That Dark and Bloody River

by Allan Eckert

  The expedition’s greatest enemy turned out to be hunger. The expected supplies had not arrived, and the beeves herded along with them, poor-quality animals to begin with, were insufficient to sustain them for long. The hides of those killed for food on the march out were stretched over the branches of trees and bushes to dry in the sun and air, to be collected on the return trip, taken back and tanned into leather.

  An engineer from Virginia, Col. William Campbell—better known among the troops as “Swearing” Campbell due to his foul language—was put in charge of construction on the site selected for the new fort, on the west side of the Tuscarawas River two and three-quarters miles downstream from the mouth of Sandy Creek.339 A little over 100 yards from the river itself, the fort was laid out on a level treeless bench of high ground—the highest anywhere in the area, some 40 feet above the normal river level—as protection from the periodical seasonal flooding. The nearest substantial growth of trees was about a half-mile distant, preventing any kind of attacking force from having access to cover close to the fort. This meant that the men had to carry cut timber some distance, but it was considered worth the effort for the added protection. Several good springs some 40 feet from the fort bubbled out of the base of the eminence and drained across a narrow bottom to the river. The north, west and south perimeter walls were built of strong, six-inch-thick hardwood pickets sunk three feet deep and extending straight up 15 feet above ground level. Those walls, on the inside, were lined with cabins and soldiers’ barracks. The longest side of the fort, unpicketed, was along the river, and there was one gate, situated on the west side of the fort. To the right of that gate was a blockhouse, about 20 feet square, that formed a part of the outside wall in place of picketing. The blockhouse was the principal fortification and was constructed to jut beyond the line of the walls, with floor openings so that if Indians approached closely, the garrison could shoot down through these openings directly upon the enemy below. There were portholes all around the blockhouse, about five feet from the floor and three feet apart, through which to fire in case of attack; the roof was sloped toward the interior of the fort. There were two cabins built on each end of the fort in which to store baggage and provisions. These cabins, not quite together, were in a line with the picketing and helped to form the enclosure; these too had overjutting and portholes similar to those at the blockhouse.

  While construction was in progress, a party of some 50 Indians, including women and children, approached under a white flag and requested a council to talk peace. Gen. McIntosh met with them and told them that so long as their intentions were friendly, they had nothing to fear from the fort or the soldiers gathered here.

  Through his interpreter, Gen. McIntosh asked them the significance of a small mound within sight of the fort. They related that a fearful fight between the Senecas and Wyandots had occurred here in 1755, immediately following Braddock’s defeat. Though they had been allies against Braddock’s army, when they reached this point on their return, an old feud between them had reignited. It promised to be a fearful and devastating battle, and to prevent that, an old chief of the Senecas named Ogista proposed that each side select its 20 best warriors and let them fight it out in a single hand-to-hand combat. It was agreed to, and each side held its war dance and sang its death songs, and the battle was begun. Thirty-nine brave warriors met their death in the carnage that followed, and at its end the only one left alive was Gahnele, the son of Ogista, who approached, congratulated him on his skill and courage and then struck him down with a tomahawk. The 40 dead were then buried in a single grave. A great feast was held to commemorate the dead—both sides participating joined—and then the hatchet was buried between the tribes, never to be raised again.

  It was evident that part of the reason the Indians had come to see the Americans here was that they expected presents and provisions. There were not enough to give them either, and the Indians finally left peaceably enough but obviously disgruntled. So short were provisions, in fact, and so poor the cattle, that during the last nine weeks of construction, the entire force was placed on very limited daily rations—four ounces of not very good flour and eight ounces of poor beef per man.340

  The fort was finished by the end of November and named Fort Laurens by Gen. McIntosh in honor of his close friend, Henry Laurens, who was the first president of the Continental Congress.341 Col. John Gibson was placed in command of the new fort, and 150 men of his own regiment made up the garrison. They were ordered to remain six months, at the end of which time they would be relieved by others.

  The remaining men started back toward Fort McIntosh. So critically short were supplies at Fort Laurens that each of those departing was provided with only one day’s rations for the march back. By the third day they were ravenous—so hungry, in fact, that when they passed the cowhides they had spread over branches to dry on their way out, they cut the hides into strips, then roasted and ate them for what little sustenance they could provide. Sam Brady was one of the lucky ones: He rescued an Indian squaw along the way who was being ill treated by some of the militia, ordered the soldiers away and escorted her a short distance until she was out of danger of further molestation. She could speak a little English and told Brady her name was Hannah. In gratitude, she presented him with three small bags of parched corn, which helped sustain him on the return march.

  On arrival at Fort McIntosh, it was discovered that a few supplies had arrived, and each man was allowed to draw two days’ provisions and a half-pint of whiskey, both of which were disposed of in record time. More supplies were reported on the way, and as soon as they arrived, a pack train of provisions would be made up and dispatched to Fort Laurens. Nevertheless, there was hardly enough food to keep that garrison going for more than a few weeks and considerable doubt that the outpost garrison could survive very long after that.

  The news awaiting them from elsewhere on the Ohio River frontier was not encouraging except that from the Illinois country. Everywhere, it seemed, the Indians had stepped up their attacks. Simon Kenton had been captured by the Shawnees while returning from a spying mission to Chalahgawtha, and his companion, Alexander Montgomery, had been slain.342 Daniel Boone—who had been given the Indian name of Sheltowee—had finally escaped from his captivity among the Shawnees and warned the remaining Kentucky settlements to brace for a major assault presently in the making.343 That attack had come—a tough, long-lasting siege that resulted in many deaths on both sides. Raids against isolated settlers and small forts in the Kanawha Valley had increased considerably, and in most places everywhere on the frontier it was an extremely perilous time.

  The only really good news was that George Rogers Clark, with his little band of 175 men, had actually captured both Kaskaskia and Cahokia and had taken possession of the Illinois country from the British. Whether he could hold it was another matter, since word had also come that Gen. Hamilton had led a force out of Detroit and was heading for Vincennes on the lower Wabash, from which point he would undoubtedly, aided by numerous Indians, launch a major counterattack against Clark next spring.

  [January 30, 1779—Saturday]

  The situation at Fort Laurens had gone from bad to worse, and there was every indication this was only the beginning.

  The small amount of provisions left by Gen. McIntosh when he returned with the majority of his force to Fort McIntosh was quickly depleted, despite the strict rations imposed by Col. Gibson. The specter of starvation haunted them all, eased only when an express arrived from the general saying that a shipment of supplies was being readied and would soon be transported to Fort Laurens in a packhorse convoy escorted by a small detachment under Capt. John Clarke of Col. Brodhead’s Eighth Pennsylvania.

  Several times Capts. Samuel Brady and Peter Parchment had slipped out of the fort in an effort to kill some deer or other game animals to augment the meager amount of food remaining. Not only had game been very scarce, but they had been fired upon by Indians and driven back to the fort without bagging anyt
hing for their efforts. Before long, just one barrel of largely spoiled flour was the only food remaining for the entire garrison of 150. At about that time a large party of Indians assembled and began ineffectually firing at the fort from a distance; some of them rolled logs before them to provide cover closer to the walls. The firing went on sporadically for a week or more, some days fairly heavily, other days without any.

  On one bitterly cold day, the number of Indians beyond the walls of Fort Laurens increased substantially. They seemed as hungry as the men inside and, calling loudly from a distance, demanded food. At first the response was that they would be given nothing, but when ever more showed themselves until their numbers reached near 500, Col. Gibson, knowing the Indian temperament very well, decided it would be worth the gamble to give them that last remaining barrel of flour in the belief it might make them disperse, at least temporarily. He read them correctly. As the garrison watched with dismay, late in the afternoon that final barrel of flour was rolled out 100 yards or so and left there. Gibson issued strict orders that no one was to shoot any Indians who approached it, but none of the warriors did before nightfall. In the morning the barrel was gone, but hundreds of Indians were still hovering about. That was when Sam Brady’s Delaware friend, John Thompson, told Col. Gibson he thought, if given a chance, he could make them go away. Gibson, who had known John Thompson for many years and trusted him implicitly, gave him permission to try.

  The gate was briefly opened, and John Thompson walked boldly out to near where the Indians were congregated and mounted a stump. “Listen!” he shouted. “You are fools to go out and fight against the American Congress! Go home! You stand out here cold and hungry, while inside the fort we have plenty of provisions, plenty of men, plenty of ammunition—enough to kill you all if you continue this way. Fools! Go home!” He looked back and forth across them imperiously for a moment and then repeated, “Go home!”

  Then he hopped down from the stump and returned to the fort. Incredibly, by the time he got there most of the Indians had disappeared from sight. A few minutes later a lookout in the blockhouse reported he could see them moving off, and within minutes after that they were gone.

  John Thompson could not have been prouder of himself. He strutted about within the fort, tittering with his peculiar laughter that so amused the men and boasting extravagantly of how he had frightened off the savage horde. “Five hundred warriors!” he chortled. “Five hundred! With all my words, I scare them. I tell them all ‘Go home!’ and they all go! My name no longer John Thompson. My name now Scare the World!” To show that he meant it, he no longer responded when addressed as John Thompson, only when the new name he had chosen was used.

  Whether it was because of what Scare the World had said or not, the Indians did seem to have disappeared, but the hunger of the men inside the fort had not, and now matters were becoming desperate. On January 21 Brady and Parchment were grimly preparing to go out again to try to bring in some deer when word spread swiftly through the garrison that the small, long-expected supply convoy under Capt. Clarke and his escort of a sergeant and 14 men had finally come into view. A great exultation arose in the garrison as the convoy neared and, despite the colonel’s order for them to hold their places, they threw open the gates and tumultuously rushed out to meet the packhorse train, yelling in delight and firing their guns as they did so. Their actions panicked the packhorses, which reared, bucked and bolted; the majority threw off their packs, scattering and losing much of what had been brought.

  The men, subdued by what they had done, picked up what they could recover and carried it into the fort. Though the sum amount was not as much as they had anticipated, there was enough to sustain them for perhaps a month to six weeks longer. Angered by such behavior, Col. Gibson had the supplies locked in storage cabins and doled out only enough for each man to have a good meal. After that, he told them, they would again be on strict rations, and if ever again they disobeyed orders in such a manner, he would have every perpetrator placed in irons and court-martialed.

  The following day, armed squads were sent out to try to locate and recover the packhorses that had run off. All but two were found and brought in, and it was believed that the missing ones might have been caught by Indians who were still hovering about.

  The next day—January 23—Capt. Clarke and his 15 men, packhorses in tow, set off on the return trip to Fort McIntosh, carrying dispatches to Gen. McIntosh telling of the recent attacks and of the need for reinforcement as well as more food and ammunition. They had traveled only three miles when they were attacked by a mixed party of 17 Wyandots and Mingoes, this group accompanied by Simon Girty, dressed in Indian garb but recognized by one of the soldiers.344 Two soldiers were killed in the first firing, and the remainder fought their way back to the fort, with one packhorse killed on the way. A new general attack against the fort was commenced as more and more Indians made their appearance.

  Col. Gibson, under cover of darkness two nights later, sent an express to Gen. McIntosh with news of what had happened and a plea for help. Just over a mile away, the messenger was taken prisoner by Girty and his party and was immediately taken to Detroit, along with the dispatches he was carrying.

  [February 9, 1779—Tuesday]

  Maj. James Lernoult, acting commander of Detroit, listened carefully to the report of Simon Girty. The three American prisoners the Indian agent had brought with him to Detroit had been incarcerated and would be questioned later. At the moment, having already read the captured dispatches and letters, Lernoult was far more interested in what Girty had to say.

  “As you can see, Major,” Girty said, indicating the dispatches the officer had just placed to one side on his desk, “the garrison at Fort Laurens is small and weak. They have few provisions and no artillery. The Wyandots on the Sandusky are ready to hit them, but they need ammunition, food, coats, what-all. You let me take some to them and send along one of your officers to observe, and he can tell you how they behave. They’re damn wicked fighters, Major. Support ’em, and they’ll take the whole damn upper Ohio for you.”

  They discussed it further, and Lernoult made his decision. He would send the necessary supplies and Capt. Henry Bird as observer.345 If Bird’s report was favorable, it was altogether possible greater British support would be forthcoming, not only in supplies and ammunition but in regular troops and artillery.

  [February 23, 1779—Tuesday]

  A general impression prevailed among the garrison in Fort Laurens that the majority of the Indians had moved off. The siege had been maintained against them for over a month now, and the supply of firewood in the fort was almost depleted. Late yesterday afternoon Col. Gibson ordered a fatigue party to go out after some—four of the 18 men to lead packhorses and cut and gather wood to be carried in, the remaining 14 riflemen to guard them. When finished, they were to take the packhorses and go to Fort McIntosh for supplies, then return with them. Capt. Benjamin Biggs was officer of the day, and as soon as he learned of the assignment—and hoping to have the opportunity of returning, however briefly, to Fort McIntosh—he presented himself to the commander.

  “Sir,” he said, “I would like your permission to accompany the fatigue party in the morning and lead them to Fort McIntosh and return.”

  “Permission denied,” Col. Gibson replied, shaking his head. “When I have occasion for a captain’s command, I will thank you to command them. At present you will attend to your duty in the fort.”

  Just after sunrise this morning, the lookouts having ascertained that there was no sign of Indians about, the fatigue party, led by a sergeant, left the fort by the west gate and headed for the half-mile-distant woods to the southwest. They had hardly entered it, however, when a large party of Wyandots, Chippewas and Mingoes poured a devastating fire at them from ambush. In a few moments, 16 of the 18 men were killed and the remaining two captured. The bodies of the dead were quickly scalped and their weapons and all valuables taken, along with the four packhorses.

&nbs
p; Immediately following this, some 200 more Indians, largely Wyandots, appeared and once again commenced a general firing at Fort Laurens. The siege was obviously not yet over, and now the men inside were beginning to believe they would never leave this godforsaken outpost alive.

  [February 25, 1779—Thursday]

  Once again George Rogers Clark had pulled off a coup that stunned the entire frontier.

  Informed by his spies that Gen. Henry Hamilton had moved down from Detroit to Vincennes with 30 regulars and 50 French volunteers and that he had a great number of the Indian tribes aligned with him, it was only too apparent to Clark that Hamilton would launch an attack against him at Kaskaskia as soon as the season permitted, which would probably be sometime in late March or April. He had no intention of letting that happen.

  On January 30 he called a council of his officers and laid out a plan that initially shocked them but that they quickly accepted with enthusiasm. In the midst of the very worst of the winter season, they would march cross-country the approximate 160 miles, take Vincennes by surprise and force Hamilton to surrender. It was a bold and dangerous plan, and Clark would not force anyone to go; he would accept only volunteers. He had no trouble getting them, and a large bateau named Willing was prepared to carry the heavy baggage, including two four-pounder cannons, four swivels and ammunition. Under the command of Lt. Rogers and with 46 men aboard, they would go down the Mississippi to the Ohio mouth, then upstream to the mouth of the Wabash and finally form a union with Clark’s 170 cross-country volunteers.

  The bateau force left Kaskaskia on February 4, and the following day Clark put his ground troops in motion. Nineteen phenomenally grueling days later—having marched in water much of the way, often to their waists or deeper in the frigid waters of streams and marshes—they arrived at Vincennes. The Willing had not yet arrived, and with his men so punished by the elements, Clark did not dare to wait for it to get there but pushed on with the ground force.346 There was a brief fight as they got to the fort, but Hamilton, deserted by his Indian allies, realized he had no choice but to surrender, and he did so. His troops were allowed to take their personal baggage and leave, but Clark held Hamilton prisoner and took possession of the fort, Vincennes and the Wabash Valley. Many of the Indians in the southern Illinois and Indiana countries now sued for peace, fearful in the extreme of a small army of men that could do what Clark’s force had done.