Boquet wished to follow up his success, and march at once into the enemy's country, and wring from the hostile tribes, by force of arms, a treaty of peace, which should forever put an end to those scenes of rapine and murder. But his force was too small, and the season too far advanced. He matured his plans during the winter, and in the spring began his preparations. The Indians, in the meantime, had procured powder from the French, and, as soon as the snow melted, commenced their ravages along the frontier. The aroused and desperate people of Pennsylvania furnished a thousand men, and Virginia a corps of volunteers, which, added to Boquet's five hundred regulars, made a force of nearly two thousand men, with which he was instructed to advance into the enemy's territory, and, by one grand movement, crush the offending tribes. His route was without any water communication, and lay through the heart of an unbroken wilderness. The expedition was to be carried out without boats, wagons, or artillery, and without a post to fall back upon in case of disaster. It was, indeed, an isolated and a novel affair. It was autumn before all obstacles were overcome, and the army under way. It struck directly into the trackless forest, with no definite point in view, and no fixed limit to its advance. It was intended to overawe by its magnitude—to move, as an awful exhibition of power, into the heart of the red-man's dominions. Expecting to be shut up in the forest at least a month, receiving in that time no supplies from without, it had to carry along an immense quantity of provisions. Meat, of course, could not be preserved, and so the frontier settlements were exhausted of sheep and oxen for its support. These necessarily caused the march to be slow and methodical. The corps of Virginia volunteers went in front, preceded by three scouting parties—one of which kept the path—while the two others moved in a line abreast, on either side, to explore the woods.
Under cover of these, the ax companies, guarded by two companies of light infantry, cut two parallel paths, one each side of the main path, for the troops, pack-horses, and cattle, which followed. First marched the Highlanders, in column, two deep, in the centre path, and in the side paths, in single file, abreast—the men six feet apart—and behind them the corps of reserve, and the second battalion of Pennsylvania militia. Then came the officers, and pack-horses, followed by the droves of cattle, filling the forest with their loud complainings. A company of light-horse walked slowly after these, while the rear-guard closed the long array. No talking was allowed, and no music cheered the way. In this order the unwieldy caravan struggled along, neither extremity of which could be seen from the centre, it being lost amid the thickly-clustering trunks and foliage in the distance.
Some days they would make but two or three miles, and again, when the way was less obstructed, would make ten, fifteen or eighteen miles. On the fourth day of their march, near some deserted Indian huts, they came upon the skull of a child, stuck upon a pole.
There was a large number of men in the army who had wives, children and friends prisoners among the Indians, and who had accompanied the expedition for the purpose of recovering them. To these the skull of this little child brought sad reflections. Some one among them was, perhaps, its father, while the thought that it might stand as an index, to tell the fate of all who were captured, made each one shudder. As they looked at it, bleached by the sun and rain, the anxious heart asked questions it dared not answer.
Keeping on their course, they pursued their difficult march, day after day, much of the time through a tangled wilderness, but occasionally, from some high point, catching glimpses of marvellous splendor of sky and scenery, the purpled sunlight of October wrapping all objects in a kind of enchantment. At times the path was so overgrown with bushes, that every step had to be cleared with the ax; again, it would be over marshes, so wet that bridges had to be constructed, to keep the cattle from sinking; and still again, the men would be cheered by an easy and rapid day's journey, along the banks of some pleasant stream. Ohio is even yet renowned for its glorious forests, and these, now dressed in all the gorgeous coloring of Indian summer, gave frequent pictures of beauty which impressed the roughest of the sturdy soldiers.
At length they descended to a small river, which they followed until it joined the main force of the Muskingum, where a scene of a very different character awaited them. A little above and below the forks, the shores had been cultivated, and lined with Indian houses. The place was called Tuscarora, and, for beauty of situation, could not well be surpassed. The high, luxuriant banks, the placid rivers, meeting and flowing on together, the green fields, sprinkled with huts, and bordered with rich, autumnal foliage, all basking in the mellow October light, and so out of the way there in the wilderness, combined to form a sweet picture, which was doubly lovely to them after being so long shut up in the forest. They reached this beautiful spot Saturday afternoon, and, the next day being Sunday, they remained in camp, men and cattle being allowed a day of rest. The latter, revived under the swell of green grass, and, roaming over the fields, gave a still more civilized aspect to the quiet scene. The next day, the army moved two miles further down the Muskingum, and encamped on a high bank, where the stream was three hundred feet wide.
The following day six chiefs came into camp, saying that all the rest were eight miles off, waiting to make peace. Boquet told them he would be ready to receive them next day. In the meantime he ordered a large bower to be built, a short distance from camp, while sentinels were posted in every direction, to prevent surprise, in case treachery was meditated.
The next day, the 17th, he paraded the Highlanders and Virginia volunteers, and, escorted by the light-horse, led them to the bower, where he disposed them in the most imposing manner, so as to impress the chiefs, in the approaching interview. The latter, as they emerged from the forest, were conducted, with great ceremony to the bower, which they entered with their accustomed gravity, where, without saying a word, they quietly seated themselves, and commenced smoking. When they had finished they laid aside their pipes, and drew from their pouches strings of wampum. The council, being thus opened, they made a long address, in which they were profuse in their professions of peace, laying the whole blame of the war on the young men, whom, they said, they could not control.
Boquet, not wishing to appear eager to come to a settlement, replied that he would give his answer the next day, and the council broke up. A passing storm, however, prevented a meeting of the council until the day following that first set. Boquet's answer was long and conciliatory; but the gist of it was that he would make peace on one condition, and no other—that the Indians should give up all the prisoners in their possession within ten days.
Remaining quietly in camp until Monday, he again ordered the tents to be struck, and recommenced his march, to show his determination to enforce his commands. In three days he reached the forks of the Muskingum; and, judging this to be as central a position as he could find, he resolved to remain there until his mission was accomplished. He ordered four redoubts to be built, erected several store-houses, a mess-house, a large number of ovens, and various other buildings for the reception of captives, which, with the white tents scattered up and down the forks of the river, made a large settlement in the wilderness, filling the Indians with alarm. A town with nearly two thousand inhabitants, well supplied with horses, cattle and sheep, and with ample means of defense, was well calculated to awaken the gloomiest anticipations in the breasts of the ancient inheritors. The steady sound of the ax, day after day, the lowing of cattle, and all the bustle of civilization, echoing along the banks of the Muskingum, within the very heart of their territory, was more alarming than the resistless march of a victorious army; and, anxious to get rid of such unwelcome company, they made every effort to collect the prisoners scattered amid the various tribes.