To the causes of irritation which we have before enumerated as stimulating them to these measures must be added the breach of the treaty of Greenville, which had been so solemnly ratified, and which on the part of the Indians had been preserved inviolate. One of the stipulations of that humiliating compact, by which they had ceded so vast a territory, provided that all murderers should be surrendered to the party aggrieved, to be punished according to their respective laws or customs. In accordance with this provision, Indians were repeatedly given over to the United States' authorities, tried, convicted, and executed according to the judgment of their courts. But though many Indians had been shot in the most wanton and unprovoked manner by Americans, and a demand for the murderers often made, still they were never given over for punishment, nor was there even an instance in the courts, of a conviction for so atrocious a crime. This was the power of prejudice, and to such an extent was it carried, that the killing of an Indian by an American was scarcely regarded as indictable offence. Can it then be a matter of surprise, that in this state of things, they, with their ardent feelings and simple notions of justice, should be sometimes tempted to take the law into their own hands, and seek by bloody retaliation that redress, denied them by our courts, and the hostility of our people. Is it at all strange that murders were committed which began to increase to an alarming extent, and that the Indians, adopting our own tactics, should have endeavoured to screen the murderers?
But we have still to add for the Indians, another cause of exasperation. Many attempts had been made on the part of the whites, to purchase other portions of their land, from all the tribes assembled in general council. In this they had failed, and yet, several treaties had been concluded, and large districts of land conveyed to the United States, by a single tribe, while the Indians generally regarded it as the common property, only to be alienated by all the tribes collectively. To annul these treaties, repeated applications had been made, but without success. These, with the long and unprovoked aggressions before mentioned, would have stirred up the deadliest hate of the most civilized people; then how could they otherwise than powerfully operate upon savages, marked by ferocity of disposition, and stubborn independence of character.
While this state of feeling was spreading rapidly among the Indians, emigration was in a great measure suspended, and fear was felt by all the border settlers. Nor were their apprehensions groundless, for it often happened that some adventurer, more daring than his companions, suddenly disappeared from his family, and was never again heard of. And scarcely would the excitement consequent upon these things subside, before acts still more alarming in their character were perpetrated, tending to unveil the mystery which hung over the fate of those who were lost; for the hunter would at times discover the mangled body of some emigrant who had been wantonly murdered, and left a prey to the beasts of the forest. When these things were told, terror and dismay filled the breasts of all, mothers pressed sleepless pillows, drew their infants still closer to their bosoms, and saw in troubled slumbers the blaze of their dwellings, while the war whoop of the savage would ring shrill in their ears. Yet it was but a dream.
At this time a great change was observable in the habits of the Indians; they no longer indulged in intoxicating liquors; gewgaws, which before possessed so many attractions in their eyes, were now disregarded; all intercourse with the whites was suddenly broken off, and rumour began to tell of secret councils, and midnight meetings in the depths of the forest. And then were heard dark hints, and enigmatical sayings, implying that they were invulnerable to the bullets of the whites, and were soon to repossess the lands of their fathers. Then came the tidings that a Prophet had arisen, who held daily converse with the Great Spirit, and ruled the tribes with an absolute sway. With this annunciation, the clouds of discontent, which had so long lain scattered in the horizon, began to unite, and settle in darkness over the west. At this period we commence our narrative.
CHAPTER II.
“Then he hears
How the fierce Indian scalped the helpless child,
And bore its shrieking mother to the wild,
Butch'ring the father, hastening to his home,
Who sought his cottage, but to find his tomb.”
BRAINARD.
The 10th of August, 1809! At the mention of that date, how the past sweeps by me, and with it come the yells of the savage, the dying groans of infancy and of age; and by the light of lurid flames, I behold their bleeding bodies, and hear the last gurgling cry of a youth, as he sinks beneath the closing waves. It was a sad night, and fearfully wild is the tale which it tells.
The Ohio, than which no lovelier river flows beneath the sun, was bearing on its surface, a rude boat, containing an emigrant family destined for some point in the “far west.” Carried along by the current, its motion was so gentle, that not a ripple indicated its passage. The hour was midnight, there was no moon, yet the stars emitted a soft light sufficient to show the dim outline of the lofty hills, which skirted the river on either side, serving as landmarks to the adventurer, by which to keep near the middle of the stream. The country was here entirely unsettled, and the dense forests which rose up high into the heavens, threw over the scene a sombre hue, calculated to suggest to an excited imagination a thousand dangers.
Thus situated was the family of John Foreman, consisting of himself, his wife, and several children; among them a sweet girl, who, like an opening flower, was just expanding into beauty, and a son who had already arrived at the age of manhood. Mr. Foreman was a native of lower Virginia, whom misfortunes had reduced to poverty, and who, with a hope of bettering his condition, had torn himself from his friends, to become a settler of the “far off West.” Having embarked at Pittsburg, he had already floated far upon his journey, when the incident occurred upon which depends the interest of the following pages.
The boat having swept a distance hard upon a thousand miles, through a country where the vision was bounded by lofty hills, rising before them in perpetual beauty, had now arrived at a point where the scenery ceases to be beautiful, and at once becomes grand and sublime. This point, the most remarkable on the Ohio River, is known to travellers, by the name of the “Battery Rock,” being a mural precipice of limestone, rising perpendicularly several hundred feet from the river which laves its base, and stretching for some distance along its northern bank. It lies within the state of Illinois, some ten or twelve miles below Shawneetown, and a few miles above the village of Golconda.