“I see no help, either, except in a war of extermination. It would be a dreadful thing to carry the struggle to the knife, but I see no other alternative. They have rejected all our offers of friendship, and are determined to exterminate us, and the safety of us and ours absolutely requires that the war should be carried into their own country, though for that matter they claim, I suppose, that it is already within their own country.”
“That’s the doctrine I’ve been argyfying for a long time and I think they’ll soon see it’s got to be done. But it ’pears to me that George is gone a long time for that brother of mine. Hello! here they come. How d’ye do, Abe?”
“How are you, Tom?”
The brothers met, and the others feeling the indelicacy of remaining, withdrew and left them alone. A conversation, which it is not necessary we shall record, passed between them.
Tom Moffat was older than his brother by six or seven years, and was one of those scouts or rangers whose business it was to skirt along the Ohio between the settlements, and to ascertain the doings and intentions of the hostile tribes and to warn the whites when danger threatened them. The services of such men were invaluable. There was hardly a movement of the Shawnees which they did not discover and communicate, and to their timely warning, in more than one instance, was the salvation of hundreds owing.
The information which the scout imparted upon this occasion was that Colonel Clark had determined, with his Kentucky Rangers, to march against the Indians at Chillicothe, and to bring them to battle. A summary chastisment was imperatively demanded, and our settlement willingly volunteered to assist their gallant friends in the expedition.
Colonel Clark, a few weeks subsequent to these events, called together his Kentucky Rangers, as they were termed, for marching against the Indian settlements at Chillicothe. Tom Moffat, the scout, conducted his brother, Kingman, and half a dozen others, through the wilderness to join them, as our settlement had already gained quite a fame for its readiness in assisting such expeditions.
This was in the summer of 1780. The Rangers collected together, and headed by Colonel Clark, a gallant and inexperienced Indian fighter, they reached the Indian town a day later; but the Shawnee runners had apprized their nation of the force marching against them, and when the villages were reached not even a squaw or pappoose was visible. This was a surprise to the whites, as they fully expected to meet the combined warriors and have a bloody battle; nevertheless, they determined that the cowardly Indians should not escape them.
Their scouts were first dispatched to reconnoitre the forest, to prevent falling into ambush. They reported that not a savage was in sight, and it was evident they were thoroughly intimidated, and had retreated to a safe distance. Colonel Clark then gave the order to burn the Indian villages and destroy their corn-fields.
In a few moments the flames from the different lodges burst forth and communicated to the others. They were made of light, combustible material, and in an incredible short space of time the whole village was one mass of roaring, crackling flame. The smoke ascended far over the tree-tops and gathered and formed a dark, heavy cloud, which settled in the horizon. These evidences of conflagration were witnessed by more than one Shawnee from his hiding-place, and he trembled, for he knew what a justly-excited people was revenging its wrongs. Not an Indian made his appearance while the rangers were at work.