and he was reduced to absolute poverty. In the year 1802 he moved across the Ohio River into the region then called the Northwest Territory, and took up his residence in Urbana, many miles above the head-waters of the Little Miami. This region had then been but just reclaimed from the savages. It was far in advance of any of the footsteps of civilization. But Kenton was keenly wounded in his feelings by the unjust treatment which he thought he had received. He felt that he was driven from the land which he had defended against the savages, and for which he had shed his blood and endured the most dreadful tortures. Though poor, and retiring in his habits, he was highly esteemed as a useful member of the slowly growing community. He was subsequently chosen brigadier general in the new military organi- zation of the state. In the year 1810 he found repose, after his stormy life, in the bosom of the Methodist Episcopal Church. He continued a consistant and and beloved member of that communion until his death. In 1820 he re- moved to the head of Mad River, in Logan County, near the site of the old Indian town Wappatomica. This as one of the places where he had encountered, in the year 1779, all the horrors of Indian torture. Here he reared his humble cabin in the midst of a beautiful beech grove. His few wants were mainly supplied by a pension from the Federal Government of twenty dollars a month. The peaceful evening of his life passed tranquilly away in humble poverty, though free from actual want. On the 24th of June, he fell asleep in Jesus. "Peaceful sleep, From which none ever wake to weep." "Thus died," writes McDonald, "Gen. Simon Kenton, in the eighty-second year of his age; a man who, as a western pioneer, passed through more dan- gers, privations, perils and hair-breadth escapes than any man living or dead; a man whose iron nerve never quailed before danger, and whose patri- otism warmed up the evening of his life. After a long life devoted to his country, having passed through a thousand dangers, and having outlived the sufferings of half a dozens deaths, he was permitted to die quietly in his bed at home, in peace and resignation, in the midst of a flourishing settle- ment, where once was the center of the Indian power. His bones repose with- in the bosom of the state which sheltered and protected his declining age, and well does Ohio deserve to retain them." -------------------------------- End of OH-FOOTSTEPS-D Digest V99 Issue #638 *******************************************