University of Virginia Library

THE WAR BELT.
A LEGEND OF NORTH BEND.[1]

In the year 1786, there stood upon the margin of the Ohio, near
the mouth of the Miami, a small fortress, over which waved the
flag of the United States. The banner was that of a confederacy
which had just emerged from a successful struggle with one of
the most powerful nations of the world, and over which the illustrious
Washington presided as Chief Magistrate. In the eye of
a military engineer, the fort would not have deserved that name,
as it was a temporary structure, intended only to protect its small
garrison against a sudden attack by an Indian force. It was
composed of a series of log houses, opening upon an interior area,
while the outer sides, closely connected, formed a quadrangular
rampart, without apertures, except a single entrance, and a few
loop-holes from which to discharge fire-arms. The whole presented
the appearance of a single edifice, receiving light from the centre,
and forming barracks for the garrison, as well as breastworks
against the foe. The forest was cleared away for some
hundreds of yards around, leaving an open vista, which extended
to the water's edge; and a few acres inclosed in a rude fence,
and planted with corn and vegetables, for the use of the soldiers,
exhibited the first attempt at agriculture in that wild and beautiful
region.

It will be recollected, that when the shores of the Ohio were
first explored by the adventurous pioneers, no villages were found
upon them; not a solitary lodge was seen along its secluded waters.
The numerous and warlike tribes, whose battle-cry was often

heard on the frontier, inhabited the tributary branches of the
Ohio, leaving the immediate shores of that river an untenanted
wilderness, rich in the glorious productions of nature, and animated
only by the brute and the wild bird, by the lurking hunter
and the stealthy war party. It seemed as if man had been expelled
from this blooming paradise, and only invaded its flowery
precincts at intervals, to war upon his fellow-man, or to ravage
the pastures of the deer and the buffalo. Historians are not agreed
as to the reasons of this curious arrangement; but we suppose
that the Manito of the Red man had reserved this loveliest of vallies
to be the happy hunting-ground of the blessed, and that
though living forms were seldom seen within it, the spirits of warriors
lingered here, to mourn the destiny of their race, and curse
the coming of the white man.

A few adventurous pioneers from Pennsylvania, Virginia, and
North Carolina, had crossed the Alleghanies and settled at different
places, far distant from each other; but these also were inland
as respected the great river; the civilized man avoiding its
dangerous shores on the one side, from an instinct similar to that
which induced the Indian to shun a residence upon them on the
other.

All the tribes inhabiting the country north of the Ohio, were at
that time hostile to the American people, and beheld with great
jealousy these migrations into the west, that indicated an intention
to plant a civilized population on this side of the mountains. The
agents also of a foreign power, which saw with dissatisfaction the
growing prosperity of the United States, deemed this a favourable
moment to unite the savage tribes against our young republic,
and they were accordingly instructed to address such arguments
to the chiefs as would be likely to effect that object. Councils
were accordingly held, and arms and trinkets distributed by those
unprincipled emissaries. In consequence of these efforts, the
hostile feelings of the savages, already sufficiently bitter, became
greatly excited; and at the period of which we write, a war with
the combined forces of the north-western tribes seemed inevitable.

The policy of the American government was pacific. They
did not aim at conquest. They desired to extend to the savages
within their borders the same justice by which their foreign relations

were intended to be governed. Difficult as this proposition
might seem, it was not deemed impracticable. That the enterprising
and intelligent population of the United States would spread out
from the seaboard over the wilderness; that the savage must retire
before civilized man; that the desert must be reclaimed from
a state of nature, and be subjected to the hand of art, were propositions
too evident to be concealed or denied. Had the government
been disposed to perpetuate the reign of barbarism over the
fairest portion of our country, it could not have enforced its decree
for a purpose so inconsistent with the interests of the people,
and the spirit of the age. But it never was intended that the Indian
should be driven from his hunting grounds by violence; and
while a necessity, strong as the law of nature, decreed the expulsion
of the mere hunter, and gave dominion to art, industry, and
religion, it was always proposed that the savage should be removed
by negociation, and a just price given for the relinquishment
of his possessory title.

Had these counsels prevailed, humanity would have been spared
the anguish and humiliation of blushing for acts of deception,
and weeping over scenes of bloodshed. They did not prevail:
the magnanimous policy of the government remained unaltered;
but many individuals have committed deep wrongs against the
savages, while the latter, misled to their ruin by foreign interference,
spurned at the offers of conciliation, the acceptance of
which would have insured to them the strong protection of the
nation.

Such was the posture of affairs, when the little fortress alluded
to was established, at the outlet of the fertile valley of the Miami,
and near the track by which the war parties approached the Ohio,
in their incursions into Kentucky. The position was also that selected
by Judge Symmes and others, the purchasers from Congress
of a large tract of country, as the site of a future city;
though a trivial accident afterward changed the locality, and
placed the Queen City of the West at a point twenty miles farther
up the Ohio. It was near the head of that great bend of the
Ohio, now widely known as North Bend,—a spot which has become
classic ground to the American, as the residence of that
excellent man, and distinguished statesman and soldier, the venerated

and lamented Harrison. The fort was garrisoned by a
small party of soldiers, commanded by a captain, who was almost
as much insulated from the rest of the world as Alexander Selkirk
in the island of Juan Fernandez.

At this sequestered spot, a treaty was to be held by commissioners
appointed by the President, with the Shawanoes, a migratory
and gallant nation, which had fought from South Carolina to
Pennsylvania, along the whole line of the western frontier, and
whose eventful history, unless it has been lately collected by an
ingenious writer who is about to publish a life of Tecumthe, remains
to be written. It is enough to say of them here, that no
western tribe has produced so many distinguished individuals, or
carried on so constant a series of daring enterprises.

For several days previous to that appointed for holding the
council, parties of Indian warriors were seen arriving and erecting
their temporary lodges at a short distance from the fort. An unwonted
bustle disturbed the silence which usually reigned at this
retired spot. Groups of savages, surrounding their camp-fires,
passed the hours in conversation and in feasting; the tramp of
horses and the barking of dogs were heard in every direction.
The number of Indians assembled was much greater than was
necessary, or was expected; and their disposition seemed to be
anything but pacific. Irritated by recent events, and puffed up
by delusive promises of support, they wore an offended and insolent
air. Their glances were vindictive, and their thirst for vengeance
scarcely concealed. No one acquainted with the savage
character could doubt their intentions, or hesitate for a moment
to believe they only waited to ripen their plan of treachery, and
at a moment which should be most favourable to their purposes,
to butcher every white man in their power.

The situation of the garrison was very precarious. The fort
was a slight work, which might be readily set on fire, and the
number of Americans was too small to afford the slightest chance
of success in open fight against the numerous force of the Shawanoes.
The only hope for safety was in keeping them at a distance;
but this was inconsistent with the purposes of meeting
them in council, to treat for peace.

Both parties held separate councils on the day previous to that

appointed for the treaty. That of the Indians was declamatory
and boisterous. The caution with which they usually feel their
way, and the secrecy that attends all their measures, seems to
have been abandoned. They had probably decided on their
course, and deeming their enemy too weak to oppose any serious
opposition, were declaiming upon their wrongs, for the purpose of
lashing each other into that state of futy which would give relish
for the horrid banquet at hand, by whetting the appetite for blood.
The American commissioners saw with gloomy forebodings these
inauspicious movements, and hesitated as to the proper course to
be pursued. To treat with savages thus numerically superior,
bent on treachery, and intoxicated with an expected triumph,
seemed to be madness. To meet them in council, would be to
place themselves at the mercy of ruthless barbarians, whose system
of warfare justified and inculcated every species of stratagem,
however disingenuous. To close the gate of the fortress, and
break up the negociation, would be at the same time a declaration
of war, and an acknowledgment of weakness, which would produce
immediate hostilities. In either case, this little band of
Americans stood alone, dependent on their own courage and sagacity
only, and cut off from all hope of support. They were far
beyond the reach of communication with any American post or
settlement. Under these circumstances, it was proposed to postpone
the treaty, upon some plausible pretence, and to endeavour
to amuse the Indians, while the utmost diligence should be used
in preparing the fort for a siege: and in this opinion all concurred
save one; and happily that one was a master spirit, the Promethean
fire of whose genius seldom failed to kindle up in other bosoms
the courage that glowed in his own. That man was Colonel
George Rogers Clarke.[2]

Clarke was a Virginian, of high spirit, and of consummate
skill as a military leader. A series of daring exploits, evincing
a brilliant genius in their conception, executed with accuracy and
energy, and terminating in successful results, had placed his
name in the first class of our revolutionary heroes. It was said
of him, by one who had followed him in battle, “He was the

bravest man I ever knew; his courage was governed by a wisdom
that bore him through whatever he undertook, in security
and in triumph; and one could only see after the event, that it
partook not of rashness nor presumption, although it bore that appearance.”
The truth was, that this remarkable man, to the gallant
spirit that belonged to him as a native of Virginia, added a
knowledge of human nature, that enabled him to read and control
the minds around him, and a promptness and energy of purpose,
that no ordinary obstacle could obstruct.

Whatever might have been the real opinion of Colonel Clarke
on this occasion, he treated the idea of danger with ridicule, and
insisted, calmly, cheerfully, even playfully, and in a way that
disarmed all opposition from his colleagues, that the negociation
should go forward.

An apartment in the fort was prepared as a council-room, and
at the appointed hour, the doors were thrown open. At the head
of the table sat Clarke, a soldier-like and majestic man, whose
complexion, eyes, and hair, all indicated a sanguine and mercurial
temperament. The brow was high and capacious, the features
were prominent and manly; and the expression, which was
keen, reflective, and ordinarily cheerful and agreeable, was now
grave, almost to sternness.

The Indians, being a military people, have a deep respect for
martial virtue. To other estimable or shining qualities they turn
a careless eye, or pay at best but a passing tribute, while they
bow in profound veneration before a successful warrior. The
name of Clarke was familiar to them: several brilliant expeditions
into their country had spread the terror of his arms throughout
their villages, and carried the fame of his exploits to every
council-fire in the West. Their high appreciation of his character
was exemplified in a striking as well as an amusing manner,
on another occasion, when a council was held with several tribes.
The celebrated Delaware chief, Buckinghelas, on entering the
council-room, without noticing any other person, walked up to
Clarke, and as he shook hands cordially with him, exclaimed, “It
is a happy day when two such men as Colonel Clarke and Buckinghelas
meet together.!”[3]

Such was the remarkable man who now presided at the council
table. On his right hand sat Colonel Richard Butler, a brave officer
of the revolution, who soon after fell, with the rank of brigadier-general,
in the disastrous campaign of Saint Clair. On the
other side was Samuel H. Parsons, a lawyer from New England,
who afterwards became a judge in the north-western territory.
At the same table sat the secretaries, while the interpreters, several
officers, and a few soldiers, stood around.

An Indian council is one of the most imposing spectacles in
savage life. It is one of the few occasions in which the warrior
exercises his right of suffrage, his influence and his talents, in a
civil capacity, and the meeting is conducted with all the gravity,
and all the ceremonious ostentation, with which it is possible to
invest it. The matter to be considered, as well as all the details,
are well digested beforehand, so that the utmost decorum shall
prevail, and the decision be unanimous. The chiefs and sages—
the leaders and orators—occupy the most conspicuous seats;
behind them are arranged the younger braves, and still farther in
the rear appear the women and youth, as spectators. All are
equally attentive. A dead silence reigns throughout the assemblage.
The great pipe, gaudily adorned with paint and feathers,
is lighted, and passed from mouth to mouth, commencing with the
chief highest in rank, and proceeding by regular gradation to the
inferior order of braves. If two or three nations be represented,
the pipe is passed from one party to the other, and salutations are
courteously exchanged, before the business of the council is
opened by the respective speakers. Whatever jealousy or party
spirit may exist in the tribe, it is carefully excluded from this
dignified assemblage, whose orderly conduct, and close attention
to the proper subject before them, might be imitated with profit by
some of the most enlightened bodies in christendom.

It was an alarming evidence of the temper now prevailing
among them, and of the brooding storm that filled their minds,
that no properiety of demeanour marked the entrance of the savages
into the council-room. The usual formalities were forgotten,
or purposely dispensed with, and an insulting levity substituted
in their place.—The chiefs and braves stalked in, with an
appearance of light regard, and seated themselves promiscuously

on the floor, in front of the commissioners. An air of insolence
marked all their movements, and showed an intention to dictate
terms, or to fix a quarrel upon the Americans.

A dead silence rested over the group; it was the silence of
dread, distrust, and watchfulness; not of respect. The eyes of
the savage band gloated upon the banquet of blood that seemed
already spread out before them; the pillage of the fort, and the
bleeding scalps of the Americans, were almost within their grasp;
while that gallant little band saw the portentous nature of the
crisis, and stood ready to sell their lives as dearly as possible.

The commissioners, without noticing the disorderly conduct of
the other party, or appearing to have discovered their meditated
treachery, opened the council in due form. They lighted the
peace-pipe, and after drawing a few whiffs, passed it to the chiefs,
who received it. Colonel Clarke then rose to explain the purpose
for which the treaty was ordered. With an unembarrassed air,
with the tone of one accustomed to command, and the easy assurance
of perfect security and self-possession, he stated that the
commissioners had been sent to offer peace to the Shawanoes;
that the President had no wish to continue the war; he had no
resentment to gratify; and, that if the red men desired peace,
they could have it on liberal terms. “If such be the will of the
Shawanoes,” he concluded, “let some of their wise men speak.”

A chief arose, drew up his tall person to its full height, and
assuming a haughty attitude, threw his eye contemptuously over
the commissioners and their small retinue, as if to measure their
insignificance, in comparison with his own numerous train, and
then stalking up to the table, threw upon it two belts of wampum,
of different colours—the war and the peace belt.

“We come here,” he exclaimed, “to offer you two pieces of
wampum; they are of different colours; you know what they
mean: you can take which you like!” And turning upon his
heel, he resumed his seat.

The chiefs drew themselves up, in the consciousness of having
hurled defiance in the teeth of the white men. They had offered
an insult to the renowned leader of the Long Knives, to which
they knew it would be hard for him to submit, while they did not
suppose he would dare to resent it. The council-pipe was laid

aside, and those fierce wild men gazed intently on Clarke. The
Americans saw that the crisis had arrived: they could no longer
doubt that the Indians understood the advantage they possessed,
and were disposed to use it; and a common sense of danger
caused each eye to be turned on the leading commissioner. He
sat undisturbed, and apparently careless, until the chief who had
thrown the belts on the table had taken his seat: then, with a
small cane which he held in his hand, he reached, as if playfully,
toward the war-belt, entangled the end of the stick in it, drew it
toward him, and then with a twitch of the cane, threw the belt
into the midst of the chiefs. The effect was electric.—Every
man in council, of each party, sprang to his feet; the savages,
with a loud exclamation of astonishment, “Hugh!” the Americans
in expectation of a hopeless conflict, against overwhelming
numbers. Every hand grasped a weapon.

Clarke alone was unawed. The expression of his countenance
changed to a ferocious sternness, and his eye flashed, but otherwise
he was unmoved. A bitter smile was slightly perceptible
upon his compressed lips, as he gazed upon that savage band,
whose hundred eyes were bent fiercely and in horrid exultation
upon him, as they stood like a pack of wolves at bay, thirsting for
blood, and ready to rush upon him, whenever one bolder than the
rest should commence the attack. It was one of those moments
of indecision, when the slightest weight thrown into either scale
will make it preponderate; a moment in which a bold man, conversant
with the secret springs of human action, may seize upon
the minds of all around him, and sway them at his will. Such a
man was the intrepid Virginian. He spoke, and there was no
man bold enough to gainsay him—none that could return the fierce
glance of his eye. Raising his arm and waving his hand toward
the door, he exclaimed: “Dogs! you may go!” The Indians
hesitated for a moment, and then rushed tumultuously out of the
council-room.

The decision of Clarke, on that occasion, saved himself and his
companions from massacre. The plan of the savages had been
artfully laid: he had read it in their features and conduct, as
plainly as if it had been written upon a scroll before him. He
met it in a manner which was unexpected; the crisis was brought

on sooner than was intended; and upon a principle similar to
that by which, when a line of battle is broken, the dismayed
troops fly, before order can be restored, the new and sudden turn
given to these proceedings by the energy of Clarke, confounded
the Indians, and before the broken thread of their scheme of
treachery could be reunited, they were panic-struck. They had
come prepared to brow-beat, to humble, and then to destroy; they
looked for remonstrance, and altercation; for the luxury of drawing
the toils gradually around their victims; of beholding their
agony and degradation, and of bringing on the final catastrophe
by an appointed signal, when the scheme should be ripe. They
expected to see on our part great caution, a skilful playing off,
and an unwillingness to take offence, which were to be gradually
goaded into alarm, irritation, and submission. The cool contempt
with which their first insult was thrown back in their teeth surprised
them, and they were foiled by the self-possession of one
man. They had no Tecumthe among them, no master-spirit to
change the plan, so as to adapt it to a new exigency; and those
braves, who in many a battle had shown themselves to be men of
true valour, quailed before the moral superiority which assumed
the vantage ground of a position they could not comprehend, and
therefore feared to assail.

The Indians met immediately around their own council fire,
and engaged in an animated discussion. Accustomed to a cautious
warfare, they did not suppose a man of Colonel Clarke's
known sagacity would venture upon a display of mere gasconade,
or assume any ground that he was not able to maintain; and
they therefore attributed his conduct to a consciousness of strength.
They knew him to be a consummate warrior; gave him the credit
of having judiciously measured his own power with that of his
adversary; and suspected that a powerful reinforcement was at
hand. Perhaps at that moment, when intent upon their own
scheme, and thrown off their guard by imagined security, they
had neglected the ordinary precautions that form a prominent feature
in their system of tactics; they might be surrounded by a
concealed force, ready to rush upon them at a signal from the
fort. In their eagerness to entrap a foe, they might have blindly
become entangled in a snare set for themselves. So fully were

they convinced that such was the relative position of the two parties,
and so urgent did they consider the necessity for immediate
conciliation, that they appointed a delegation to wait on Clarke,
and express their willingness to accept peace on such terms as
might be agreeable to him. The council reassembled, and a
treaty was signed, under the dictation of the American commissioners.
Such was the remarkable result of the intrepidity and presence
of mind of George Rogers Clarke.