University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

The council-house in question, was a building of good size, of larger dimensions
than its neighbors, stood on a slight elevation, and, as we before
remarked, near the center of the village. Into this the warriors and
head men of the Piqua tribe, now speedily gathered, and proceeded at once
to business. An old chief—whose wrinkled features and slightly tremulous
limbs, denoted extreme age—was allowed, by common consent, to act as
chairman; and taking his position near the center of the apartment, with a
knife and a small stick in his hand, the warriors and chief men of the nation
formed a circle around him.

Among these latter—conspicuous above all, for his beautiful and graceful
form, his dignified manner, and look of intelligence, to whom all eyes turned
with seeming deference—was the celebrated Shawanoe chief, Catahecassa,
(Black Hoof) whose name occupies no inferior place on the historic page of
the present day, as being at first the inveterate foe, and afterward the warm
friend of the whites. In stature he was small—being only about five feet
eight inches—lightly made, but strongly put together, with a countenance
marked and manly, and one that would be pleasing to a friend, but dreaded
by an enemy. He was a great orator, a keen, cunning and sagacious warrior,
and one who held the confidence and love of his tribe. At the period
referred to, he was far past what is usually termed the middle age, though,
as subsequent events have proved, only in his noon of life—for at his death
he numbered one hundred and ten years.

Upon the ground, within the circle, and near the old chief in the center,
were seated Algernon and Younker—the latter having recovered consciousness—both
haggard and bloody from their recent brutal treatment. They

were sad spectacles to behold, truly, and would have moved to pity any
hearts less obdurate than those by which they were surrounded. Their
faces bore those expressions of dejection and wan despair, which may sometimes
be perceived in the look of a criminal, when, loth to die, he is assured
all hope of pardon is past. Not that either Younker or Reynolds felt criminal,
or feared death, in its ordinary way; but there were a thousand things
to harrass their minds, besides the dreadful thought of that lingering, horrible
torture, which were enough to make the boldest quail, and which they
now had not the faintest hope of escaping. There is ever something solemn
and awful in the thought of death, let it come in the mildest form possible,—
for the individual feels he is hastening to that silent bourne, whence none
have e'er returned to tell its mysteries,—yet such is as nothing in compare
with the death our prisoners were now silently awaiting, away from friends
and all sympathy, in the full vigor of animal life, to be fairly worn out by
the most excruciating pains, amid the hootings and revilings of a savage foe.
It was enough to have made the stoutest heart faint, trembling and sick;
and thus our unfortunate friends felt, as they slowly gazed around, and
saw nothing but fierce, angry looks bent upon them.

Girty was the first to address the assemblage, in the Indian dialect, in an
animated and angry speech of five minutes duration, occasionally turning
his sinister visage upon the prisoners, with an expression of mortal hatred,
gesticulating the while in that vehement manner, which would have left no
doubts on their minds as to the nature of his discourse, had they not previously
known him to be their determined foe. He narrated to the savages,
clearly and briefly, the wrongs which had been done them, as well as himself,
by the whites; how, as the ally and friend of the red-man, he had been
cursed, defied and treated with much contumely, by those here present; how
their friends had followed and slaughtered his braves; how the whites, their
foes, were every day becoming stronger and more aggressive; how that,
unless speedily exterminated, they would presently drive the red-men from
their hunting grounds, burn their wigwams, and murder their wives and
children,—referred them, as a proof, to the sacking and burning of the Chillicothe
and Piqua villages, on the Little Miami and Mad rivers, the year
preceding, by General Clark and his men;[1] —and wound up by demanding
the death of the prisoners at the stake, and a speedy and bloody retaliation
upon the pioneers of Kentucky.

As Girty concluded his speech, which was listened to in breathless silence,
there was a great sensation in the house, and an almost unanimous grunt of
approval from the chiefs and braves there assembled. It needed but this,
to arouse their vindictive passions against the white invader to the extreme,
and they bent upon the unfortunate prisoners, eyes which seemed inflamed
with rage and revenge. Girty perceived, at a glance, that he had succeeded
to the full of his heart's desire; and with a devilish smile of satisfaction
on his features, he drew back among the warriors, to listen to the harrangues
of the others.

Black Hoof was the next to follow the renegade, in a similar but more
eloquent strain, during which his countenance became greatly animated and
it was easy for the prisoners to perceive—who could not understand a word
he uttered—that he spoke with great enthusiasm. He also pressed upon his
companions the vast importance of exterminating the whites, ere they—
as he expressed it—became as the leaves of the forest, and covered the red-man's
soil; that, for this purpose, they should prepare themselves as soon

as possible, to open a deadly, unyielding warfare upon the frontiers; but
said, withal, that he was opposed to burning the prisoners—as that was a
barbarism which he feared would not be sanctioned by the Great Spirit—
and urged that they should be put to death in a quicker and milder form.[2]

Black Hoof's speech was warmly received, with the exception of what referred
to the prisoners, and this rather coldly. They were excited and
mad—their passions were up for revenge—and they could not bear the idea
of sending a prisoner out of the world, without first enjoying the delight of
seeing him writhe under the tortures of the stake.

Wild-cat next followed Black Hoof, in a brief speech, in which he but
echoed the sentiments of Girty throughout, and received, like his colleague,
an almost universal grunt of approbation. He was succeeded by one or
two others, to the same effect—each urging the burning of the prisoners—
and on their conclusion, no other appearing to speak, the old chief in the
center at once proceeded to decide, by vote, the matter at issue. Advancing
to the warrior nearest the door, he handed him a war-club, and then resumed
his place in the circle, to record the will of each. Those who were
in favor of burning the prisoners, struck the ground fiercely with the weapon
in question, and then passed it to his neighbor; those who were otherwise
disposed, passed it quietly, in silence; thus it went through the whole
assemblage—the old chief recording the vote of each, by cutting a notch on
the stick in his hand; those for mercy being placed on one side, and those
for the torture on the opposite. Some three or four only, besides Black
Hoof, passed it quietly—consequently the sentence of death was carried by
a decided majority. Had there been any doubt in the minds of Younker
and Reynolds as to the result, it would have needed only one glance at
Girty, who was now grinning upon them like a demon, to assure them their
doom was sealed.

The question next came up as to the time and place for executing the
sentence; and after some further debate, it was decided that the old man
should be burnt forthwith, in the village, that their women and children
might have a holiday pastime; but that Algernon must be made a grand national
example, before the assembled tribes at Upper Sandusky, when they
should be met to receive presents from the British agent.[3] This latter decision
was mainly effected by the eloquence of Black Hoof; who, from some
cause, for which it would be impossible to account—only as a mysterious
working of an overruling Providence—had secretly determined, if such a
thing were possible, to save the life of Algernon; and took this method, as
the only one likely to aid his purpose, by protecting him from immediate
death.

The trial concluded, the council now broke up, and Girty was authorized
to inform the prisoners of their sentence, while four young braves were selected
to take charge of Algernon, and to set off with him, so soon as the
burning of Younker should be over, for Upper Sandusky, where he was to

be kept in durance until wanted. Advancing directly to the prisoners, the
renegade now said, with a sneer:

“Well, my beauties, are you ready to die?”

“We don't expect any thing else, Simon Girty,” answered the old man,
mildly.

“Don't you, by—!” rejoined Girty. “Perhaps it's just as well you
don't—ha, ha, ha! Come, old dotard,” he continued, “down on your marrow
bones, and say your prayers; for by—! you will never behold the
setting of another sun.”

“I've said my prayers regular for thirty year,” answered Younker,
“and I've been ready to die whensomever the Lord should see fit to call
me, and therefore don't feel myself no more obligated to pray jest at this
perticular time, than ef I war told I war going to live twenty year more.
It's only them as hain't lived right, that the near coming o' death makes
pray, more nor at another time; and so jest allow me, Simon Girty, to return
you your advice, which is very good, and which, ef you follow yourself,
you'll be likely to make a much better man nor you've ever done
afore.”

“Fool!” muttered the renegade with an oath. Then turning to Algernon,
he continued: “You, sirrah, are destined to live a little longer—though
by no design of mine, I can assure you. Don't flatter yourself, though, that
you are going to escape,” he added, as he perceived the countenance of Algernon
slightly brighten at his intelligence; “for by—! if I thought there
was a probability of such a thing happening, I would brain you where you
sit, if I died for it the next moment. No, young man, there is no escape
for you; you are condamned to be burat, as well as Younker, only at another
place; and by—! I will follow you myself, to see that the sentence is
enforced with all its horrors.”

“For all of which, you doubtless feel yourself entitled to my thanks,”
returned Algernon, bitterly. “Do your worst, Simon Girty; but understand
me, before you go further, that though life is as dear to me at the present
moment as to another, yet so much do I abhor and loathe the very sight
of you, that, could I have it for the asking, I would not stoop to beg it of so
brutal and cowardly a thing as yourself.”

“By—!” cried Girty, in a transport of rage, “the time will come,
when, if you do not sue for life, you will for death, and at my hands; and
till then will I forego my revenge for your insolence now. And let me tell
you one thing further, that you may muse upon it in my absence. I will
raise an army, ere many months are over, and march upon the frontiers of
Kentucky; and by all the powers of good and evil, I swear again to get possession
of the girl you love, but whom I now hate—hate as the arch fiend
hates Heaven—and she shall theaceforth be my mistress and slave; and to
make her feel more happy, I will ever and anon whisper your name in her
ear, and tell her how you died, and the part I took in your death; and in
the still hours of night, will I picture to her your agonies and dying groans,
and repeat your prayers for death to release you. Ha! you may well shudder
and grow pale; for again I swear, by all the elements, and by every
thing mortal and immortal, I will accomplish the deed! Then, and not till
then, will I feel my revenge complete.”

The countenance of Girty, as he said this, was terrible to behold; for so
enraged was he, that he fairly foamed at the mouth, and his eyes seemed
like two balls of fire. As he concluded, he turned away abruptly, and muttering
something in the Indian tongue, to some of the savages who were
standing around, immediately quitted the council-house.

As Girty departed, the four young warriors who were to have charge of
Algernon, immediately advanced to him, and one of them tapping him on
the shoulder, moved away, motioning him to follow. As he prepared to
obey, Younker grasped him by the hand, and with eyes full of tears, in a
trembling, pathetic voice, said:

“Good-bye, lad! God bless and be with you! Something tells me we
won't never meet agin. Keep up as stout a heart as you can; and ef you
should escape, tell my (here the old man's voice faltered so that he could
scarcely articulate a syllable)—tell my wife, and—and children that I died
happy, a thinking o' them, and praying for 'em, to—to the last. Good-bye!
good-bye!” and wringing his hand again, the old man fairly sobbed aloud;
while the rough warriors stood looking on in silence, and Algernon could
only groan forth a farewell. So they parted—never to meet again on earth.

Algernon was now conducted, by his guards, to a small building on the
outskirts of the village, where, after receiving food and water, and having
his clothes restored to him, he was informed by one of the Indians—who
could speak a smattering of English—that he might be bound and remain,
or accompany them to see the Big Knife tortured. He chose the former
without hesitation, and was immediately secured in a manner similar to
what he had been the night previously, and then left alone to the anguish of
his own thoughts. What the feelings of our hero were, as thus he lay, suffering
from his bruises and wound—his mind recurring to the dire events
taking place in another part of the village, and his own awful doom—we
shall leave to the imagination of the reader; suffice to say, however, that
when his guards returned, some two hours later, he was found in a swooning
state, with large cold drops of perspiration standing thickly on his features.

Meantime, Younker was brought forth from the council-house—amid the
hootings, revilings, and personal abuse of the savage mob—and then painted
black,[4] preparatory to undergoing the awful death-sentence. He was then
offered food—probably with the kind intention of strengthening him, and
thus prolonging his life and tortures—but this he absolutely refused, and
was immediately conducted to the place of execution, which was on the
brow of the slope before described as reaching to the river. Here his
wrists were immediately bound behind him, and then a rope, fastened to the
ligature, was secured to a stake—driven into the earth for the purpose—
and left sufficiently long for him to sit down, stand up, or walk around a circle
of some six or eight feet in diameter.

During this proceeding, the Indians failed not to abuse him in various
ways—some by pinching, and others by pounding him with their fists, with
stones, and with clubs,—all of which he seemed to bear with great patience
and resignation.

As soon as all was ready for the more diabolical tortures, Girty made
the announcement, in a brief speech to the Indians; and then taking up a
rifle, loaded with powder only, discharged it upon the prisoner's naked body.
A loud yell of satisfaction, from the excited mob, followed this inhuman
act; while several savages, rushing forward, with rifles loaded in the same
manner, now strove who should be first to imitate the renegade's example;
by which means, no less than fifty discharges were made, in quick succession,
until the flesh of the old man, from the neck downwards, was completely
filled with burnt powder. Younker uttered a few groans, but bore all
with manly fortitude, and made no complaints.

This part of the hellish ceremony over, a fire was kindled of hickory

poles, placed in a circle round the stake, outside of that which his rope
allowed Younker to make, in order that he might feel all the torments of
roasting alive, without being sufficiently near to the flame to get a speedy
relief by death. To add even more torture, if possible, to this infernal
proceeding, the Indians would take up brands, and place the burning parts
against the old man's body; and then, as they saw him cringe and writhe
under the pain thus effected, would burst into horrid laughs, in which they
were ever joined by the renegade. The old squaws too, and even the children,
not wishing to be outdone in this refinement of cruelty, would take
slabs, and having loaded them with live coals and ashes, throw them upon
his head and body, until not only both became covered, but the ground
around him, so that there was no cool place for his feet; while at every new
infliction of pain, the crowd would break forth in strains of wild, discordant
laughter.

Thus passed some three-quarters of an hour, of tortures the most horrible,
during which the old man bore up under his sufferings, with a strength
and manliness, that not only astonished his tormenters, but excited for himself,
even in savage breasts, a feeling of respect. Girty, it maybe, was
moved to a similar feeling, for at length, advancing to his victim, he said, in
a tone of more deference than he had hitherto used:

“You bear up well, old man—well. I have seen many a one die, in a
similar way, who was thought to be courageous—yet none with that firmness
you have thus far displayed.”

Younker, who was slowly walking around the stake, with his face bent toward
the earth, suddenly paused, as Girty addressed him, and turning his
eyes mildly upon the renegade, in a feeble voice replied:

“My firmness is given me from above. I can bear my torments, Simon
Girty, for they're arthly, and will soon be over; but yourn—who'll say
what yourn 'll be, when you come to answer afore Almighty God, for this
and other crimes! But that arn't for the like o' me to speak of now. I'm
a dying man, and trust soon to be in a better world. Ef I ever did you
wrong, Simon Girty, I don't remember it now; and I'm very sartin I never
did nothing to merit this. You came to my house, and war treated to the
best I had, and here am I in return for't. Howsomever, the reckoning's
got to come yit, atween you and your God; and so I leave you—farewell.

“But say,” returned Girty, who now seemed greatly moved by the manner
and tone of Younker: “But say, old man, that you forgive me, and I will
own that I did you wrong.”

“I don't know's I've any enemies, except these round here,” replied the
other, feebly, “and I'd like to die at peace with all the world; but what you
ax, Simon Girty, I can't grant; it's agin my nater and conscience; I can't
say I forgive ye, for what you've done, for I don't. I may be wrong—it
may not be Christian like—but ef it's a sin, it's one I've got to answer for
myself. No, Girty, I can't forgive—pre'aps God will—you must look to
him:—I can't, Girty, I can't; and so, farewell forever! God be merciful to
me a sinner,” he added, looking upward devoutly, “and ef I've done wrong,
oh! pardon me, for Christ's sake!” With these words, the lips of Younker
were sealed forever.

Girty stood and gazed upon him in silence, for a few minutes, as one
whose mind is ill at ease, and then walked slowly away, in a mood of deep
abstraction. Younker continued alive some three-quarters of a hour longer
—bearing his tortures with great fortitude—and then sunk down with a
groan and expired. The Indians then proceeded to scalp him; after which
they gradually dispersed, with the apparent satisfaction of wolves that have
gorged their fill on some sheep-fold.

When Algernon's guards returned, they found him in a swooning state, as
previously recorded; and fearful that his life might be lost, and another
day's sport thus spoiled, they immediately called in their great medicine
man, who at once set about bandaging his wound, and applying to it such
healing remedies as were known by him to be speedily efficacious, and for
which the Indians are proverbially remarkable. His bruises were also rubbed
with a soothing liquid, and by noon of the day following, he had gained
sufficient strength to start upon his journey, accompanied by his guards.

On that journey we shall now leave him, and turn to other, and more important
events; merely remarking, by the way, lost the reader should consider
the neglect an oversight, that on entering the Piqua village, Oshasqua had
taken care to render the life of little Rosetta Millbanks safe, and had secured
to her as much comfort as circumstances would permit.