When ready to leave, he turned and addressed the assembled Christians thanking them for their hospitality, and assuring them that they could always depend upon his steadfast friendship.
The following incident will illustrate a peculiar phase of the character of this remarkable man:
One of the most noted scouts connected with Colonel Brodhead's army, and afterward with Harmar, St. Clair and Wayne, was an Irishman named Murphy. He was a rollicking fellow, with all the wit and waggery of his people, brave to the last degree, and a master of woodcraft. Some of the exploits with which he is credited sound incredible. No Indian could follow a shadowy trail through the woods more truly, and few were his equal in resources and quickness to see the right thing to do in a crisis. He was tall, bony, homely of feature, with a shock of fiery red hair and a freckled countenance. With many, his greatest gift was his fleetness of foot. In all the races in which he engaged he never met his superior. Simon Kenton, who, in his prime, could run like a deer, said Murphy was able to lead every one else.
This point became well known to the Indians, and many of them put forth their utmost efforts to capture him. Aware of the valuable help he gave to the whites, they would have given much to lay hands on him. He had slain and scalped (sad to say that barbarous practice was not confined to the red men) some of their most noted warriors, and there would have been general rejoicing among all the tribes could the means be found to check his destroying career.
Well, disaster came to Murphy at last. He had a hard fight with three Delawares, one summer afternoon, in the depths of the wilderness. He shot one, wounded the second, and would have gotten away as usual, but at the critical moment, a score of bucks arrived on the spot, surrounded and made him prisoner. When the grinning captors closed about him, Murphy threw up his hands and asked them to be considerate as he had wrenched his ankle, and was barely able to stand. His appeal was useless, for they beat him unmercifully, and forced him to keep pace with them, though he limped so badly that at times he actually hopped forward on one foot. But the plucky fellow gritted his teeth, bore their blows unflinchingly, and, seemingly more dead than alive, finally reached the Delaware villages, where his coming caused great excitement and rejoicing.
It was early in the afternoon, and a discussion immediately took place as to how the prize should be disposed of. The majority favored burning him at the stake; but Buckongahelas had stopped that inhuman practice, and would not listen to anything of the kind. Other savage pleasantries were suggested, all of which the chief vetoed, in several cases being backed by some of the leaders. Finally, some one proposed that the captive should run the gauntlet.
The grim fiendishness of this will be understood when the lameness of poor Murphy is remembered. All through the talk, he was standing in the background on one foot, his rugged face twitching with the pain he could not keep back. Buckongahelas would have interfered, had he not known that it was useless. There was a point beyond which he could not hold his warriors. He had denied them their favorite pastime, and even he could not say that they should be robbed of every form of amusement. There was not a warrior among the howling throng who did not know the scout who had wrought them so much evil, and upon whom they had tried so long to lay hands. The chieftain nodded his consent to their proposal.
Murphy was familiar enough with the Delaware tongue to understand the decision that had been reached. He was too sensible to protest and silently nerved himself for the dreaded ordeal soon to come.
The Delawares made their preparations with the enthusiasm of so many boys, while those who were not to take part chuckled with delight. The persecutors formed in two rows, facing each other, with hardly a dozen feet of space between. In each row were twenty-eight warriors and squaws, separated by slightly less distance. The arrangement was meant to give each one just enough room to swing his or her arms with freedom.
Thus, as will be seen, Murphy was doomed to run over a path nearly a hundred yards in length, and between two rows of persecutors, all eagerly waiting for him to come nigh enough for them to reach him with the clubs in their itching hands. They had laid their guns aside, and every one was armed with a heavy stick, which he meant to bring down with a vicious energy that would hurl the poor fellow to the ground, if the implement once reached its mark.