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THE CAMP-FIRE ON THE SUSQUEHANNA.
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The details of the attacks on the frontier settlements, by the tories and Indians, present us with all that cruelty
could invent, or savages could execute. Burning houses, desolated fields, and slaughtered women and children,
fill up the awful scenes presented to us by the history of 1778 and '79 particularly. All ties of blood, friendship, or love,
were forgotten in the pervading dissensions of the whigs and tories. Fathers looked upon their children
only as belonging to either of two parties, and husbands cursed the wives that differed with them in opinion.
This was bad enough; but it was not all. The Tories generally took the field against the opposite party, and calling to their aid the ready Indians, fell upon the defenseless settlements of their particular neighborhood, with unrelenting cruelty, devastating all within their reach or power. At length, stimulated by the entreaties of the frontier settlers of Pennsylvania, who took side with the whigs, and also by a desire to revenge the horrible butchery at Wyoming, it was determined to give up an expedition into the infested region. The object of this expedition was not only the punishment of the Indians, but the destruction of several settlements belonging to tories who had become particularly obnoxious by former cruelties. The party consisted of a Pennsylvania regiment, covered by riflemen and rangers, and was commanded by Colonel William Butler. The men were obliged to carry six days' provisions on their backs, and, thus loaded, to endure all the hardships incident to a march through an unsettled region. The party started on the 1st of October, 1778, from the town of Schoharie, and having gained the head of the Delaware, marched down that river for two days; whence they struck off to the right, and crossed the mountains, to get to the Susquehanna. They accomplished this march by enduring all that could be expected of men who had been accustomed to the wilderness, when the riflemen and rangers excepted, they were unused to it. They were obliged to wade through rivers and creeks scarcely passable by men without encumbrance. After the toll of a hard march, they had to endure chilly nights and heavy rains, without the means of keeping their arms and ammunition dry. The detachment arrived, at last, on the Susquehanna, and then proved that their march was made to some purpose. For several miles, on both sides of the Susquehanna, they totally burnt and destroyed all the Indian castles and villages, and the tory settlements. The inhabitants, both tories, and Indians, had received intelligence of the expedition, and effected their escape before the arrival of the party. All their winter stock was either destroyed, or captured for the use of the men, and desolation dwelt where before was life and plenty. But, severe as was the vengeance which the detachment wreaked on the aggressors and their property, it did not satisfy some of the men belonging to the party. There were some among the rangers and riflemen, who had felt the desolation with which the tories and Indians had visited the settlements, and the blood of their wives, and children, and friends, was still unavenged, and they could not be satisfied till it was. This induced many of them to join in the exterminating expedition of General Sullivan, which marched into the Indian country in the next year. Having executed all that lay in their power, the party prepared to return. But this was a difficult undertaking. The continual heavy rains had caused a sudden rising of the creeks and the Susquehanna, and the detachment was running short of provisions. The crossing of the Susquehanna would at other times have been deemed impracticable; but their case was a desperate one, and they attempted to procure horses, for the purpose of mounting the men, and fording the river in that way. A number of horses had been left behind by the Indians, in their haste to escape, and these were secured. It was a clear, cool, October evening, while the party of Colonel Butler were encamped on the western bank of the Susquehanna. There was no moon, but the stars seemed ambitiously striving to supply her sweet and gentle beams. The troops were stationed in a wood, on the gently-elevated bank, and among the almost deserted boughs of the trees, the curling smoke from a number of fires was ascending. The swollen stream was dashing violently along, as if proud of its additional strength. The evening was one that the party could appreciate, after the cold, rainy weather they had endured. A single tent was all they could boast of possessing, and that was reserved for the officers of the party. Each fire had its group, composed of the men belonging to the Pennsylvania regiment, and the riflemen and the rangers indiscriminately mixed, as the supper of the men was preparing upon it. At a considerable distance in the wood, sentinels were stationed, to guard against surprise. The river formed a sure defense upon the front. One of the groups, around a fire near the river, deserves our particular regard. It is composed of about a dozen men. Some of them are seated on small logs and stones, which they have brought near the fire, and others on the ground. Most of them are dressed in the uniform that bespeaks them members of the Pennsylvania regiment; while two of them have but the common hunting-shirt and leggings usually worn by the rangers of the woods. All look wearied and travel-worn, with their brown faces and soiled dress. The guns of the group are leaning against the surrounding trees, near at hand, in case of an attack. One of the rangers is leaning his head upon one hand, looking in the fire, as if intently musing. The other is talking to one of the soldiers in uniform. The rest of the men are talking among themselves. "Jackson," says Seth, the ranger last mentioned, "do you think there's even a good chance of one getting over that river there, on horseback? For my part, I'd rather try to swim it." "Yes, I think there is a very good chance, you may be sure, or I would not risk my life in making the attempt," replied Jackson. "We must get out of this place somehow," continued Seth, without noticing the answer, "and the Colonel says there's no other way." "Yes," said Jackson, "we must get out of this before our provision gives out; and there is no other way than by trying to cross the river on horseback. The Colonel is a very prudent and a very shrewd man; and I'm sure he'll bring us out safe, if possible." "Then, after we cross the Susquehanna, there's so many infernal creeks, and they'll be about twice as high as usual," continued the ranger. "We had work enough to get where we are; but that's play to the going-back part of the business." "There's one thing certain, Seth," said the soldier, "we didn't come for nothing. We've done a great deal of damage since we've been here, mind I tell you. When the folks that lived hereabouts come back, to hunt for their houses and barns, they'll be a leetle disappointed, I'm thinking." "Poor job --- poor job," said Jones, the ranger who was leaning on his hand, musing; "if the thing had been done as I wanted it done, we might have had a chance to throw some of the infernal owners of the houses and barns into their flames. That would have been coming to some purpose;" and as the ranger emphatically made the last remark, his teeth clenched, and a savage smile lit up his face, that seemed like the glare of a red, demoniac light upon a dark night. "Oh, you want to go as far as the savages themselves," remarked Jackson. "I hate such butchery, whether perpetrated by the Indians or our own side. It ain't human, at all. I'm satisfied with what we've done already." "I won't be," replied Jones. "I can't be, in fact. I never will rest quietly, till some of them have paid me what they owe me; and it's a debt not easy paid, let me tell you. "I can judge what's been going on," said Seth. "You've suffered some from the tories or Indians." "Yes, some," returned the moody ranger, shortly expressing a great deal more than his companion could comprehend. A short pause ensued, which the soldier was the first to break. "You appear to have suffered a great deal," said he, wishing to draw the ranger's sorrows from their concealment. "I have suffered a great deal from the hell-hounds," replied Jones. "I lived at Wyoming, and our family was large. You can easily guess the rest." "I think I can," said the soldier. "They were murdered at the massacre." "Yes," was the reply. "You talk of showing the tories and Indians mercy. If you had lived at Wyoming and felt their mercy, you never would talk so. All pity would be banished from your heart, and you'd only wish to come across the miscreants, to cut them down while they cried for mercy. I was there, and saw it all; and I could almost cut the throat of the man that speaks for them." "I can't say how I would act under such circumstances," said Jackson, "but I hardly think it would be to act their part, myself." "If its not too affecting to you to think about Wyoming," observed Seth, "I should like to hear the story of the massacre." "I can tell it to you," replied the ranger. "It has ceased to affect me in the way you mean. I cried a very little time, about our family all being cut off and leavin' me alone in the world. I always had too much spirit to brood over anything of that kind. I've never shed a tear since the day after the massacre. My whole attention is taken up in the endeavor to revenge it; and I'll do it, before I'm dead, you may depend." "Let us hear the story, and then we may judge how far you are right," said Seth. "You shall," replied Jones; "but let us get our share of the victuals, first." The salt meat was taken from the fire, where it had been cooking, and cut into slices, which were divided among the men equally. A biscuit to each, was the only article that accompanies it. Our three friends, having received the shares they waited for, set about the work of demolition vigorously. "Now, you can go on, Jones," said Seth, with his mouth full. "Yes, now we'll hear all you now about it," said the soldier. "Well, you shall," was the reply. "You see, our family came to Wyoming among the earliest that settled there. Most of the inhabitants came from Connecticut, because that State claimed that part of the country where Wyoming was situated, under some grant or other. Did you ever see the place?" The two listeners answered negatively. "Well, it's as pretty a valley as there is in any part of the country. It's just over here, on the eastern branch of the Susquehanna. The country around was settlin' very fast, and everything promised well. It was situated on both sides of the river, and consisted of eight townships, each five miles square. You may judge from that how large it was. The fields were well cultivated, and the land was rich. The settlement was increasing so fast, that we were enabled to send a thousand men to the continental army. "We had built four forts, to cover us from the indians. But, in spite of the forts, it was well known that we had sent a thousand of our best men away from us, and couldn't protect ourselves as we ought, from the attacks of the Indians. Besides, from the commencement of the war, there had been a good many tories among the inhabitants, and they kept us all the time quarrellin'. Last year, some of the worst of the tories in the settlement joined the Indians and marched against us; but we beat them back, after some hard skirmishin'. "About that time, several of the tories left the settlement, and joined the Indians. You see, they had quarrelled with their families, and went away bent on doin' us some damage. They knew all about our condition and they made use of their knowledge. Early this year, a great quantity of strangers came into the settlement, under different excuses; and some of them acted so suspicious, that they were arrested and examined. The evidence against several of them was so strong, that we all concluded that they were actin' with the enemy, on a scheme for destroyin' the settlement. Twenty of them were sent off to Connecticut, to be tried for their lives, and all the rest of the strangers were driven out of the settlement. "This worked the tories up to the highest pitch, and they threatened the people with vengeance. Our family lived near the river, in Wyoming. It was made up of my father, who was gettin' pretty old, my mother, and four brothers and sisters. One of these brothers said boldly he was one of the tories, and we often quarrelled about it. I was a complete whig, and didn't want him to talk in the way he did in our house. All our family sided with me, and at last, Bill got so quarrelsome and violent, that we put him out of the house, and told him never to come back again until he turned whig. He said we'd see him one of these days, and he wouldn't come as a whig, either." "Didn't that frighten the family?" asked Seth. "No, they didn't think much about it, just then; they hated Bill too much," answered the ranger. "He went away, and I never saw him any more. Well, for several weeks before the massacre, small parties were sent to the settlement, to try to lull us into feelin' secure. They professed to have the strongest friendship for us. I think they wanted to concert with the tories that were in the settlement, and to see how things were goin' on. However, we knew the scoundrels well enough, not to believe them. Colonel Zeb Butler commanded our force, and he wrote to Congress and to General Washington, asking them to send us some help; but his letters never reached Congress or Washington; they were intercepted by the tories. A few days before the main attack, some small parties made attacks on the settlement, and committed some horrible murders. One of these parties butchered the wife and five children of one of their own friends, who had been sent to Connecticut. "Was it through mistake?" enquired the soldier. "I don't know," was the reply; "but it's ten to one it wasn't. They didn't think about savin' a wife and children, because the father was a friend to them. There was too many wives who had the courage and the sense to think different from their husbands. It's twenty to one, it wasn't through mistake. At length, on the 1st of July, the enemy appeared on the Susquehanna, in full force. They numbered about sixteen hundred men, of which over a quarter were Indians; the rest were tories, painted and dressed like Indians. The whole party was commanded by Colonel John Butler, a cousin of Colonel Zeb Butler. Most of the prominent tories were with him; and I don't think a fiercer or more bloodthirsty set of men ever joined together for any purpose. "The Indians were under the command of Brandt, a half-breed. I don't feel as savage at these Indians, because one couldn't expect anything else from them. It's them infernal hounds that led them to butchering their own families and friends. One of the small forts was betrayed into the hands of the enemy by its own garrison, who were nearly all tories. Another was taken by storm, and all that were in it, except the women and children, were butchered in the most horrible manner. "This fort was a short distance from the village of Wyoming. On the 3d of July, a council of war was held, to consider whether we should march out of Fort Wilkes-Barre and attack the enemy; and it was finally agreed that we should. Accordin'ly, the same day, we marched out, in two lines; one under the command of Colonel Zeb Butler, and the other under Colonel Dennison. I was with Butler's line. Spies were sent forward, and they soon discovered two Indians, who were out on the same business for the other army. The scouts fired upon each other; but no one was hurt, and they returned to the main body. Both armies then moved forward, and joined battle near a thick swamp. "The line commanded by Dennison advanced against Brandt, and our line against that of our commander's cousin. Their army was so far superior to ours, that they out-flanked us, and Brandt and the Indians came out of the swamp, and turned our left flank. This made so much confusion, that the Indians made sad havoc among Dennison's men. We bore up against the numbers of the tories for a considerable time. But the turning of our left flank was too much for us. Colonel Dennison ordered his troops to fall back, in order to make some evolution; but the men were already confused, and they thought he wanted them to retreat, and they broke and fled. We couldn't stand then --- there was too few of us. So we followed, and the Indians pursued us. I tell you, men, the carnage was horrible. The Indians would knock the men down, and scalp them in a minute's time. I only got into the fort, by knocking down, with the butt-end of my musket, a big Indian that came yelling close to me." "How many escaped?" asked Seth. "I guess, about a hundred in all," replied the ranger. "Colonel Butler and Colonel Dennison were among them. Our commander was still anxious to keep up the resistance to them. The fort we fled to, was called Fort Wilkes-Barre. The commander thought the fort on the other side of the river, where all the old men and the women and children were placed, was the best to stand a siege. So we left a few to guard Fort Wilkes-Barre, and crossed the river, with four hundred men, and took post in Fort Kingston, as it was called. |
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