Chapter 22: The Last Stand

Every one of the five felt an immense exhilaration as they drove the Indians back into the town. They were not cruel. They did not wish to exult over a defeated enemy, but they had witnessed the terrible suffering of the border, and they knew from the testimony of their own eyes what awful cruelties a savage enemy in triumph could inflict. Now Clark and the Kentuckians had struck directly at the heart of the Indian power in the West. Chillicothe was destroyed and Piqua was taken. The arms and ammunition sent to them by the power, seated in Canada, had not availed them.

Henry did not know until much later that it was the cunning and crafty Girty who had given up first. He had suddenly announced to those near him that Piqua could not be defended against the American army. Then he had precipitately retreated to the other side of the town followed by Braxton Wyatt, Blackstaffe and all the renegades. The Indians were shaken by this retreat because they had great confidence in Girty. The Delawares gave up, then the Ottawas and Illinois, the Wyandots, Shawnees, Miamis and the little detachment of Mohawks, as usual, stood to the bitter last. At the very edge of the village the great war chiefs, Yellow Panther, the Miami, and Red Eagle, the Shawnee, fell almost side by side, and went to the happy hunting grounds together. Moluntha, the other famous Shawnee chief, received two wounds, but lived to secure a momentary revenge at the great Indian victory of the Blue Licks, two years later. Timmendiquas would have died in the defense, but a half dozen of his faithful warriors fairly dragged him beyond the range of the Kentucky rifles.

Yet Timmendiquas, although the Kentuckians were in the town, did not cease to fight. He and a hundred of the warriors threw themselves into the strongest of the houses, those built of timber, and opened a dangerous fire from doors and windows. The woodsmen were ordered to charge and to take every house by assault, no matter what the loss, but Clark, always resourceful, sternly ordered a halt.

“You forget our cannon,” he said. “Logan, do you, Floyd and Harrod keep the riflemen back, and we’ll drive the enemy out of these houses without losing a single man on our side.”

“Thar speaks wisdom,” said Shif’less Sol to the other. “Now in all the excitement I had clean forgot that we could blow them houses to pieces, but the Colonel didn’t forget it.”

“No, he didn’t,” replied Henry. “Stand back and we’ll see the fun. A lot of destruction will be done soon.”

The twilight had not yet come, although the sun was slowly dimming in the East. A great cloud of smoke from the firing hung over Piqua and the bordering fields that had witnessed so fierce a combat. The smoke and the burned gunpowder made a bitter odor. Flashes of firing from the strong houses, and from ambushed Indians here and there pierced the smoke. Then came a tremendous report and a twelve-pound cannon ball smashed through a wooden house. Another and another and it was demolished. The defenders fled for their lives. Every other house that could be used for shelter was served in the same way. The last ambushed foe was swept from his covert, and when the twilight fell Piqua, throughout its whole length of three miles along Mad River, was held by the Kentuckians.

The Indian women and children had fled already to the forest, and there they were slowly followed by the warriors, their hearts filled with rage and despair. Beaten on ground of their own choosing, and not even able to bring away their dead, they saw their power crumbling. Fierce words passed between Timmendiquas and Simon Girty. The Wyandot chieftain upbraided the renegade. He charged him with giving up too soon, but Girty, suave and diplomatic, said, after his first wrath was over, that he had not yielded until it was obvious that they were beaten. Instead of a fruitless defense it was better to save their warriors for another campaign. They could yet regain all that they had lost. There was some truth in Girty’s words. Blue Lick and St. Clair’s terrible defeat were yet to come, but Clark’s blow had destroyed the very nerve-center of the Indian confederacy. The Kentuckians had shown that not only could they fight successfully on the defensive, but they could also cross the Ohio and shatter the Indian power on its own chosen ground. Neither the valor of the warriors, nor the great aid that they received from their white allies could save them from ultimate defeat.

Henry, Paul, the officers, and many others felt these things as the night came down, and as they roamed through Piqua, now deserted by the enemy. Paul and Jim Hart went in one direction to look at the big Council House, but Henry, the shiftless one, and Tom Ross remained with Colonel Clark.

“We’ve won a great victory, though we’ve lost many good men,” said the Colonel, “and now we must consign Piqua to the fate that Chillicothe has just suffered. It’s a pity, but if we leave this nest, the hornets will be back in it as soon as we leave it, snug and warm, and with a convenient base for raiding across the Ohio.”

“We’ll have to give it to the flames,” said Colonel Logan.

The other Colonels nodded. First they gathered up all the dead, whether red or white and buried them. At Henry’s instance the two old chiefs, Yellow Panther, the Miami, and Red Eagle, the Shawnee, were laid side by side in the same grave. Then he fixed a board at their head upon which he cut this inscription:

In this grave Lie

Yellow Panther, the Miami,

And Red Eagle, the Shawnee;

They were great Chiefs,

And died fighting

For Their People.

Not a white man disturbed the epitaph. But as soon as the last of the fallen were buried, and the soldiers had eaten and refreshed themselves, the torch was set to Piqua, even as it had been set to Chillicothe. In an hour the town was a huge mass of flames, three miles long, and lighting up the neighboring forest for many miles. The Indian refugees, thousands of them, from both towns saw it, and they knew to the full how terrible was the blow that had been inflicted upon them. Timmendiquas sought to rally the warriors for a daring attack upon an enemy who, flushed with victory, might not be very cautious, but they would not make the attempt. Timmendiquas then saw that it would take time to restore their shaken courage and he desisted.

Henry, Shif’less Sol and Tom Ross watched the fire for a long time, while the soldiers destroyed all the orchards, gardens and crops. They saw the flames reach their highest until the country around them was as bright as day, and then they saw them sink until nothing was left but darkness made luminous by the coals. The great village was gone.

“I think we’d better get Paul and Jim and go to sleep,” said Henry.

“So do I,” said Shif’less Sol, and they looked around for the two. But they were not found easily.

“Ought to have stayed with us,” said Tom Ross.

“An’ they’d have saved a lazy man a lot of trouble, lookin’ through this big place fur ‘em,” said Shif’less Sol.

Tom and Jim became still harder to find. The three hunted everywhere. They hunted an hour. They hunted two hours, and there was not a sign of their two comrades. They asked many about them and nobody could tell a word. It was nearly midnight when they stopped and looked at one another in dismay.

“They are not in the camp--that is sure,” said Henry.

“And they’ve got too much sense to go out in the woods,” said Sol.

“Which means that they’ve been took,” said Tom Ross.

Tom’s words carried conviction, sudden and appalling, to all three. Paul and Jim Hart, going about the burning town, had been seized by some lurking party and carried off, or--they would not admit to themselves the dreadful alternative--but they hoped they had been merely taken away, which they deemed likely, as hostages would be of great value to the Indians now. The three sat down on a log at the northern edge of the town. They saw little now but the river, and the clouds of smoke rising from it.

“We’ll never desert Paul and Jim,” said Shif’less Sol. “Now what is the fust thing fur us to do?”

“We’ve got to find this trail, and the trail of those who took them,” replied Henry. “The army, of course, cannot follow all through the northern woods in order to rescue two persons, and it’s not fitted for such a task anyhow. We three will do it, won’t we?”

“Ez shore ez the sun rises an’ sets,” said Shif’less Sol.

“I reckon we will,” said Tom Ross.

“And we must start upon the road this minute,” said Henry. “Come, we’ll see Colonel Clark and tell him that we have to go.”

They found the commander about a mile away, encamped as near the burned town as the heat would allow. Logan, Floyd, Harrod, Boone, Thomas, and others were with him. They were talking together earnestly, but when Henry approached and saluted, Colonel Clark greeted him pleasantly.

“Why, it’s young Mr. Ware!” he exclaimed, “the lad to whom we owe so much. And I see two of your comrades with you. Where are the other two?”

“That is why we have come, Colonel Clark,” Henry replied. “We do not know where the other two are, but we fear that they have been taken by the retreating Indians. The campaign, I suppose, is over. We wish therefore to resign from the army, follow and rescue our comrades if we can.”

Colonel Clark sprang to his feet.

“Two of your friends taken, and we to desert you after what you have done for us!” he exclaimed. “That cannot be. The army must march to their rescue!”

The other officers raised their voices in affirmation. Henry and his friends bowed. All three were affected deeply. But Henry said:

“Colonel Clark, you can’t know how much we thank you for such an offer, but we three must go alone. If the army followed into the woods, and pressed the Indians closely, they would put their prisoners to death the very first thing. They always do it. In a case like this, only silence and speed can succeed. We must follow alone.”

Daniel Boone spoke up in his gentle, but singularly impressive tones.

“The boy is right, Colonel Clark,” he said. “If the job can be done it is these three alone who can do it.”

“I suppose you are right,” said Colonel Clark regretfully, “but it does hurt me to see you leave us, unhelped. When do you wish to go?”

“Now,” replied Henry.

Colonel Clark held out his hand. There were actual tears in his eyes. He shook hands with the three, one by one, and all the others did the same. Boone and Kenton went with them a little distance into the woods.

“Now, lads,” said Boone, “don’t ever forget to be careful. You got to get your friends back by stealth and cunnin’. Keep out of a fight unless the time comes when everything depends on it. Then if you’ve got to fight, fight with all your might.”

The three thanked him. Last hand-clasps were given and then Boone and Kenton heard for a brief second or two only faint and dying footfalls in the forest. They went back quietly to camp ready for the return with the army to Kentucky, but the three were already deep in the forest, and far beyond the area of light.