"It is impossible for me to answer that question," replied Kenton; "but I can tell you the number of officers, and their respective ranks, and you can judge for yourself."
"Do you know William Stewart?"
"Perfectly well; he is an old and intimate acquaintance."
"What is your own name?"
"Simon Butler!" replied Kenton, who had been known formerly by that name.
Never did the announcement of a name produce a more powerful effect.
Girty and Kenton had served as spies together in Dunmore"s expedition.
The former had not then abandoned the society of the whites for that of the savages, and had become warmly attached to Kenton during the short period of their services together. As soon as he heard the name, he threw his arms around Kenton"s neck, and embraced him with much emotion.
Then turning to the a.s.sembled warriors, who had witnessed this scene with much surprise, Girty informed them that the prisoner, whom they had just condemned to the stake, was his ancient companion and bosom-friend; that they had traveled the same war-path, slept upon the same blanket, and dwelt in the same wigwam. He entreated them to spare him the anguish of witnessing the torture, by his adopted brothers, of an old comrade; and not to refuse so trifling a favor as the life of a white man to the earnest intercession of one, who had proved, by three years" faithful service, that he was zealously devoted to the cause of the Indians.
The speech was listened to in silence, and some of the chiefs were disposed to grant Girty"s request. But others urged the flagrant misdemeanors of Kenton; that he had not only stolen their horses, but had flashed his gun at one of their young men; that it was in vain to suppose that so bad a man could ever become an Indian at heart, like their brother Girty; that the Kentuckians were all alike, very bad people, and ought to be killed as fast as they were taken; and, finally, they observed that many of their people had come from a distance, solely to a.s.sist at the torture of the prisoner; and pathetically painted the disappointment and chagrin, with which they would hear that all their trouble had been for nothing.
Girty continued to urge his request, however, with great earnestness, and the debate was carried on for an hour and a half, with much energy and heat. The feelings of Kenton during this suspense may be imagined.
At length the warclub was produced, and the final vote was taken. It was in favor of the prisoner"s reprieve. Having thus succeeded in his benevolent purpose, Girty lost no time in attending to the comfort of his friend. He led him into his own wigwam, and, from his own store, gave him a pair of moccasins and leggins, a breechcloth, a hat, a coat, a handkerchief for his neck, and another for his head.
For the s.p.a.ce of three weeks, Kenton lived in tranquility, treated with much kindness by Girty and the chiefs. But, at the end of that time, as he was one day with Girty and an Indian named Redpole, another Indian came from the village toward them, uttering repeatedly a whoop of peculiar intonation. Girty instantly told Kenton it was the distress-halloo, and that they must all go instantly to the council-house. Kenton"s heart fluttered at the intelligence, for he dreaded all whoops, and heartily hated all council-houses, firmly believing that neither boded him any good. Nothing, however, could be done, to avoid whatever fate awaited him, and he sadly accompanied Girty and Redpole back to the village.
On entering the council-house, Kenton perceived from the ominous scowls of the chiefs, that they meant no tenderness toward him. Girty and Redpole were cordially received, but when poor Kenton offered his hand, it was rejected by six Indians successively, after which, sinking into despondence, he turned away, and stood apart.
The debate commenced. Kenton looked eagerly toward Girty, as his last and only hope. His friend seemed anxious and distressed. The chiefs from a distance rose one after another, and spoke in a firm and indignant tone, often looking sternly at Kenton. Girty did not desert him, but his eloquence was wasted. After a warm discussion, he turned to Kenton and said, "Well, my friend, _you must die!_"
One of the stranger chiefs instantly seized him by the collar, and, the others surrounding him, he was strongly pinioned, committed to a guard, and marched off. His guard were on horseback, while he was driven before them on foot, with a long rope round his neck. In this manner they had marched about two and a half miles, when Girty pa.s.sed them on horseback, informing Kenton that he had friends at the next village, with whose aid he hoped to be able to do something for him. Girty pa.s.sed on to the town, but finding that nothing could be done, he would not see his friend again, but returned to Waughcotomoco by a different route.
The Indians with their prisoner soon reached a large village upon the headwaters of the Scioto, where Kenton, for the first time, beheld the celebrated Mingo chief, Logan, so honorably mentioned in Jefferson"s Notes on Virginia. Logan walked gravely up to the place where Kenton stood, and the following short conversation ensued:
"Well, young man, these people seem very mad at you?"
"Yes, sir, they certainly are."
"Well; don"t be disheartened. I am a great chief. You are to go to Sandusky. They speak of burning you there. But I will send two runners to-morrow to help you."
Logan"s form was manly, his countenance calm and n.o.ble, and he spoke the English language with fluency and correctness. Kenton"s spirits revived at the address of the benevolent chief, and he once more looked upon himself as providentially rescued from the stake.
On the following morning, two runners were despatched to Sandusky as the chief had promised. In the evening they returned, and were closeted with Logan. Kenton felt the most burning anxiety to know the result of their mission, but Logan did not visit him until the next morning. He then walked up to him, accompanied by Kenton"s guard, and, giving him a piece of bread, told him that he was instantly to be carried to Sandusky; and left him without uttering another word.
Again Kenton"s spirits sunk. From Logan"s manner, he supposed that his intercession had been unavailing, and that Sandusky was to be the scene of his final suffering. This appears to have been the truth. But fortune had not finished her caprices. On being driven into the town, for the purpose of being burnt on the following morning, an Indian agent, from Canada, named Drewyer, interposed, and once more was he rescued from the stake. Drewyer wished to obtain information for the British commandant at Detroit; and so earnestly did he insist upon Kenton"s being delivered to him, that the Indians at length consented, upon the express condition that, after the required information had been obtained, he should be again restored to their possession. To this Drewyer consented, and, with out further difficulty, Kenton was transferred to his hands.
Drewyer lost no time in removing him to Detroit. On the road, he informed Kenton of the condition upon which he had obtained possession of his person, a.s.suring him, however, that no consideration should induce him to abandon a prisoner to the mercy of such wretches.
At Detroit, Kenton"s condition was not unpleasant. He was obliged to report himself every morning to an English officer; and was restricted to certain boundaries through the day. In other respects he scarcely felt that he was a prisoner. His wounds were healed, and his emaciated limbs were again clothed with a fair proportion of flesh. He remained in this state of easy restraint from October, 1777, until June, 1778, when he meditated an escape.
He cautiously broached his project to two young Kentuckians, then at Detroit, who had been taken with Boone at the Blue Licks, and had been purchased by the British. He found them as impatient as himself of captivity, and resolute to accompany him. He commenced instant preparations. Having formed a close friendship with two Indian hunters, he deluged them with rum, and bought their guns for a mere trifle. These he hid in the woods, and returning to Detroit, managed to procure powder and ball, with another rifle.
The three prisoners then appointed a night for their attempt, and agreed upon a place of rendezvous. They met at the time and place appointed, without discovery, and, taking a circuitous route, avoiding pursuit by traveling only during the night, they at length arrived safely at Louisville, after a march of thirty days.
THE DYING VOLUNTEER,
AN INCIDENT OF MOLINO DEL REY.
The sun had risen in all his glorious majesty, and hung over the eastern horizon like a wall of glowing fire; and its bright rays danced merrily along the lake of Teseneo--over the glittering domes of Mexico--past the frowning battlements of Chapultepec, and lit, in all their glorious effulgence, upon, the blood-stained field of Molino del Rey.
The contest was over--the sound of battle had died away, save an occasional shot from the distant artillery of the castle, or the fire of some strolling riflemen.
I was standing beside the battered remains of the mill door, above which the first footing had been gained upon the well-contested wall, and gazing over the plain, now saturated with the blood of my fellow-soldiers, which that morning waved green with flowing gra.s.s, when I heard a low and feeble wail in the ditch beside me. I turned towards the spot, and beheld, with his right leg shattered by a cannon ball, a voltiguer lying amid the mangled. He had been pa.s.sed by in the haste of gathering up the wounded under the fire from the castle, and the rays of the burning sun beat down with terrible fervor upon the wounded limb, causing heavy groans to issue from his pallid lips, and his marble countenance to writhe with pain.
"Water, for G.o.d"s sake, a drink of water!" he faintly articulated, as I bent over him.
Fortunately, I had procured a canteen of water, and placing it to his lips, he took a long, deep draught, and then sunk back exhausted upon the ground.
"The sun," he murmured, "is killing me by its rays; can not you carry me into the shade?"
"I can procure a.s.sistance, and have you taken to the hospital."
"No, do not, my sands of life are most out. An hour hence, I shall be a dead man. Carry me into the shade of the mill, and then, if you have time to spare, listen to my dying words, and, if you are fortunate enough to return to the United States, bear me back a message to my home, and to anoth--" he paused, and motioned me to carry him into the shade. I did so, and the cold wind which swept along the spot appeared to revive him, and he continued:
"You, sir, are a total stranger to me, and, from your uniform belong to another corps, and yet I must confide this, the great secret of all my recent actions, and the cause of my being here, to you. Would to G.o.d that I had reflected upon the fatal steps I had taken, and I should now have been at my home, enjoying the society of kind friends, instead of dying upon the gory field, and in a foreign land. My father was a wealthy man, in the town of G----h, in the state of Virginia, and moved in the best society of the place. I had received an excellent education, had studied law and was admitted, in the twenty-fourth year of my age, to practice at the bar. I had early seen and admired a young lady of the place, a daughter of an intimate friend of father"s, and fortunately the feeling was reciprocated, and we were engaged to be married. The war in Mexico had been in existence some twelve months, and many flocked to the standard of their country. It so happened, that about this time, a recruiting office had been opened in the town, and several of my young friends had enlisted to go and try their fortunes on the plains of Mexico. One night there was a grand party in the place, in honor of those who were about to depart for the seat of war, and both myself and Eveline were at the hall. Among those who were a.s.sembled at that evening was Augustus P., a talented young man, and accomplished scholar, gay and lively in his manners, free and cheerful in his disposition, and a universal favorite with the fair s.e.x. He had been for some time paying his addresses to Eveline, as I deemed, in rather too pointed a manner.
As the party had a.s.sembled in the long hall, and the dance was about to commence, I asked for her hand for the first set."
"It is engaged," she replied, as I thought, rather tartly.
"To whom, if I may be so bold as to inquire?" I demanded.
"To Augustus P.," was the immediate reply.
I smothered my rising indignation the best I could, and proudly returned the smile of malignant joy my rival gave me.
"Perhaps I can engage it for a second set," I calmly replied.
"Mr. P. has engaged it for the entire evening," she pettishly replied, and rising and taking his hand they took their station upon the floor.
I remained thunderstruck and rooted to the spot, until I saw the eyes of my hated rival fixed upon me, and, throwing off the spell that bound me, I a.s.sumed a proud, cold look. As I swept by the dancers, Eveline paused for a moment when just beside me, and, bending close to her ear, I whispered, "Eveline, farewell forever."
She turned slightly pale, and asked, "when?"
"To-night, I join the army for Mexico," I firmly replied.
A deep flush pa.s.sed haughtily across her brow, and then waving her hand gracefully, she replied, "Go," and glided through the mazes of the dance.
I rushed from the spot, and never paused until I had entered the recruiting office, and offered myself a candidate for the army.
"Are you a good, moral man, of well-regulated habits?" asked the sergeant.