The treason of General Arnold, the capture of Andre, and the intelligence received by Washington through his confidential agents in New York, that many of his officers, and especially a major-general, whose name was given, were connected with Arnold, could not fail to arouse the anxiety and vigilance of the commander-in-chief. The moment he reached the army, then under the orders of Major-General Greene, encamped in the vicinity of Tappan, he sent for Major Lee, who was posted with the light troops some distance in front.
Lee repaired to headquarters, and found Washington in his marquee alone, busily engaged in writing. Lee was requested to take a seat; and a bundle of papers, lying on the table, was given to him for perusal. The purport of these tended to show that Arnold was not alone in his base conspiracy, but that a major-general, whose name was not concealed, was also implicated. This officer had enjoyed, without interruption, the confidence of the commander-in-chief, nor did there exist a single reason in support of the accusation. It altogether rested on the intelligence derived from the papers before him.
Major Lee was naturally shocked at these suspicions, and suggested that they were an invention of the enemy. Washington admitted the plausibility of the suggestion, but remarked that he had the same confidence in Arnold, a few days before, that he now placed in the persons accused.
After some further conversation, Washington disclosed a project, which he had maturely revolved in his own mind. "I have sent for you," he remarked to Lee, "to learn if you have in your corps any individual capable of undertaking a delicate and hazardous enterprise. Whoever comes forward on this occasion will lay me under great obligations personally; and, in behalf of the United States, I will reward him amply. No time is to be lost. He must proceed, if possible, this night. My object is to probe to the bottom the affecting suspicions suggested by the papers you have just read--to seize Arnold, and, by getting him, to save Andre. While my emissary is engaged in preparing for the seizure of Arnold, the agency of others can be traced; and the timely delivery of Arnold to me, will possibly put it in my power to restore the amiable and unfortunate Andre to his friends. My instructions are ready, in which you will find express orders, that Arnold is not to be hurt; but that he be permitted to escape, if it can be prevented only by killing him, as his public punishment is the only object in view. This you can not too forcibly press upon the person who may engage in the enterprise; and this fail not to do. With my instructions, are two letters, to be delivered as ordered, and here are some guineas to defray expenses."
Lee replied, that, as the first step to the enterprise was pretended desertion, it would be difficult to find a commissioned officer, who would undertake it. He knew, however, a sergeant-major of the cavalry, named Champe, who was in all respects qualified for the delicate and adventurous project. Champe was a native of Loudon county, in Virginia, about twenty years of age. He had enlisted in 1776; was rather above the common size, full of bone and muscle, with a saturnine countenance, grave, thoughtful, and taciturn; of tried courage and inflexible perseverance.
Washington was satisfied with this description, and exclaimed that Champe was the very man for the enterprise. Lee promised to persuade him to undertake it, and, taking leave of the general, returned to the camp of the light corps, which he reached about eight o'clock at night. Sending instantly for the serjeant-major, he informed him of the project of the commander-in-chief; and urged upon him, that, by succeeding in the capture and safe delivery of Arnold, he would not only gratify his general in the most acceptable manner, but would be hailed as the avenger of the reputation of the army, stained by a foul and wicked perfidy; and, what could not but be highly pleasing, he would be the instrument of saving the life of Major Andre.
Champe listened with attention to the plan unfolded by Lee, and replied that it met his approbation. Even its partial success was likely to lead to great good, as it would give relief to Washington's mind, and do justice, as he hoped, to suspected innocence. Champe added, that he was not deterred by the danger and difficulty to be encountered, but by the ignominy of desertion, consequent upon his enlisting with the enemy. It did not comport with his feelings to be even suspected of such a crime.
Lee combated the objections of the sergeant with his usual address, and finally subdued his prejudices so far, that Champe consented to undertake the enterprise. The instructions of Washington were then read to him; and Lee particularly cautioned him to exercise the utmost circumspection in delivering the letters, and to take care to withhold from the two individuals addressed under feigned names, knowledge of each other. He was further urged to bear in constant recollection the solemn injunction, so pointedly expressed in the instructions, of forbearing to kill Arnold in any event.
It now remained to arrange the mode of Champe's desertion, for, in order to be received favorably by the British, it was necessary that he should desert under circumstances which should assure them of his sincerity. To cross the numerous patrols of horse and foot, was no small difficulty, which was now increased in consequence of the swarms of irregulars, who sometimes ventured down to the very point of Paulus Hook, with the hope of picking up booty. Evident as were the difficulties in the way, no relief could be afforded by Major Lee, lest it might induce a belief that he was privy to the desertion, which opinion getting to the enemy, would peril the life of Champe. The sergeant was left to his own resources and management, Lee agreeing that in case Champe's departure should be discovered before morning, he would take care to delay pursuit as long as possible.
Lee placed in the hands of the sergeant some gold for his expenses, and enjoining it upon him to apprise him of his arrival in New York as soon as practicable, bade the adventurous Virginian farewell Champe, pulling out his watch, compared it with that of Lee, reminding him of the importance of holding back pursuit, which he was convinced would take place during the night, and which might be fatal, as he would be obliged to adopt a zigzag course, in order to avoid the patrols, which would consume time. It was now nearly eleven. The sergeant returned to camp, and, taking his cloak, valise, and orderly-book, he drew his horse from the picket, and, mounting, set out upon his novel expedition.
Hardly half an hour had elapsed, when Captain Carnes, officer of the day, waited on Major Lee, and, with considerable emotion, told him that one of the patrol had fallen in with a dragoon, who, on being challenged, put spur to his horse, and escaped, though vigorously pursued. Lee, complaining of the interruption, and pretending to be extremely fatigued, answered as if he did not understand what had been said, which compelled the captain to repeat his remark.
"Who can the fellow be that was pursued?" said Lee; "a countryman, probably."
"No," replied the captain; "the patrol sufficiently distinguished him to know that he was a dragoon probably from the army, if not, certainly one of our own."
This idea was ridiculed by Lee as improbable, as, during the whole campaign, but a single dragoon had deserted from the legion. Carnes was not convinced. Much apprehension was felt, at that time, of the effect of Arnold's example. The captain withdrew to examine the squadron of horse, whom he had ordered to assemble in pursuance of established usage on similar occasions. He speedily returned, stating that the deserter was known; he was no less a person than the sergeant-major, who was gone off with his horse, baggage, arms, and orderly-book. Sensibly affected at the supposed baseness of a soldier, who was generally esteemed, Carnes added, that he had ordered a party to prepare for pursuit, and that he had come for written orders from the major.
In order to gain time for Champe, Lee expressed his belief, that the sergeant had not deserted, but had merely taken the liberty to leave camp upon private business or pleasure; an example, Lee said, too often set by the officers themselves, destructive as it was of discipline, opposed as it was to orders, and disastrous as it might prove to the corps in the course of the service.
Some little delay was thus interposed. Carnes began to grow impatient at what seemed the long-winded and unseasonable discourse. It being, at length announced, that the pursuing party were in readiness, Major Lee directed a change in the officer, giving the command to Cornet Middleton. His object was to add to the delay. He knew, moreover, that, from the tenderness of his disposition, Middleton would be reluctant to do any personal injury to Champe, in the event of a pursuit.
Within ten minutes Middleton appeared to receive his orders, which were delivered to him, made out in the customary form, and signed by the major. The directions were, to pursue as far as could be done with safety, Sergeant Champe, who was suspected of deserting to the enemy, and of having taken the road to Paulus Hook; to bring him alive to camp, that he might suffer in the presence of the army, but to kill him if he resisted or attempted to escape after being taken.
Detaining the cornet a few minutes longer, in advising him what course to pursue--urging him to take care of the horse and accoutrements, if taken--and enjoining him to be on his guard, lest he might, by a too eager pursuit, improvidently fall into the hands of the enemy--Lee dismissed Middleton and his party. A shower of rain had fallen soon after Champe's departure, which enabled the pursuing dragoons to find the trail of his horse; for, at that time, the horses being all shod by our own farriers, the shoes were made in the same form which, with a private mark annexed to the fore shoes, and known to the troopers, pointed out the trail of our dragoons, and, in this way, was often useful.
When Middleton departed, it was a few minutes past twelve, so that Champe had the start of his pursuers by little more than an hour. Lee was very anxious, and passed a sleepless night. The pursuing party were, on their part, occasionally delayed by the necessary halts to examine the road, as the impressions of the horse's shoes directed the course. These were, unfortunately, too evident, no other horse having passed over the road since the shower. When the day broke, Middleton was no longer obliged to halt, and he passed on with rapidity.
As the pursuers ascended an eminence to the north of the village of Bergen, Champe was descried not more than half a mile in front. Resembling an Indian in his vigilance, the sergeant at the same moment discovered Middleton and his men, to whose object he was no stranger, and giving spur to his horse, he determined to outstrip them. Middleton, at the same instant, put his horses to the top of their speed; and being, as the legion all were, well acquainted with the country, he recollected a route through the woods to the bridge below Bergen, which diverged from the great road near the Three Pigeons. Reaching the point of separation, he halted, and, dividing his party, directed a sergeant, with a few dragoons, to take the near cut, and possess, with all possible dispatch, the bridge, while he, with the rest of his men, followed Champe. He could not doubt but that Champe, being thus enclosed between him and his sergeant, would deliver himself up. Champe did not forget the short cut, and would have taken it, had he not remembered that it was the usual route of our parties when returning in the day from the neighborhood of the enemy. He consequently avoided it, and wisely resolved to abandon his intention of getting to Paulus Hook, and to seek refuge from two British galleys, lying a few miles to the west of Bergen.
This was a station generally occupied by one or two galleys. Passing through the village of Bergen, Champe took the road toward Elizabethtown Point. Middleton's sergeant gained the bridge, where he concealed himself, ready to intercept Champe as soon as he appeared. In the meantime, Middleton, pursuing his course through Bergen, soon arrived, also, at the bridge, when, to his mortification, he found that Champe had escaped. Returning up the road, he inquired of the villagers of Bergen, whether a dragoon had been seen that morning preceding his party. He was answered in the affirmative, but could learn nothing satisfactory as to the route taken by the fugitive. While engaged in inquiries himself, he spread his party through the village to discover the trail of Champe's horse. Some of the dragoons hit it, just as the sergeant, leaving the village, reached the road to the point.
Pursuit was now vigorously renewed, and again Champe was descried. Apprehending the event, he had prepared himself for it by lashing his valise and orderly-book on his shoulders, and holding his drawn sword in his hand, having thrown away the scabbard. The delay occasioned by Champe's preparations for swimming had brought Middleton within two or three hundred yards. As soon as Champe got abreast of the galleys, he dismounted, and running through the marsh to the river, plunged into it, calling on the people in the galley for help. This was readily given. They fired on our horsemen, and sent a boat to meet Champe, who was taken in, carried on board, and conveyed to New York, with a letter from the captain of the galley, describing the scene, which he had himself witnessed, of Champe's escape.
The horse belonging to Champe, with his equipments, cloak, and sword-scabbard, was recovered by Middleton. About three o'clock in the afternoon, our party returned, and the soldiers, seeing the horse in the possession of the pursuing party, exclaimed that the deserter had been killed. Major Lee, at this heart-rending announcement, rushed from his tent, saw the sergeant's horse led by one of Middleton's dragoons, and began to reproach himself with having been the means of spilling the blood of the faithful and intrepid Champe. Concealing his anguish, he advanced to meet Middleton, but was immediately relieved on seeing the downcast countenance of the officer and his companions. From their looks of disappointment, it was evident that Champe had escaped, and this suspicion was soon confirmed by Middleton's narrative of the issue of their pursuit.
Lee's joy was now as great as his depression had been a moment before. He informed Washington of the affair, who was sensibly affected by the account of Champe's hair-breadth escape, but was rejoiced that it was of a character to put at rest the suspicions of the enemy, in regard to the supposed deserter.
On the fourth day after Champe's departure, Lee received a letter from him, written the day before, in a disguised hand, without any signature, and stating what had passed, after he got on board the galley, where he was kindly received. He was immediately conducted to New York, and introduced to the British commandant, to whom he presented a letter from the captain of the galley. Being asked to what corps he belonged, and a few other general questions, he was sent under charge of an orderly-sergeant to the adjutant-general, who was rejoiced to find that he was sergeant-major of the legion of horse, hitherto remarkable for their fidelity.
The adjutant-general noted down, in a large folio book, some particulars in regard to Champe--his size, figure, place of birth, countenance, the color of his hair, name of the corps to which he had belonged. After this was finished, he was sent to the commander-in-chief in charge of one of the staff, with a letter from the adjutant-general. Sir Henry Clinton received him very kindly, and detained him more than an hour, asking many questions in regard to the probable fate of Andre--whether the example of Arnold's defection had not contaminated many of the American officers and troops--whether Washington was popular with the army, and what means might be employed to induce the men to desert. To these various interrogatories, some of which were perplexing, Champe answered warily; exciting, nevertheless, hopes that the adoption of proper measures to encourage desertion, would probably bring off hundreds of the American soldiers, including some of the best troops, horse as well as foot. Respecting the fate of Andre, he said he was ignorant, though there appeared to be a general wish in the army that his life might not be taken; and that he believed that it would depend more on the disposition of Congress, than on the will of Washington.
After the close of this long conversation, Sir Henry presented Champe with a couple of guineas, and recommended him to wait on General Arnold, who was engaged in raising an American legion for the service of his majesty. Arnold expressed much satisfaction on being informed of the effect of his example, and the manner of Champe's escape. He concluded his numerous inquiries by assigning quarters to the sergeant. He afterward proposed to Champe to join his legion, promising him the same station he had held in the rebel service, and further advancement. Expressing his wish to retire from the service, and his conviction of the certainty of his being hung, if ever taken by the rebels, he begged to be excused from enlistment; assuring the general, that should he change his mind, he would accept his offer.
Retiring to the assigned quarters, Champe now turned his attention to the delivery of his letters, which he could not effect till the next night, and then only to one of the two incogniti, to whom he was recommended. This man received the sergeant with attention, and having read the letter, assured him of his faithful cooperation. The object for which the aid of this individual was required, regarded those persons implicated in the information sent to Washington. Promising to enter with zeal upon the investigation, and engaging to transmit Champe's letters to Major Lee, he fixed the time and place of their next meeting, when they separated. A day or two afterward, Champe accepted the appointment of recruiting sergeant to Arnold, for the purpose of securing uninterrupted ingress and egress at the house which the general occupied.
The letters which Lee received from Champe, announced that the difficulties in his way were numerous and stubborn, and that his prospect of success was by no means cheering. With respect to the charges against certain officers and soldiers in the American army of an intention to follow Arnold's example, he expressed his decided conviction that they were unfounded; that they had taken their rise in the enemy's camp, and that they would be satisfactorily confuted. But the pleasure which the latter part of this communication afforded was damped by the tidings it imparted respecting Arnold--as on his speedy capture and safe delivery depended Andre's relief.
The interposition of Sir Henry Clinton, who was extremely anxious to save his much-loved aid-de-camp, still continued. It was expected that the examination of witnesses in Andre's case and the defense of the prisoner, would protract the decision of the court of inquiry then assembled, and give sufficient time for the consummation of the project confided to Champe. This hope was disappointed in a manner wholly unexpected. The honorable and accomplished Andre disdained defense, and prevented the examination of witnesses, by confessing the character of the mission, in the execution of which he was arrested. The court reassembled on the second of October. Andre was declared to be a spy, and condemned to suffer accordingly.
The painful sentence was executed on the subsequent day, in the usual form, the commander-in-chief deeming it improper to interpose any delay. In this decision he was warranted by the unpromising intelligence received from Champe--by the still existing implication of other officers in Arnold's conspiracy--by a due regard to public opinion, and by the inexorable necessity of a severe example.
The fate of Andre, hastened by himself, deprived the enterprise committed to Champe of a feature which had been highly prized by the projector, and which had engaged the heart of the individual selected for its execution. Washington ordered Major Lee to communicate what had passed to the sergeant, with directions to encourage him to prosecute with vigor the remaining objects of his instructions. Champe bitterly deplored the fate of Andre, and confessed that the hope of saving the unfortunate young man had been his main inducement in undertaking his dangerous enterprise. Nothing now remained but to attempt the seizure of Arnold. To this object Champe gave his undivided attention. Ten days elapsed before he could conclude his arrangements, at the end of which time, Lee received from him his final communication, appointing the third subsequent night for a party of dragoons to meet him at Hoboken, when he hoped to deliver Arnold to the officer.
From the moment of his enlistment into Arnold's corps, Champe had every opportunity he could desire for watching the habits of that individual. He discovered that it was his custom to return home about twelve every night, and that, previous to going to bed, he generally walked in his garden. During this visit, the conspirators were to seize him, gag him, and carry him across the river.
Adjoining the house in which Arnold resided, and in which it was designed to seize and gag him, Champe had taken out several of the palings and replaced them, so that they might be readily removed, and open a way to the neighboring alley. Into this alley he meant to have conveyed his prisoner, aided by his companions, one of two associates who had been introduced by the friend to whom Champe had been originally made known by letter from the commander-in-chief, and with whose aid and counsel he had so far conducted the enterprise. His other associate was in readiness with the boat at one of the wharves on the Hudson river, to receive the party.
Champe and his friend intended to have placed themselves each under Arnold's shoulder, and to have thus borne him through the most unfrequented alleys and streets to the boat; representing Arnold, in case of being questioned, as a drunken sailor, whom they were conveying to the guard-house. The passage across the river could be easily accomplished.
These particulars were communicated by Lee to Washington, who directed the former to meet Champe, and to take care that Arnold should not be hurt. The appointed day arrived, and Lee with a party of dragoons, left camp late in the evening, with three led horses--one for Arnold, one for the sergeant, and the third for his associate. From the tenor of the last communication from Champe, no doubt was entertained of the success of the enterprise. The party from the American camp reached Hoboken about midnight, where they were concealed in the adjoining wood--Lee, with three dragoons, stationing himself near the river shore.
Hour after hour passed. No boat approached. At length the day broke, and the major retired with his party back to the camp, much chagrined at the failure of the project.
In a few days, Lee received an anonymous letter from Champe's patron and friend, informing him, that on the day preceding the night for the execution of the plot, Arnold had removed his quarters to another part of the town, to superintend the embarkation of troops preparing, as was rumored, for an expedition, to be placed under his own direction. The American legion, consisting chiefly of American deserters, had been transferred from the barracks to one of the transports; it being apprehended that if left on shore till the expedition was ready, many of them might desert.
Thus it happened that John Champe, instead of crossing the Hudson that night, was safely deposited on board one of the transports, from which he never departed till the troops under Arnold landed in Virginia, Nor was he able to escape from the British army till after the junction of Lord Cornwallis, at Petersburgh, when he deserted; and passing through Virginia and North Carolina, safely joined the American army soon after it had passed the Congaree, in pursuit of Lord Rawdon.
Champe's appearance excited extreme surprise among his former comrades, which was not a little increased when they witnessed the cordial reception, which he met with from the late Major, now Lieutenant-Colonel Lee. His whole story soon became known to the corps, and he became an object of increased respect and regard.
Champe was munificently rewarded, and General Washington gave him a discharge from further service, lest, in the vicissitudes of war, he might fall into the enemy's hands, in which event, if recognized, he could expect no mercy. Champe resided in London county, Virginia, after leaving the army. He afterward removed to Kentucky, where he died. For a full account of his adventures, we may refer the reader to Major Lee's Memoirs, to which we have been largely indebted.
There lived, not many years ago, on the eastern shore of Mt. Desert--a large island off the coast of Maine--an old fisherman, by the name of Jedediah Spinnet, who owned a schooner of some hundred tons burden, in which he, together with some four stout sons, was wont to go, about once a year, to the Grand Banks, for the purpose of catching codfish. The old man had five things, upon the peculiar merits of which he loved to boast--his schooner, "Betsy Jenkins," and his four sons. The four sons were all their father represented them to be, and no one ever doubted his word, when he said that their like was not to be found for fifty miles around. The oldest was thirty-two, while the youngest had just completed his twenty-sixth year, and they answered to the names of Seth, Andrew, John, and Samuel.
One morning a stranger called upon Jedediah to engage him to take to Havana some iron machinery belonging to steam engines for sugar plantations. The terms were soon agreed upon, and the old man and his sons immediately set about putting the machinery on board; that accomplished, they set sail for Havana, with a fair wind, and for several days proceeded on their course without any adventure of any kind. One morning, however, a vessel was descried off their starboard quarter, which, after some hesitation, the old man pronounced a pirate. There was not much time allowed them for doubting, for the vessel soon saluted them with a very agreeable whizzing of an eighteen pound shot under the stern.
"That means for us to heave to," remarked the old man.
"Then I guess we'd better do it hadn't we?" said Seth.
"Of course."
Accordingly, the Betsy Jenkins was brought up into the wind, and her main-boom hauled over to windward.
"Now boys," said the old man, as soon as the schooner came to a stand, "all we can do is to be as cool as possible, and to trust to fortune. There is no way to escape that I can see now; but, perhaps, if we are civil, they will take such stuff as they want, then let us go. At any rate there is no use crying about it, for it can't be helped. Now get your pistols, and see that they are surely loaded, and have your knives ready, but be sure and hide them, so that the pirates shall see no show of resistance. In a few moments all the arms which the schooner afforded, with the exception of one or two old muskets, were secured about the persons of our Down Easters, and they quietly awaited the coming of the schooner.
"One word more, boys," said the old man, just as the pirate came round under the stern.
"Now watch every movement I make, and be ready to jump the moment I speak."
As Captain Spinnet ceased speaking, the pirate luffed under the fisherman's lee-quarter, and, in a moment more, the latter's deck was graced with the presence of a dozen as savage-looking mortals as eyes ever rested upon.
"Are you the captain of this vessel," demanded the leader of the boarders, as he approached the old man.
"Yes sir."
"What is your cargo?"
"Machinery for ingines."
"Nothing else?" asked the pirate with a searching look.
At this moment, Captain Spinnet's eye caught what looked like a sail off to the southward and eastward, but no sign betrayed the discovery, and, while a brilliant idea shot through his mind, he hesitatingly replied:
"Well, there is a leetle something else."
"Ha! and what is it?"
"Why, sir, perhaps I hadn't ought to tell," said Captain Spinnet, counterfeiting the most extreme perturbation. "You see, 'twas given to me as a sort of trust, an' 't wouldn't be right for me to give up. You can take any thing else you please, for I s'pose I can't help myself."
"You are an honest codger, at any rate," said the pirate; "but, if you would live ten minutes longer, just tell me what you've got on board, and exactly where it lays."
The sight of the cocked pistol brought the old man to his senses, and, in a deprecating tone, he muttered:
"Don't kill me, sir, don't, I'll tell you all. We have got forty thousand silver dollars nailed up in boxes and stowed away under some of the boxes just forward of the cabin bulkhead, but Mr. Defoe didn't suspect that any body would have thought of looking for it there."
"Perhaps so," chuckled the pirate, while his eyes sparkled with delight. And then, turning to his own vessel, he ordered all but three of his men to jump on board the Yankee.
In a few moments the pirates had taken off the hatches, and, in their haste to get at the "silver dollars," they forgot all else; but not so with Spinnet; he had his wits at work, and no sooner had the last of the villains disappeared below the hatchway, than he turned to his boys.
"Now, boys, for our lives. Seth, you clap your knife across the fore throat and peak halyards; and you, John, cut the main. Be quick now, an' the moment you've done it, jump aboard the pirate. Andrew and Sam, you cast off the pirate's graplings; an' then you jump--then we'll walk into them three chaps aboard the clipper.Now for it."
No sooner were the last words out of the old man's mouth, than his sons did exactly as they had been directed. The fore and main halyards were cut, and the two graplings cast off at the same instant, and, as the heavy gaffs came rattling down, our five heroes leaped on board the pirate. The moment the clipper felt at liberty, her head swung off, and, before the astonished buccaneers could gain the decks of the fisherman, their own vessel was a cable's length to leeward, sweeping gracefully away before the wind, while the three men left in charge were easily secured.
"Halloa, there!" shouted Captain Spinnet, as the luckless pirates crowded around the lee gangway of their prize, "when you find them silver dollars, just let us know, will you?"
Half a dozen pistol shots was all the answer the old man got, but they did him no harm; and, crowding up all sail, he made for the vessel he had discovered, which lay dead to leeward of him, and which he made out to be a large ship. The clipper cut through the water like a dolphin, and, in a remarkably short space of time, Spinnet luffed up under the ship's stern, and explained all that had happened. The ship proved to be an East Indiaman, bound for Charleston, having, all told, thirty men on board, twenty of whom at once jumped into the clipper and offered their services in helping to take the pirate.
Before dark, Captain Spinnet was once more within hailing distance of his own vessel, and raising a trumpet to his mouth, he shouted:
"Schooner ahoy! Will you quietly surrender yourselves prisoners, if we come on board!"
"Come and try it!" returned the pirate captain, as he brandished his cutlass above his head in a threatening manner, which seemed to indicate that he would fight to the last.
But that was his last moment, for Seth was crouched below the bulwarks, taking deliberate aim along the barrel of a heavy rifle, and, as the bloody villain was in the act of turning to his men, the sharp crack of Seth Spinnet's weapon rang its fatal death-peal, and the next moment the captain fell back into the arms of his men, with a brace of bullets in his heart.
"Now," shouted the old man, as he leveled the long pivot gun, and seized a lighted match, "I'll give you just five minutes to make your minds up in, and, if you don't surrender, I'll blow every one of you into the other world."
The death of their captain, and, withal the sight of the pivot gun--its peculiar properties they knew full well--brought the pirates to their senses, and they threw down their weapons, and agreed to give themselves up.
In two days from that time, Captain Spinnet delivered his cargo safely in Havana, gave the pirates into the hands of the civil authorities, and delivered the clipper up to the government, in return for which, he received a sum of money sufficient for an independence during the remainder of his life, as well as a very handsome medal from the government.
A secret expedition had been planned by Col. Bowman, of Kentucky, against an Indian town on the little Miama. Simon Kenton and two young men, named Clark and Montgomery, were employed to proceed in advance, and reconnoiter. Kenton was a native of Fauquier county, Virginia, where he was born the fifteenth of May, 1755; his companions were roving backwoodsmen, denizens of the wood, and hunters like himself.
These adventurers set out in obedience to their orders, and reached the neighborhood of the Indian village without being discovered. They examined it attentively, and walked around the cabins during the night with perfect impunity. Had they returned after reconnoitering the place, they would have accomplished the object of their mission, and avoided a heavy calamity. They fell martyrs, however to their passion for horseflesh.
Unfortunately, during their nightly promenade, they stumbled upon a pound, in which were a number of Indian horses. The temptation was not to be resisted. They severally seized a horse and mounted. But there still remained a number of fine animals; and the adventurers cast longing, lingering looks behind. It was melancholy--the idea of forsaking such a goodly prize. Flesh and blood could not resist the temptation. Getting scalped was nothing to the loss of such beautiful specimens of horseflesh. They turned back, and took several more. The horses, however, seemed indisposed to change masters, and so much noise was made, in the attempt to secure them, that at last the thieves were discovered.
The cry rang through the village at once, that the Long-Knives were stealing their horses right before the doors of their wigwams. A great hubbub ensued; and Indians, old and young, squaws, children, and warriors, all sallied out with loud screams, to save their property from the greedy spoilers. Kenton and his friends saw that they had overshot their mark, and that they must ride for their lives. Even in this extremity, however, they could not reconcile their minds to the surrender of a single horse which they had haltered; and while two of them rode in front and led a great number of horses, the other brought up the rear, and, plying his whip from right to left, did not permit a single animal to lag behind.
In this manner, they dashed through the woods at a furious rate with the hue and cry after them, until their course was suddenly stopped by an impenetrable swamp. Here, from necessity, they paused a few minutes, and listened attentively. Hearing no sounds of pursuit, they resumed their course, and, skirting the swamp for some distance in the vain hope of crossing it, they bent their course in a straight direction to the Ohio. They rode during the whole night without resting a moment. Halting a brief space at daylight, they continued their journey throughout the day, and the whole of the following night; and, by this uncommon celerity of movement, they succeeded in reaching the northern bank of the Ohio on the morning of the second day.
Crossing the river would now insure their safety, but this was likely to prove a difficult undertaking, and the close pursuit, which they had reason to expect, rendered it expedient to lose as little time as possible. The wind was high, and the river rough and boisterous. It was determined that Kenton should cross with the horses, while Clark and Montgomery should construct a raft, in order to transport their guns, baggage, and ammunition, to the opposite shore. The necessary preparations were soon made, and Kenton, after forcing his horses into the river, plunged in himself, and swam by their side.
In a few minutes the high waves completely overwhelmed him, and forced him considerably below the horses, who stemmed the current much more successfully than he.
The horses, being left to themselves, turned about and made for the Ohio shore, where Kenton was compelled to follow them. Again he forced them into the water, and again they returned to the same spot, until Kenton became so exhausted by repeated efforts, as to be unable to swim. What was to be done?
That the Indians would pursue them was certain. That the horses would not and could not be made to cross the river in its present state, was equally certain. Should they abandon their horses and cross on the raft, or remain with their horses and brave the consequence? The latter alternative was adopted unanimously. Death or captivity might be tolerated, but the loss of such a beautiful lot of horses, after working so hard for them, was not to be thought of for a moment.
Should they move up or down the river, or remain where they were? The latter plan was adopted, and a more indiscreet one could hardly have been imagined. They supposed that the wind would fall at sunset, and the river become sufficiently calm to admit of their passage; and, as it was thought probable that the Indians might be upon them before night, it was determined to conceal their horses in a neighboring ravine, while they should take their stations in the adjoining wood.
The day passed away in tranquility; but at night the wind blew harder than ever, and the water became so rough, that they would hardly have been able to cross on their raft. As if totally infatuated, they remained where they were until morning; thus wasting twenty-four hours of most precious time in idleness. In the morning, the wind abated, and the river became calm; but, it was now too late. Their horses had become obstinate and intractible, and positively and repeatedly refused to take to the water.
Their masters at length determined to do what ought to have been done at first. They severally resolved to mount a horse, and make the best of their way down the river to Louisville. But their unconquerable reluctance to lose their horses overcame even this resolution. Instead of leaving the ground instantly, they went back upon their own trail, in the vain effort to regain possession of the rest of their horses, which had broken from them in their last effort to drive them into the water. They literally fell victims to their love for horseflesh.
They had scarcely ridden one hundred yards when Kenton, who had dismounted, heard a loud halloo. He quickly beheld three Indians and one white man, all well mounted. Wishing to give the alarm to his companions, he raised his rifle, took a steady aim at the breast of the foremost Indian, and drew the trigger. His gun had become wet on the raft, and flashed.
The enemy were instantly alarmed, and dashed at him. Kenton took to his heels, and was pursued by four horsemen at full speed. He instantly directed his steps to the thickest part of the wood, and had succeeded, as he thought, in baffling his pursuers, when, just as he was entering the wood, an Indian on horseback galloped up to him with such rapidity as to render flight useless. The horseman rode up, holding out his hand, and calling out "Brother! brother!" in a tone of great affection. Kenton observes, that if his gun would have made fire, he would have "brothered" him to his heart's content, but, being totally unarmed, he called out that he would surrender if they would give him quarter and good treatment.
Promises were cheap with the Indian, who, advancing, with extended hands and a withering grin upon his countenance, which was intended for a smile of courtesy, seized Kenton's hand and grasped it with violence. Kenton, not liking the manner of his captor, raised his gun to knock him down, when an Indian, who had followed him closely through the brushwood, sprung upon his back, and pinioned his arms to his side. The one, who had been grinning so amiably, then raised him by the hair and shook him until his teeth rattled, while the rest of the party coming up, fell upon Kenton with their tongues and ramrods, until he thought they would scold or beat him to death. They were the owners of the horses which he had carried off, and now took ample revenge for the loss of their property. At every stroke of their ramrods over his head, they would exclaim in a tone of strong indignation, "Steal Indian hoss! hey!"
Their attention, however, was soon directed to Montgomery, who, having heard the noise attending Kenton's capture, very gallantly hastened up to his assistance, while Clark prudently took to his heels. Montgomery halted within gunshot, and appeared busy with the pan of his gun, as if preparing to fire. Two Indians instantly sprang off in pursuit of him, while the rest attended to Kenton. In a few minutes Kenton heard the crack of two rifles in quick succession, followed by a halloo, which announced the fate of his friend. The Indians returned, waving the bloody scalp of Montgomery, and with countenances and gestures which menaced him with a similar fate.
They then proceeded to secure their prisoner by pinioning him with stout sticks, and fastening him with ropes to a tree. During the operation they cuffed him from time to time with great heartiness, and abused him for a "tief!--a hoss steal!--a rascal!"
Kenton remained in this painful position throughout the night, looking forward to certain death, and most probably torture, as soon as he should reach their town. Their rage against him displayed itself the next morning, in rather a singular manner.
Among the horses which Kenton had taken, was a wild young colt, wholly unbroken, and with all his honors of mane and tail undocked. Upon him Kenton was mounted, without saddle or bridle, with his hands tied behind him, and his feet fastened under the horse's belly. The country was rough and bushy, and Kenton had no means of protecting his face from the brambles, through which it was expected that the colt would dash. As soon as the rider was firmly fastened to his back, the colt was turned loose with a sudden lash, but, after curvetting and capricoling for awhile, to the great distress of Kenton, but to the infinite amusement of the Indians, he appeared to take compassion on his rider, and, falling into a line with the other horses, avoided the brambles entirely, and went on very well. In this manner he rode through the day. At night he was taken from the horse, and confined as before.
On the third day, they came within a few miles of Chillicothe. Here the party halted, and sent forward a messenger to prepare for their reception. In a short time, Blackfish, one of their chiefs, arrived, and regarding Kenton with a stern countenance, thundered out in very good English: "You have been stealing horses?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did Captain Boone tell you to steal our horses?"
"No, sir, I did it of my own accord."
Blackfish made no reply to this frank confession; but, brandishing a hickory switch, he applied it so briskly to Kenton's naked back and shoulders, as to bring the blood freely, and occasion acute pain.
Thus, alternately scolded and beaten, Kenton was conducted to the village. All the inhabitants, men, women, and children, ran out to feast their eyes with a sight of the prisoner; and all, down to the smallest child, appeared in a paroxysm of rage. They whooped, they yelled, they hooted, they clapped their hands, and poured upon him a flood of abuse, to which all that he had yet experienced was courteous and civil. With loud cries, they demanded that their prisoner should be tied to the stake. The hint was instantly complied with; but, after being well thrashed and tormented, he was released for the purpose of furnishing further amusement to his captors.
Death of Montgomery.
Death of Montgomery.
Early in the morning, he beheld the scalp of Montgomery stretched upon a hoop, and drying in the air, before the door of one of their principal houses, he was led out, and ordered to run the gauntlet. A row of boys, women, and men, extended to the distance of a quarter of a mile. At the starting-place, stood two grim warriors with butcher knives in their hands. At the extremity of the line, was an Indian beating a drum; and a few paces beyond the drum was the door of the council-house. Clubs, switches, hoe-handles, and tomahawks, were brandished along the whole line, and, as Kenton saw these formidable preparations, the cold sweat streamed from his pores.
The moment for starting arrived, the great drum at the door of the council-house was struck; and Kenton sprang forward in the race. He, however, avoided the row of his enemies, and, turning to the east, drew the whole party in pursuit of him. He doubled several times with great activity, and at length observing an opening he darted through it, and pressed forward to the council-house with a rapidity which left his pursuers far behind. One or two of the Indians succeeded in throwing themselves between him and the goal, and from these alone he received a few blows, but was much less injured than he could at first have supposed possible.
After the race was over, a council to decide his fate was held, while he was handed over, naked and bound, to the care of a guard in the open air. The deliberation commenced. Every warrior sat in silence, while a large warclub was passed round the circle. Those who were opposed to burning the prisoner on the spot, were to pass the club in silence to the next warrior. Those in favor of burning were to strike the earth violently with the club before passing it.
A teller was appointed to count the votes. This dignitary reported that the opposition had prevailed; and that it was determined to take the prisoner to an Indian town on Mad river, called Waughcotomoco. His fate was announced to him by a renegado white man, who acted as interpreter. Kenton asked "what the Indians intended to do with him upon reaching Waughcotomoco."
"Burn you!" replied the renegado, with a ferocious oath.
After this pleasant assurance, the laconic and scowling interpreter walked away.
The prisoner's clothes were restored to him, and he was permitted to remain unbound. Thanks to the intimation of the interpreter, he was aware of the fate in reserve for him, and resolved that he would never be carried alive to Waughcotomoco. Their route lay through an unprimed forest, abounding in thickets and undergrowth. During the whole of the march, Kenton remained abstracted and silent; often meditating an effort for the recovery of his liberty, and as often shrinking from the peril of the attempt.
At length he was aroused from his reverie by the Indians firing off their guns, and raising the shrill scalp-halloo. The signal was soon answered, and the deep roll of a drum was heard far in front, announcing to the unhappy prisoner, that they were approaching an Indian town, where the gauntlet, certainly, and perhaps the stake awaited him.
The idea of a repetition of the dreadful scenes he had just encountered, overcame his indecision, and, with a sudden and startling cry, he sprung into the bushes, and fled with the speed of a wild deer. The pursuit was instant and keen. Some of his pursuers were on horseback, some on foot. But he was flying for his life. The stake and the hot iron, and the burning splinters were before his eyes, and he soon distanced the swiftest hunter in pursuit.
But fate was against him at every turn. Thinking only of the enemy behind, he forgot that there might be an enemy before; and he suddenly found that he had plunged into the center of a fresh party of horsemen, who had sallied from the town at the firing of the guns, and happened, unfortunately, to stumble upon the poor prisoner, now making a last effort for freedom. His heart sunk at once from the ardor of hope to the lowest pit of despair, and he was again haltered and driven into captivity like an ox to the slaughter.
On the second day he arrived at Waughcotomoco. Here he was again compelled to run the gauntlet, in which he was severely hurt. Immediately after this ceremony, he was taken to the council-house, and all the warriors once more assembled to determine his fate.
He sat silent and dejected upon the floor of the cabin, when the door of the council-house opened, and Simon Girty, James Girty, John Ward, and an Indian, came in with a woman as a prisoner, together with seven children and seven scalps. Kenton was immediately removed from the council-house, and the deliberations of the assembly were protracted to a very late hour, in consequence of the arrival of the last-named party with a fresh drove of prisoners.
At length he was again summoned to attend the council-house, being informed that his fate was decided. Upon entering, he was greeted with a savage scowl, which, if he had still cherished a spark of hope, would have completely extinguished it. Simon Girty threw a blanket upon the floor, and harshly ordered him to take a seat upon it. The order was not immediately complied with, and Girty impatiently seizing his arm, jerked him roughly upon the blanket, and pulled him down.
In a menacing tone, Girty then interrogated him as to the condition of Kentucky.
"How many men are there in Kentucky?"
"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 assembled 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 assist 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 space 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 passed 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 passed 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 noble, 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, assuring 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.