To the Indian, each foot of the surrounding country was familiar ground. Behind him stretched the illimitable forest into which he could retreat when he had struck his blow. He fought for his home and his hunting-ground, while the Tory, the bloodier of the two, had no motive but revenge. What the patriotic people of this devoted county suffered can never be known. Of her population, one-third were Tories, who went over to the enemy. Of those remaining, one-half were either driven from the country or died by violence. At the close of the war it contained three hundred widows and two thousand orphans.

Cherry Valley, near the head-waters of the Susquehanna, its most important settlement, was an object of hatred to both Indian and Tory. The people of the surrounding country had early flocked hither for safety. A small fortification had been thrown up around the walls of Colonel Campbell's residence, on a side hill commanding a full view of the valley. A fort was constructed in the town a little later.

Once already it had narrowly escaped. Early in May, Brant had planned a descent upon the settlement, having been informed that it was then unguarded. Stealthily approaching through the forest with his hostile band, he gained undiscovered the summit of a neighboring hill. Looking down, he beheld, to his utter consternation, a company of soldiers parading on the Green in front of Colonel Campbell's house. Satisfied that he had been deceived, he abandoned the attack. He learned the truth at a later day. The doughty warriors, whose appearance had so surprised him, proved to be a company of boys—the children of the settlement—decked out in paper hats and armed with wooden swords and guns. Though trivial in itself, this little incident yet serves to light up the dark background of the tragedy to come.

Walter Butler, son of the Tory colonel, John Butler, had been sentenced to be shot as a spy, but, unfortunately, through the intercession of friends, his life was spared and he was imprisoned at Albany. Escaping thence in the summer of 1775, he joined his father at Niagara. Thirsting for revenge, he planned an expedition against the settlement at Cherry Valley, and obtained the command of two hundred of his father's Tory rangers and the aid of five hundred Indians under Brant.

The fort was garrisoned by two hundred and fifty Massachusetts troops under Colonel Ichabod Alden. This officer received a despatch from Fort Schuyler informing him of the intended attack, but he treated the information with unconcern, and even refused to permit the alarmed inhabitants to remove within the fort. He did send out scouting parties on the 9th of November.

Alden's quarters were outside the fort. Early on the following morning the Indians were upon him. The advance consisted mainly of Senecas, the most untamed and blood-thirsty of the Six Nations. Realizing the danger at last, Alden fled towards the fort. Behind him followed a fleet-footed savage with uplifted tomahawk. Several times Alden turned and snapped a pistol at his pursuer, but the treacherous weapon failed him. At length the fort was nearly gained, and its doors stood open for his reception, when the Indian's tomahawk, hurled with unerring aim, cleft his skull.

As the assailants had no cannon the fort was not taken, the several attacks made upon it being repulsed. Outside the fort, however, the country was laid waste. The victims of the massacre numbered forty-eight; sixteen of them were Continental soldiers, the rest were mostly women and children. The Indians relieved themselves of their prisoners by humanely sending them back on the following morning.

The bravery of one man at Cherry Valley excited the admiration even of the savages. Captain Cannon, an old sea-captain from the north of Ireland, and a member of the Committee of Safety, was visiting his daughter whose husband was absent. As he was the only man present, except some negro slaves, he knew that a defence of the house would be useless, and would only endanger the lives of those intrusted to his care. But resolving to sell his life as dearly as possible, he sallied forth with a stock of muskets and a negro boy to load, and took post behind a tree which stood below the house.

As the Indians approached, he poured into them a rapid fire, until a bullet in the leg brought him to the ground. When the Indians rushed up they found the force which had opposed their progress consisted of one old man. Happily he was recognized, and his rank, together with admiration for his gallantry, saved his life. The house was then surrounded and the women and children taken prisoners.

A righteous retribution overtook the Tory leader, "the infamous Walter Butler." He lost his life in the rout which followed the battle of Johnstown. Swimming his horse across a creek, he turned to bid defiance to his pursuers. An Oneida Indian who, like a sluthhound, had followed his track, with a rifle-ball brought him wounded to the ground. Casting aside gun and blanket, the Indian plunged into the stream and swarm across. Butler begged piteously for mercy. The Oneida, brandishing his tomahawk, replied in broken English, Sherry Valley! Remember Sherry Valley!" and then cleft the wretch's skull.

Meantime a brilliant blow had been struck in the north-west. Colonel George Rogers Clarke, with a small force of Virginians, had surprised and captured the British posts at Kaskaskia, Cahokia, and Vincennes. He had long seen that the possession of Detroit and other Western posts gave the British easy access to the Indian tribes of the north-west, and that their capture would neutralize the power of those savages and render our frontier vastly more secure.

Clarke found great difficulty in raising men for the expedition, the Kentuckians having their own settlements to protect from Indian attack. The march was a long and difficult one, much of it through a wilderness. Fortunately for the success of his enterprise, the news of the alliance of France with the colonies had just been received, insuring for him the co-operation of the French and Indians of Illinois and the lakes. The victory was complete. Not a drop of blood was spilled.

The pacification of the Indians next occupied Clarke's attention. In this difficult task he displayed great tact and ability. He never loaded them with presents, nor manifested the slightest fear of them. He always waited for them to make the first advances, and after they had concluded their speeches and thrown away the bloody wampum sent them by the English, would coldly tell them that he would give them an answer on the following day, at the same time cautioning them against shaking hands with the Americans, as peace was not yet concluded. Next day the Indians would come to hear the answer of the "Big Knife," as they called Clarke, which they always found firm and decided.

An instance of his sagacity in dealing with the red men is seen in his treatment of a party of Meadow Indians who, while attending a council, tried to surprise and murder Clarke and his officers in their quarters. Their plot was discovered, and some of their chiefs were put in irons and daily brought to the council-house, where he whom they proposed to kill was constantly engaged in forming friendly relations with their red brethren.

At length when they had been sufficiently impressed by this scene, their irons were taken off, and the American commander, with quiet scorn, said to them,

"Your lives are justly forfeited, but you are not warriors, only old women, and too mean to be killed by the 'Big Knife.' Provisions shall be given you for your journey home, as women don't know how to hunt, and during the remainder of your stay you shall be treated in every respect as squaws."

The astonished red men, who were prepared for anger but not for contempt, felt keenly the degradation thus inflicted upon them. They consulted together, and presently a chief came forward with a belt and pipe of peace, which, with suitable words, he laid upon the table. Lifting a sword which lay before him, the American shattered the offered pipe, with the cutting expression that he "did not treat with women."

Two of their young men then came forward and, covering their heads with their blankets, offered their lives as an atonement for the misdeeds of their relatives. For a time deep silence prevailed, broken only by the deep breathing of those whose lives thus hung by a thread. Presently Clarke arose and bade the young men to be uncovered and stand up. "I am glad to find," said he, "that there are men among all nations. With you, who alone are fit to be chiefs, I am willing to treat; through you I am ready to grant peace to your brothers. I take you by the hands as chiefs, worthy of being such." The éclat  of this occurrence made the name of the white chief famous far and wide through the north-west.

Vincennes having been retaken by a British force under Lieutenant-colonel Hamilton, Clarke at once organized an expedition which resulted in its recapture. Hamilton was intending to retake Kaskaskia also early the next spring. In a letter to Patrick Henry, Governor of Virginia, Clarke wrote: "I knew that if I did not take him he would take me."

This was a memorable exploit—one that tested the ability of the commander and the endurance of the men to the very utmost. The winter was exceedingly wet, and all the streams and lowlands of that region were overflowed.

After inexpressible hardships the small army of one hundred and seventy men reached the Wabash, the low bottoms of which were covered with water three or four feet deep. Rain had fallen nearly every day. Here they were to have found a boat with supplies, but there were no signs of it, and the troops were in an exhausted, destitute, and starving condition. Up to this point they had borne their hardships with great fortitude, but now the spirits of many began to flag.

There was a little relief to this sombre picture. One of the party was an Irishman who could sing many comic songs, and as the men waded with the water up to their waists, the Irishman sitting upon his big drum, which easily floated him, entertained the half-perishing troops with his comical musical performances.

At the beginning of the last day's march, the colonel reconnoitring in advance found the water up to his neck. His men read disappointment in his looks and were themselves greatly disturbed. "Seeing their confusion," he says, "I whispered to those near me to do as I did. Immediately I put some water on my head, poured on powder, blackened my face, gave the warwhoop, and marched into the water without saying a word. The party gazed, and fell in one after another, like a flock of sheep. I ordered those near me to sing a favorite song of theirs; it soon passed through the line, and the whole party went on cheerfully.

"I now intended to have them transported across the deepest part of the water, but when about waist deep one of the men informed me that he thought he felt a path. We examined and found it so, and that it kept on the highest ground, and by following it we got to where there was half an acre of dry ground where we took up our lodgings.

"That night was the coldest we had, and in the morning the ice was more than half an inch thick. I told my men that passing the plain that was then in full view and gaining the opposite woods would put an end to their fatigues, and immediately stepped into the water without waiting for any reply. A huzza was given and on we went.

"This was the most trying of all the difficulties we experienced. I generally kept fifteen or twenty of the strongest men next myself, and judged from my own feelings what those of the others must be. Getting about to the middle of the plain, the water mid-deep, I found myself sensibly failing, and as there were no trees or bushes for the men to support themselves by, I feared that the weaker ones would be drowned.

"To encourage the party I sent some of the strongest forward, with orders, when they got to a certain distance, to pass the word back that the water was getting shallower, and when getting near the woods to cry out, 'Land!' This stratagem had the desired effect. Encouraged by it the men exerted themselves almost beyond their strength, the weak holding on to the strong. The water, instead of growing shallower, deepened.

"Reaching the woods at last, where the men expected to land, the water was up to my shoulders; but gaining the woods was of great consequence. All the short and weakly men clung to the trees or floated on the old logs until taken off by the canoes. The strong and tall men got on shore and built fires. Many would reach the shore and fall, with their bodies half submerged in the water, not being able to lift themselves out of it.

"Fortunately an Indian canoe came along filled with squaws and children, and in which there were some provisions. This was a grand prize. Broth was immediately made, and served out with great care to the most weakly. Most of them got a little, many giving up their portion to them, and at the same time saying something to cheer them up. Crossing a narrow, deep lake in the canoes and marching some distance, we came in full view of the fort and town about two miles off. Every man now feasted his eyes and forgot his sufferings."

Notwithstanding Clarke had surmounted so many grave difficulties, his situation was still critical. The town contained six hundred men, including Indians and inhabitants, and no retreat was possible for him in case of defeat. The French inhabitants, however, wished him well, and on the day following his arrival the fort was surrendered. The whole country along the Mississippi and the Wabash has ever since remained in the possession of the Americans.

On July 19, 1779, a night attack was made on Minisink, a town situated on an island in the Delaware River, by Brant, with a strong party of warriors and twenty-seven Tories disguised as Indians. Houses were burned, some of the inhabitants were killed, others were captured, the neighboring farms were ravaged, and cattle and horses driven off. The Orange County militia hastily assembled and started in pursuit.

At Half-way Brook they came upon the Indian camp of the previous night, its numerous watch-fires still smoking, indicating a large force. The leaders were for discontinuing the pursuit, but a large majority opposed this course and all pressed eagerly forward. At nine o'clock on the morning of the 22nd the enemy were in sight, moving towards a fording place. Hathorne, the American commander, so disposed his men as to intercept them; but Brant, perceiving his design, wheeled his forces, and gaining a deep ravine which the whites had crossed, took up an advantageous position in their rear and formed an ambuscade.

Not finding the enemy as they expected, the Americans were marching back when they were fired upon, and a desperate and bloody conflict ensued, lasting until sunset, when the ammunition of the Americans failed. They fought in a disadvantageous position and the Indians were greatly superior in numbers. One-third of Hathorne's troops became separated from the rest at the commencement of the action. A final attack broke the hollow square of the Americans at one corner, and they retreated, only about thirty of them succeeding in reaching their homes. One hundred and two had fallen, and seventeen who were wounded were placed in Dr. Tusten's care behind a rocky point. The Indians tomahawked them all, notwithstanding their appeals for mercy. Brant himself sunk his tomahawk in the head of Colonel Wisner, one of the wounded, and his savage cruelty on this occasion remains one of the darkest stains upon his memory.

For the protection of the western frontier, it was proposed, early in 1779, to take the British fort at Niagara, and also to carry the war into Central New York and Western Pennsylvania, so as to break the power of the savages. The task was committed to General John Sullivan, who wisely, perhaps—considering the means at his disposal—confined his efforts to the punishment of the Six Nations.

Much time was consumed in the necessary preparations, but on the 26th of August the army moved on Tioga Point, now the village of Athens, Pennsylvania. Sullivan's force numbered five thousand men, led by able and experienced officers. One of its two divisions, under General James Clinton, had marched across the country from Canajoharie to Otsego Lake. From this point he followed the outlet of the lake to the Susquehanna, when he joined Sullivan and the other division, composed of Pennsylvania troops, at Tioga Point.

At the Indian village of Newtown, now Elmira, on the Chemung River, Sullivan found the enemy in force, numbering about one thousand two hundred men, made up of British regulars, Tories, and Indians, led by Captain Macdonald of the British army, Colonel John Butler, and the Mohawk chief, Joseph Brant. This force occupied a steep ridge between a creek and the river, a bend in which protected two of its sides, while a breastwork partly hidden by trees strengthened its front.

This naturally strong position was skilfully taken advantage of for an ambush. It was supposed that the advancing Americans would march along the base of the ridge, by an open path parallel with the breastwork, and the intention was that when their flank was completely exposed, a deadly fire should be opened upon them from the heights above. A rifleman belonging to the American advanced guard discovered their entire line from the top of a tall tree, and thus rendered their skilfully laid plans abortive.

The battle was opened by General Hand's brigade, which occupied the enemy in front, repulsing the repeated and desperate sallies of Brant, while Generals Poor and Clinton made their may through woods and swamps to strike the enemy's rear and flank. Proctor's artillery opened upon the breastwork at the same moment that Poor and Clinton with their men marched up the hill, shouting, "Remember Wyoming!"

Urged on by Brant, the Indians, though outgeneralled and outnumbered, fought with great obstinacy, yielding the ground inch by inch, and being frequently driven from their hiding-places at the point of the bayonet.

Finding themselves at length in danger of being surrounded, the yell of retreat was sounded by their leader, and they fled precipitately across the Chemung River, having lost heavily in the engagement. They scattered to their respective villages and did not afterwards rally to oppose Sullivan's progress. But a small portion of Sullivan's force could be brought into this action. Contrary to their usual custom, some of the slain warriors were left on the battle-field.

Sullivan's troops now pushed on, burning and destroying villages, corn-fields, and orchards, through the Genesee country. Kanadaseagea, now Geneva, the beautiful Seneca capital, containing sixty houses and many beautiful gardens, was ruthlessly destroyed. Canandaigua was obliterated, In this devastating raid not less than forty Indian towns were burned, and our countrymen showed themselves no less savage than were the people they attacked.

This blow, from which the Iroquois confederacy never recovered, strengthened their hatred of the white man, and extended it through the tribes upon the lakes and in the valley of the Ohio. Thenceforth Washington was named by them An-na-ta-kaw-les, "taker of towns," or "Town Destroyer."

In the following spring the Indians wreaked their vengeance on the inhabitants of the Mohawk Valley. Sir John Johnson, with a large Indian and Tory force, entered the doomed district at midnight, murdering, plundering, and destroying. Among the slain were four old men over eighty years of age, one of whom was the patriot Fonda. Johnson recovered the plate that he had buried at Johnstown at the beginning of the war, and then retraced his steps to Canada, after leaving a lasting mark of his vengeance on the home and familiar scenes of his childhood. The Schoharie Valley was the next to suffer, Brant and Johnson devastating it with fire and sword. One hundred persons were killed and many were carried into captivity.

We now come to the last Indian fight of the war. A short time before the British forces evacuated Savannah, General Anthony Wayne, who commanded the American force in its vicinity, was surprised in his camp by the Creek chieftain, Guristersigo. This warrior, intending to join the British with his followers, had marched through Georgia unobserved, and fell upon the rear of Wayne's camp at three o'clock in the morning. Wayne was not expecting an attack, especially from Indians, but his men, as usual, slept on their arms that night and were ready for action.

Guristersigo intended to strike Wayne's picket-guard, stationed at a little distance from the main body; as the two had that day exchanged places, he ignorantly attacked the stronger instead of the weaker party. The onset was furious; but, aroused by the Indian warwhoop, the infantry quickly seized their arms, and the artillerymen hastened to their guns. Two of the pieces were captured; but while the Indians were endeavoring to turn them upon the Americans, the latter had time to rally. Colonel Posey led his infantry to the charge, while Wayne headed the cavalry, who cut down the naked warriors with their broadswords, and, turning their flank, quickly put them to flight.

Wayne's horse was shot under him at the same moment that the cannon were captured. A severe struggle for their recapture ensued, in which the rifle and the tomahawk were no match for the bayonet and the broadsword. Guristersigo fought valiantly to retain his trophies, and only relinquished them with his life. He fell, encouraging his warriors to the last. Seventeen of them, besides his white guides, fell at his side. This renowned warrior was six feet three inches in height and well proportioned; his countenance was manly and expressive.

The Indians fled when they saw their leader fall, and were pursued far into the forest; many of them were killed by the bayonet. Wayne's loss was slight. One hundred and seventeen pack-horses, laden with peltry, fell to the victors.

In September, Colonels Pickens and Clarke completed the subjugation of the Creeks. Weary of the conflict, the Indians ceded all their lands south of the Savannah and east of the Chattahoochee rivers to the State of Georgia, as the price of peace. Treaties were made with the Iroquois at Fort Stanwix; with the western Indians at Fort McIntosh; and with the southern Indians at Hopewell. The Shawnees were the last, peace being made with them at the mouth of the Great Miami, on the 31st of January, 1786.

One of the most celebrated of the Indian orators was the Seneca chief, Red Jacket. Meeting General Lafayette at Buffalo, in the year 1825, he asked the latter if he remembered being present at the Great Council of the Indian nations, held at Fort Stanwix in 1784. The general replied that he had not forgotten that event, and asked Red Jacket if he knew what had become of the young chief who in that council opposed with such eloquence the "burying of the hatchet."

"He is before you," was the reply of Red Jacket. His speech on that occasion was a masterpiece of fiery eloquence. Red Jacket possessed talents of the highest order, and was a thorough Indian in his costume as well as in his contempt for the language, manners, and everything else belonging to the English. He fought for the United States in the war of 1812, and died near Buffalo, New York, on January 20, 1830.