by Allan Eckert
Talgayeeta was very tired, having walked all the way from Detroit. He was considerably disgruntled, as well. He had gone to Detroit to get liquor, to which he had become very addicted in the past couple of years. When he was scorned and his wheedling requests refused, he became angry and showed some of the spirit that most thought had been burned out of him.
“If the British won’t give me what I want,” he threatened, “maybe the Americans will. I’ll go see General Clark.”
What concerned British officials was whether or not Talgayeeta still carried enough influence with the Mingoes, as well as with his own Cayugas and other tribes, that in going to the Americans, he would pull those other Indians away from British influence. It was not a matter that could be left to chance.
So now, just as Talgayeeta was approaching his cabin, an unknown assassin slipped up behind him and slammed a tomahawk deep into his brain.
[July 20, 1781—Friday]
It was during his regular patrol begun today from his post at Holliday’s Cove Fort that Capt. Sam Brady detoured out of his way to the Catfish Camp area to visit briefly with the commander, Capt. Andrew Van Swearingen. Actually, that was not entirely true; though there were matters of frontier defense to discuss, what Brady had really come to see was Van Swearingen’s daughter, Drusilla—better known to everyone as Dusy.
She had seemed just a little girl when Brady first saw her three years ago, when Van Swearingen was commanding at Holliday’s Cove Fort, but something had definitely changed. From a gangly, tomboyish 13-year-old, she had blossomed over this past year into a very attractive 16-year-old young lady with a shape that was decidedly more womanly than girlish. Her large blue eyes looked into his own with disconcerting boldness, and her shoulder-length flaxen hair framed well-sculpted features; a young lady who carried herself with self-confidence and little, if any, of the coyness that other young ladies affected, bearing the trademark strength of her Holland Dutch heritage.
Since this remarkable change had occurred in Dusy Van Swearingen, Brady found himself making it a point to just happen to stop by their place a couple of miles from Catfish Camp more often than previously, although until today he would probably have denied that such was the case. Today there was a difference because Dusy was not here, and Brady was surprised at the intensity of disappointment that arose in him.
“Sort of quiet around here these days,” Van Swearingen remarked, as if sensing Brady’s state of mind, “with Dusy gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“Philadelphia. Sent her there for a year to get some of the ashes off. Expect she’ll be ready for some of the young fellows one of these days.”
“When she is, I’ll claim her.” Brady surprised himself with the remark.
“You?” Van Swearingen said. “You’re too old for her, Sam. What are you now, thirty?”
“Twenty-five.”
Andrew Van Swearingen shook his head and chuckled. “Old man. Nine years’ difference. She’s going to want a younger man, closer to her own age, like that boy David Bradford who’s been flitting about lately.”
Bradford was not quite so young as Van Swearingen implied, but his prospects, so far as Van Swearingen was concerned, were certainly better than Brady’s. He was 22, came from a wealthy, stable family in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, and was now quite successfully embarked on his new career as a frontier lawyer. Obviously, Van Swearingen preferred Bradford over Brady for his daughter. Just as obviously, Brady was not particularly concerned about what Capt. Van Swearingen’s preferences were.
“When she comes back,” Brady reiterated, “I’ll claim her.”
[July 30, 1781—Monday]
Billy Boggs, who had just turned 18, was still worried that there would be repercussions for the murder of Killbuck. No one had any proof that he and Lew Wetzel had done it, yet it seemed to be common knowledge, and there were a lot of people on this frontier who, while not having any love for Indians, felt that Killbuck had been useful to them. Certainly, by providing timely intelligence about the movements of the hostile Indians, he had helped the whites on a number of occasions. Unlike Wetzel, who seemed to have no trace of a guilty conscience over what they had done, Billy pondered about it often.
Only once had his father brought it up, simply stating his feelings about the matter and not asking questions. Capt. John Boggs was a stern and straightforward man and, shortly after the incident he had taken Billy aside near their cabin at the Buffalo Creek settlement and spoken to him seriously.
“Folks are saying you and Lewis Wetzel are the ones who tomahawked Killbuck, son,” he said. “Whether he deserved to live or die is a matter of opinion, but no man deserves being killed the way he was killed. That was out-and-out murder and it was wrong. I don’t know whether you had any part in it or not—I don’t want to know, and I’ll not bring it up again. But if you did, then I want you to think about it.”
Billy Boggs did think about it and was feeling progressively more guilty, not only about the murder but over the recent rash of attacks in this area that had left the settlers stunned and, in many cases, grieving over the death or disappearance of loved ones. Several weeks ago Joseph McNulty and James Chambers were captured by a party of nine Indians on the Youghiogheny, and just a few days ago, when Andrew Zane and James Lewis were passing through The Narrows above Grave Creek Flats, some Indians had fired on them from behind the rocks. Zane had been wounded and escaped, but James Lewis had been killed.
Now, having been sent by his father on this foggy morning to drive out the calves that had gotten into the field where they had newly shocked some of the early wheat, Billy wondered as he walked along if maybe those attacks wouldn’t have happened had Killbuck remained alive to perhaps warn the settlements of marauders approaching. He was so steeped in these thoughts that he wasn’t really paying much attention to what was around and didn’t even see the Indians rise from hiding behind the shocks until they had their weapons trained on him and were quickly advancing. He had no choice but to drop his gun and surrender.
The party of a dozen Wyandots, led by the half-breed Sam Gray, relieved him of the knife and tomahawk in his belt and treated him rather roughly, which made Billy fearful that they knew of his complicity in Killbuck’s death. Five of them hustled him off into the woods, while Sam Gray and the other seven headed for the Boggs cabin.423
Inside the cabin were Capt. Boggs and his wife, the other three Boggs youngsters and a visiting 15-year-old neighbor boy, William Cruger, whose left leg was still considerably swollen from having been bitten by a copperhead just after his arrival there three days ago. He had only this morning begun hobbling around, though apparently with great difficulty.
Capt. Boggs happened to glance out of the open cabin door and caught a glimpse of the Indians approaching, dodging from cover to cover. Instantly he slammed the cabin door shut and barred it, then directed his wife and children and Bill Cruger to go out through the back window and run to Newell’s cabin a half-mile distant, where there were half a dozen men. Finally, using all three rifles in the house alternately, he began laying down a covering fire toward the attackers while the family escaped.
The Indians shot at the cabin several times but kept their distance, evidently believing there were several defenders in the cabin. Continuing to reload and fire as rapidly as he could, Boggs held them at bay for about ten minutes, after which he squeezed through the back window also and raced into the woods, heading for Newell’s. The attackers did not follow and, when Boggs reached Newell’s, he discovered that all those who had fled the cabin at his order had made it there all right—but the one who ran the fastest and got there first was the snakebitten William Cruger.424
[August 6, 1781—Monday]
Capt. John Bailey, commanding officer of the post at Vincennes on the Wabash River, was irked with the way his hand was trembling as he dipped his pen to write. He shook the excess ink into the pot and closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself into a calmer state. When he op
ened them again and held the quill pen before his eyes, there was no tremor, and a faint smile touched his lips. He bent to the blank page on the desk before him and began to write to his immediate superior, Col. George Slaughter, commander of Fort Nelson at the Falls of the Ohio—Louisville:
Post St. Vincennes, Augt 6th, 1781
Dear Sir:
I am sorry to inform you of the following news. The boat commanded by Captain Coulson started from this [post] the 11th July, was defeated within 75 miles of the Falls of the Ohio; the Captain was killed and three of his men; several others were wounded. The remainder of the company came back & gave me the unhappy news. They retreated to the mouth of the Wabache [Wabash], left the boat, & came by land, the enemy close in the rear of them.
Four days ago I received news from Detroit that they were much annoyed of the Americans coming against them; also that they [the British garrison at Detroit] were weak, about 100 men, provisions scarce and dear, & goods plenty, the Indians greatly exasperated against them, not meeting with the treatment as they had formerly done.
Sir, I must inform you once more, that I cannot keep garrison any longer without some speedy relief from you. My men have been 15 days upon half allowance. There are plenty of provisions here, but no credit. I cannot press, being the weaker party. Some of the gentlemen would help us, but their credit is as bad as ours. Therefore, if you have not provisions, send whiskey, which will answer as good an end.
I hope, if my express gets in, you will not detain him. Pray use the Indian well, having no other to send. I expect his return in twelve days from this date and for some one man to come with him to this post. It appears that the communication is stopt between Canada and Detroit from the commencement of this year, by account from thence.
Jno Bailey, Captain
[August 9, 1781—Thursday]
The commander of Fort Nelson at Louisville, Col. George Slaughter, took a healthy swig of brandy from the flask on his desk and felt the warmth expand within him. It was comforting—one of the last comforting things still extant at what he considered one of the world’s most godforsaken military posts. He could not remember ever before having plunged so deeply into a state of depression. He was clearheaded enough to realize that in his state of mind he should not write the letter he was about to pen to the new Governor of Virginia, Thomas Nelson, but in this state of mind he also didn’t give a damn. He hoped some of that feeling would get through to the governor and, with that thought, he began to write:
Falls of the Ohio, August 9th, 1781
Sir:
By the bearer, Major Quirk, you will receive information of public affairs in this country, and as the miscarriage and interception of letters are so frequent, I shall forbear to trouble your excellency much on that head.
The situation of my little corps at this place is truly deplorable, destitute of clothing, victuals & money. The commissaries have furnished them with little or no provisions these three months past, nor give themselves the least concern about it, & unless unexpected & immediate supplies of clothing & provisions are obtained, I shall evacuate this post. We are neglected in every respect. No dispatches from Government or Gen. Clark for such a length of time, that patience is almost at an end. In short, Sir, the service here must be painful and disagreeable to any man of sensibility since I have had the honor to command.
I am, Sir, Your Most Obdt Svt
George Slaughter
[August 18, 1781—Saturday]
The more than 300 warriors under the Wyandot chief Monakaduto—Half King—were in the Moravian village of Gnadenhütten on the Tuscarawas and now preparing to use force, since reason had been unavailing.
The old chief, while he had no proof of it, had finally and reluctantly come to the conclusion that Simon Girty was correct and that the Moravian Delawares—or at least their missionaries—must be spying for the Americans and reporting the movements of the hostile Indians, which was the reason so many of the forays had been ambushed or had to be aborted because of the unexpected preparedness of the settlers for the approach of the attacking forces. It was time, Monakaduto felt, that the situation was resolved once and for all; force was now the only recourse.
This present determination had its genesis two months earlier when the confederated northwestern tribes had met in a major council at Chief Coon’s village called Lower Sandusky.425 Here some 800 Indians had assembled to listen to the words of the British agents Alexander McKee, Matthew Elliott and Simon Girty. Two large oxen had been butchered and roasted and a large quantity of liquor had been distributed.
A special honor was paid at that time to Thayendanegea—Chief Joseph Brant of the Mohawks—who had unexpectedly arrived with a contingent of 14 of his warriors. The war in the east had been going badly for them and, ever since the destruction of the Iroquois villages and crops in the very heartland of their country by the army of Maj. Gen. John Sullivan two years ago, they had suffered famine and reversals that had left them diminished and frustrated. But when it was learned that he intended to come to this council, plans had been made to honor him and encourage him to stay in the Ohio country and throw his own warriors and the weight of his influence against the Americans in the continued fighting on the Ohio.
At that council great praise had been heaped upon Thayendanegea, increasing his already substantial prestige, and he was formally presented with a fine green coat decorated with 700 silver brooches. He was also presented with a fine British sword in a scabbard, which he buckled to his waistband with great satisfaction. The lavish praise and honoring of the Mohawk war chief did not sit at all well with Simon Girty, who had long known of him during his own extensive captivity as a youth. He had often seen how Thayendanegea boasted well beyond his prowess. Girty considered him little more than a conceited individual who was singularly successful in convincing others that he was a great fighter and leader.
The great concern of the council revolved about the fact that their spies had reported Brig. Gen. George Rogers Clark was presently at Fort Pitt, having come there from eastern Virginia with a small army and now gathering more men at the head of the Ohio River. He was also preparing a great number of boats eventually to float down the Ohio River to the Falls, there to recruit more men and launch a major invasion into the Ohio and Indiana countries. Everyone was in agreement that all possible steps should be taken to hamper or entirely thwart his intentions.
Simon Girty was passionate in his diatribes against the Moravian Indians in general and the two principal Moravian missionaries, John Heckewelder and David Zeisberger, who, he declared, were constantly sending intelligence to the Americans about the movements and activities of the Indians. Chiefs Monakaduto, Pachganshehilas, Coon, Pimoacan, Wingenund and others were inclined to be of the same mind, and it was at this council that it was decided to do something about that situation without any further delay.
Leaving the Lower Sandusky council, the Indians had repaired to Half King’s Town on the upper Sandusky to prepare to resolve the problem with the Moravians on the Tuscarawas. A number of spying parties were sent out to penetrate both the Kentucky country and the area around the upper Ohio and it was not long before those sent to the upper Ohio brought back the intelligence that Gen. Clark’s force at Fort Pitt had finished its preparations and was on the verge of embarking downriver to the Falls of the Ohio.
At once, Simon Girty, Alexander McKee and Thayendanegea left for Chalahgawtha with a force of about 200 warriors. There they planned to collect another 100 warriors—Shawnees—that James Girty had been priming for an attack on the Kentucky settlements. With the full force of 300, they might be able to intercept Clark on the river and launch a successful attack against him.
Monakaduto’s remaining force of 440 warriors at Half King’s Town split and 140 left with him and Matthew Elliott, heading directly for the Moravian towns. The remaining 300 stayed on the upper Sandusky for the time being, preparing to strike out, when the time was right, under Pimoacan—Pipe—and Wingenund on a
slightly different route, perhaps to launch an attack against Wheeling or, if it was too well supported by troops, to spread out in raids against the Virginia and Pennsylvania settlements.
It was while the force heading for Chalahgawtha was in a temporary camp that Thayendanegea took to strutting about and boasting about his great prowess as a warrior, of the number of men he had personally killed and the large number of prisoners he had taken. Simon Girty had never cared much for Thayendanegea and had enough of the pompous posturings of this war chief who called himself Joseph Brant. Abruptly, he stood up and looked at Thayendanegea. “You lie!” he said. He stared contemptuously for a moment at the Mohawk and then turned disdainfully and strode from the tent.
Thayendanegea, furious at the insult, followed Girty out into the darkness. Unsheathing his new presentation sword, he crept up on him where he was standing near the fire and, without warning, slashed him across the right side of his head, cutting a gash more than three inches long from behind the right ear to the top of his head, the blade fracturing Girty’s skull. Simon fell and lay motionless, bleeding profusely.
Alexander McKee came rushing over and bent down over his deputy agent, who was still alive but in bad shape. McKee turned and snarled at Thayendanegea, “If Girty dies, I will have you hung!” He then ordered the injured Girty to be left to the ministering of an Indian healer.426
Monakaduto, meanwhile, with his 140 warriors, had arrived on August 10 at the Moravian village of Salem. They took the Rev. David Zeisberger captive and intimidated his converts into submission. The following day 40 Muncey Delawares arrived, joined with Monakaduto, and the whole force moved up the Tuscarawas toward Gnadenhütten, the intimidated Moravian Indians with them. The Moravians from Schoenbrun mission were forced to move downstream, and the whole party converged at Gnadenhütten, where they took the Rev. John Heckewelder prisoner.