University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
THE GANTLET AND TRIAL.

The morning was cold and disagreeable, with a sharp north
wind. It had ceased storming; but heavy, dreary-looking clouds
were floating through the icy atmosphere, if we may be allowed
such a phrase, and the ground was covered with a thick sleet,
making it very slippery. But this was scarcely noted by any but
the old scouts, and only by them, as it regarded their chances of
escaping from immediate death, even as the sailor scrutinizes each
object on the coast against which he knows his vessel is about to
strike. What more especially arrested the attention of all, were the
signal preparations made for the prisoners to run the gantlet. About
a dozen or twenty yards from the council-house, and extending
down nearly to the bank of the river, forming two parallel lines, of
something like a quarter of a mile in length, were arranged the
majority of the men, women, and children of Piqua, armed with
muskets, tomahawks, knives, and war-clubs. They were indiscriminately
mixed, as regarded sex, age, and size, but the lines were
very straight, the distance between them being about ten feet.

The moment our friends neared the assemblage, accompanied by
their savage guard, they were greeted with one universal yell of
ferocious delight; and as they passed down the lines, several old
squaws and children, with now and then a warrior, came up to
them, and indignantly saluted them with foul epithets, pinching
them with their fingers, striking them with their hands and fists,
and sometimes with the weapons they carried—so that before they
reached the other end, most of them were considerably bruised.
But here the greatest trial of all awaited some of them; for here
were assembled all the female prisoners, to the number of ten,
among whom were Mrs. Danforth, and Lucy, and the wife of
Lieutenant Wilkes.

Of course it is useless for us to attempt to describe the feelings

of the Colonel, the Major, and Lieutenant, as each beheld the being
he best loved on earth, surrounded by a strong body of savages,
who would permit no communication, but who seemed to take a
demoniac delight in the more refined mode of torture, of exhibiting
one to the other, as it might be for the last time—for there was a
great uncertainty that either would be able to run the gantlet successfully,
and the chances were greatly against them. Mrs. Danforth,
Lucy, and Mrs. Wilkes, were weeping bitterly, and wringing
their hands in the agony of despair; and tears of sympathy were
coursing the cheeks of the others, although there were none among
the prisoners of any kin to them.

“This is the severest blow of all,” groaned the Colonel.
“Better for me had I died on the field of battle.”

“Oh! could I see my friends in safety, how willingly would I
purchase the boon with my life!” sighed Edward.

At this moment some half a dozen warriors, whom our friends
had not before observed, approached the prisoners; and fixing their
eyes upon the Colonel, a few hurried ejaculations passed between
them; and then suddenly rushing up to the veteran officer, much
to the surprise of all, they peered eagerly into his countenance, and
uttered loud, peculiar whoops. Then they commenced dancing
around him, shouting, in Shawnee:

“The chief that dodged the balls! The chief that dodged the
balls!”

The cry was immediately taken up by others, the lines were
instantly broken, and in a few moments the prisoners found themselves
surrounded by the whole assemblage, all eager to get a sight
of one so distinguished; and their whoops and yells of delight,
made the welkin ring as with the orgies of demons.

At first it was the belief of the Colonel, and the other officers,
that they were to be sacrificed on the spot; but a hurried translation
of the Shawnee words, made by Miller, re-assured them, and
solved the mystery. The warriors who last approached the party,
and uttered the whoops, had discovered in the Colonel, notwithstanding
his disguise, the brave officer who commanded a regiment
on St. Clair's ill-fated field of battle, and in him the living target
which so many unerring marksmen had failed to touch. The capture
of so noted an individual, of course, caused great rejoicing
among the savages, mingled with a degree of respect they had not
before felt for any of the prisoners, whom, hitherto, they considered
rather in the light of thieving vagabonds, than as personages of any
greater consequence.

The Indian, as all know, who know anything of his history, is a
being of great natural superstition; it is a part of his early training
and education; and when he is brought in contact with a mystery
his limited mental attainments will not enable him to solve,

he experiences a feeling of awe, in some cases amounting to
veneration.

This, to a certain degree, was the effect produced on the unlettered
minds of the savages, on hearing each warrior of the six declare,
that the Colonel had been the mark against which they had collectively
directed more than fifty bullets, and that all had failed to take
him from his saddle, a thing before unknown in their experience.
He must, they argued, have been especially protected by Mishemenetoc[1] ,
and was, in consequence, rightfully entitled to a degree of
respect and consideration never bestowed upon ordinary victims.
A hurried consultation among the principal men of the nation, decided
that the Colonel should, for the present at least, be exempted
from running the gantlet; and he was immediately escorted back
to the council-house, by a large party of warriors, who were in turn
followed by a great number of women and children.

This diversion in favor of the Colonel, was doubtless the means
of saving his life, and, it may be, the lives of more than one of his
fellow prisoners; for the lines being immediately formed again, of
course the number withdrawn reduced the chances against those
doomed to the race. Edward was the first selected to make the
trial; and as he prepared to start, he turned his eyes for a moment
upon the being he loved, who seemed to implore him, with anguished
looks, to make an effort for his life, if only for her sake. We have
said, that when brought upon the ground, he was very weak and
exhausted; but looking upon her, somehow, seemed to renew his
strength, and nerve him for the dreadful task before him: and when
at length he suddenly bounded forward, it was with such fleetness,
that for a time he fairly escaped the blows aimed at him on both
sides. But he had not run more than twenty yards, when a stroke
on the head from a war-club, in the hands of an old squaw, made
him reel, and he heard Lucy shriek in terror. Again he redoubled
his efforts; but the blows now unfortunately fell thick, fast, and
heavy; and he was on point of sinking under them, when he
heard the voice of Miller shouting:

“Break the lines! break the lines, and escape outside!”

This he had before heard, according to the Indian code, was a
lawful mode of proceeding, and he determined to take advantage
of it. Turning suddenly upon the right line, therefore, where it
chanced to be supported by women and children only, he exerted
his remaining strength, and burst through. He now knew if he
could reach the council-house, he would for the time be safe; but
this required another almost superhuman effort, for a hundred yells
behind assured him he was followed, while the way before him was
blocked up by a large crowd, who had forsaken the gantlet to bar
his progress. With no time for thought, but acting rather by instinct

or impulse, he bounded away to take a circuit, while the
most active of his enemies darted forward to intercept him. By
this means his chances of escape were reduced to the very smallest
number; and already looking upon himself as lost, he was on the
point of yielding to their mercy, when a guardian Providence
again interposed in his favor; for his friends, seeing the lines broken,
thought it a favorable moment for themselves to gain the place of
refuge, or Indian sanctuary, and instantly set out; and the cry that
the prisoners were escaping drew down the whole assemblage upon
the latter, and left Edward's course unobstructed, who, instantly
profiting by his good fortune, reached the council-house alive, but
so exhausted that he fell fainting in the door-way.

As for the others, though in some instances badly bruised, all
reached the council-house save one. This was the scout named
Hale, who, chancing to slip on the sleety ground, was struck on the
head with a tomahawk, and instantly killed, much to the regret of
his enemies, who mourned the loss of another victim to the stake.

The running of the gantlet over, the captives were again bound,
but with their hands at liberty. They were then offered food, which
they eagerly devoured; after which water was given them, and
they were informed that their trial would immediately take place.

In the meantime, the party that had been sent out as scouts, returned,
and reported that they had fallen upon the trail of three
white men, who had escaped from the village the night previous;
that this trail they had followed several miles, but finding it led
directly toward Fort Jefferson, and the pursued having had several
hours the start, they had deemed it advisable to return and state
what they had seen. This report was made to Black Hoof, just as
he was on the point of entering the council-house the second time,
to take part in the trial of the captives. On hearing it, he immediately
advanced to Miller, and questioned him concerning those who
had escaped. The answers of the scout tallying with what he had
heard from his own informants, the chief nodded his head, in token
of approval, and moving away toward the centre of the council-house,
signified to his subordinates that he was now ready to proceed
with the grand business of the day.

About fifty persons were present, consisting of chiefs, and the
most distinguished warriors, whose signal and daring feats in battle
had entitled them to take an active part in the councils of the nation.
These were all that were allowed to enter the council-house; but a
large crowd, composed of inferior warriors, women, and children,
surrounded the building, all eager to catch the words of wisdom that
were sure to fall from venerated lips.

Black Hoof, making known his readiness to open the trial, the
prisoners were all brought forward, Colonel Danforth among the
number, and placed in the centre of the building; while the chiefs
and warriors proceeded to seat themselves upon the benches ranged

around the walls, with all the solemn gravity of judges entering
the courts of olden time, when justice was dispensed in the dignified
apparel of black gowns and powdered wigs.

For some moments a deep and solemn silence prevailed, during
which the eyes of the captors were fixed with savage sternness upon
the captives, while here and there a sudden gleam of vindictive
malice, which the former could not wholly restrain, warned the latter
that all hope of mercy must be abandoned. At length an aged
man arose, whose wrinkled features, white scalp-lock, and palsied
limbs, proclaimed him bending under the weight of a century; and
after looking upon the prisoners for a short time, during which his
still keen black eyes seemed to burn with a deep-seated, unconquerable
hatred, he slowly turned toward Black Hoof, and raising
his right hand, thus delivered himself in a cracked and tremulous
tone:

“Many, many snows have fallen upon the head of Unemake,[2]
and it is white with years of wisdom—therefore let my brother's
ears be open, that his words may enter. A great many moons before
any here beheld the sun, Unemake was a warrior, on the trail of his
red-foe. The trail led along the sands of the salt waters of the
South, and there were no spreading feet[3] to come after, and hide it
from the eyes of Unemake. Whan Unemake had taken the scalp
of his red enemy, and hung it upon his lodge-pole, he was done;
there were no more foes to conquer; and the pipe of peace was
smoked, and the deer bounded free in the hunting grounds of the
great Shawnees. The wives and young of Unemake then laughed
in their security, and gave thanks to Mishemenetoc for all his
blessings.

“Now it is not so,” pursued the aged speaker, growing impassioned
with his subject, while a heavy scowl deepended the wrinkles
of his forehead. “From the rising sun has come the detestable
pale-face, who seeks to destroy the red-man, root and branch. Not
content with hunting his game, laying waste his fields, and burning
his towns, he seeks to kill the rightful owners of the soil, that there
may be none to dispute his possessions. Have my brothers forgotten
the awful destruction of ten snows agone, when the Piqua people
were made outcasts, with not a hut to shelter them, aud all by these
white blood-hounds?[4] The Great Spirit has ever since been angry
with his children, for being women, and he demands constant sacrifice
to be appeased. When the combined nations of the red-man
won the last great victory over his enemy, the Great Spirit looked
down and smiled, for he was glad to see that all were not squaws.

But he still demands victims, and the Shawnees must offer him all
they have. The prisoners must die by torture, that the Great Spirit
may continue pleased, and that the bones of murdered friends
may rest in peace. So says Unemake, and years give him wisdom.”

As the old man ceased speaking, and resumed his seat, there
was considerable sensation among his auditory, and many were the
nods and grunts of approbation which he received. As soon as
perfect silence was restored, a young chief, in whose grim countenance
were depicted the most fiendish passions, arose, and in a
fierce, harsh voice, and with a manner truly ferocious, gave utterance
to the following:

“Brothers, the words of the great Unemake are true. The Great
Spirit is angry with his children for being cowards. He demands
the blood of the pale-face dogs to appease his wrath. The dogs
are here, ready for the sacrifice. Let them die! Wishemuck
would have them burned at a slow fire. Wishemuck will be there
to make them howl. The women and children of the brave Shawnees
shall have a day of rare sport. The old and the young shall
laugh to crying at the howls of the coward dogs. Let them die!
let them die! Wishemuck has said.”

Several short speeches were now made in quick succession, by
chiefs and warriors, all similar to those we have recorded. All
were for the death of the prisoners—all were for having them die
at the stake. At last it came Black Hoof's turn to give the closing
address. The most profound silence now reigned in the house, and
every eye was fixed upon him—for such are the marks of the deference
which the true orator never fails to command, whether in
the Senate of a civilized nation, or in the councils of the untutored
savage.

Slowly, calmly, and with grace and dignity combined, the great
chief rose to his feet, and glanced his dark, eagle eye over the
assembly. There was no expression on his countenance by which
one could tell the thoughts of his soul. Every feeling, whether of
mercy or revenge, was so controlled as to leave no outward sign.
At length, in his peculiarly distinct and sonorous voice, he broke the
impressive silence.

“Brothers,” he said, and again his dark eye wandered over all
present—over the prisoners, as well as those of his own tribe:—
“Brothers, when the Great Spirit made man, he made two races.
To one he gave a white skin, and the knowledge of books, with
great power of invention—to the other, a red skin, with all the
facilities of hunting. The one he placed on the land beyond the
great waters—the other on the hunting grounds between the mighty
seas. The Great Spirit knew that the two races were not alike,
could not live in harmony together, and thus he divided them.
Brothers, a great many hundred snows came and went, and still

the two races remained separate, and neither knew aught of the
other. At last the pale-face, not content with what the Great Spirit
had given him, built him a big canoe, and paddled over the great
waters, to seek new lands. When he came, he was an infant, and
the red man could have killed and scalped him; but he begged so
hard to stay a few moons, when he promised to go away peacefully,
that the red-man, full of mercy and kindness, bade him remain and
eat his homminy.

“Now mark the result! Brothers, the pale-face spoke with a
forked tongue. When the time came for him to go, he went not;
but more pale-faces came, and all declared they would stay. The
red-man, indignant at their falsity, made war upon them; but still
more pale faces came, and they kept their ground. They brought
with them poisoned water, and made beasts of the red-men—made
them idiots and madmen—and when they lacked reason, the pale-faces
took advantage of it, and, by many false devices, got possession
of their hunting grounds. A hundred and fifty snows came and
went, and the red-children of the forest had no home beyond the
Great Hills, and could no more bathe in the salt waters of the
rising sun. But they said to themselves, the land of the setting sun
is ours, and we will be content to live in peace.

“Brothers, have the red-men been allowed to smoke the pipe of
peace, and bury the hatchet forever? No! for the pipe is already
broken, the hatchet has been dug up, and is now red. Why is it
so? Because the pale-faces have made their trails toward the
setting sun, and have sought to trample under foot the red-children
of the Great Spirit, who gave them the lands for a possession forever.
The Great Spirit is angry with the pale-faces for seeking
what is not their own; and he has made the arms of his red-children
strong against them in battle. The lodge-poles of his red-children
are always heavy with the scalps of the pale-faces, and, ere many
moons pass over, they shall break with the weight that shall be
upon them.

“Brothers, the pale-faces must be exterminated, or driven back
to fatherland! The Indian must have his hunting grounds, his
home, his forests, and the wild beasts must roam unmolested by
other hands than those for whom the Great Spirit made them.
The red-man and pale-face cannot live together, unless one has the
supremacy. Who shall it be? Shall the red-man, who, for hundreds
of snows, has walked freely and proudly from the salt waters
of the rising sun, to the salt waters of the setting sun, and has said
boldly, `These are my hunting grounds; here will I build my wigwams;
there will I plant my corn; yonder will I shoot my deer:'
shall he, the favored child of the Great Spirit, now cringe, and bow,
and bend the knee, and peaceably wear the yoke of his white invader?
Shall he forget the proud race he is of, the hot war-blood
that courses his veins, the deeds of his fathers and become a

squaw, an infant: ay, worse than these, a servile slave? Shall he
sink to that depth of degradation, that the spirits of his fathers, who
have gone to the spirit-land hunting grounds, shall be forced to
bewail him as lost, and thus be rendered unhappy? Brothers,
shall all this be?”

Then pausing, and sweeping his auditory with an eagle-glance,
an eye of fire, the old chief raised himself to his fullest height,
till he fairly seemed to tower aloft like some giant, and stretching
his arms upward, and oringing them down with wild vehemence,
he thundered forth:

“Catahecassa says no!—his people say no! a hundred nations
of red-men say no!—the running deer, the stealthy catemount, the
leaping panther, the hugging bear, the forests, the rivers, the mountains,
the lakes, the winds—all, all, all shout no, no, no!—and
last, and best, and greatest, the Great Spirit says no, through the
mouths of his prophets.”

As Black Hoof uttered the last words, a fierce, universal yell
of delight, from the assembled chiefs and warriors, and also from
the listeners without, attested the popularity of his language, and
the great power he had of working up the feelings of his people
to the highest degree. In fact, the instances were very rare, that
a grave council, like the present one, had ever been known to be
disturbed by such fierce outbursts of applause; and the speaker
that could so readily overcome the apparently cold indifference of
the Indian, might be set down as possessing natural gifts of the
very highest order, and only needed the refinement and enlargement
of a proper education, to fit him for the lofty station of a statesman
in the civilized world.

Waiting quietly till silence had again been restored, the chief resumed,
in a deep, solemn tone:

“But, brothers, though the Great Spirit is now on the side of
his red-children, and is pleased with their success in battle
against the pale-face, he desires not the sacrifice of victims at the
stake.

“No! the cries wrung from torture are not music in his ears,
whether the tortured be white man or red. It is right to slay in
battle, and gather scalps; but to burn prisoners is wrong, and unworthy
of a brave people. The offences of the captives before me
are great, and perhaps death should be their punishment—but let it
be a quick and speedy death. Our ends would be answered all the
same—for there would be so many foes the less to come against us.
Catahecassa would even go still further, and spare the lives of the
pale-faces, on condition they would become Indians; for then the
red-man would not only weaken the forces of his enemies, but add
so much strength to his own. But Catahecassa will not urge this
point; for he sees his brothers are set against it, and he will be
satisfied with their death without torture. Against torture in any

form, he now utters his solemn protest, and warns his brothers that
the Great Spirit will be angry. Brothers, let reason and right have
ascendency over passion and wrong, and great shall be the blessings
which Mishemenetoc will shed upon his chosen people. Truth
from the heart has passed the lips of Catahecassa, and entered the
ears of his brothers—let them retain it and be wise. The great
chief of the Piquas has spoken.”[5]

The closing remarks of Black Hoof were not without their effect
upon his hearers; but still it was plainly to be perceived, even by
those of our friends who understood not his language, that what he
had just spoken was far from being as popular as what he had uttered
previously. But the time had now come for deciding the fate of the
prisoners by vote, and accordingly no more speeches were made.
The voting was done in this manner. A war-club was passed
around the circle, and whoever was in favor of putting the prisoners
to death by torture, struck it fiercely on the ground—whoever was
opposed to this, handed it quietly to his neighbor—the votes for
and against being recorded by cutting notches on opposite sides of
a stick, which were afterwards counted. Black Hoof passed it in
silence, as did some half a dozen others; but the majority decided
against the prisoners, and accordingly their doom was sealed.

A short discussion now followed, in regard to the time and place
for the execution of the horrible sentence, which was finally settled
for the following day, on an open piece of ground, just below the
southern limits of the village.

The council now broke up, and the hands of the prisoners were
bound, and a guard set over them. They were informed of the
decision by Miller, who added, that unless Providence interposed
in their favor, they had not over twenty-four hours to prepare themselves
for the last great change of death.

But the night following the doom of the prisoners, was one of
strange, startling, and thrilling events, to which we shall forthwith
call the reader's attention.