Title: The War Chief of the Six Nations - A Chronicle of Joseph Brant
Author: Wood, Louis Aubrey, 1883-1955
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.


*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The War Chief of the Six Nations - A Chronicle of Joseph Brant" ***


CHRONICLES OF CANADA
Edited by George M. Wrong and H. H. Langton
In thirty-two volumes

Volume 16


THE WAR CHIEF OF THE SIX NATIONS
A Chronicle of Joseph Brant

By LOUIS AUBREY WOOD
TORONTO, 1915



CONTENTS

I.    THE YOUNG MOHAWK
II.   BATTLE OF LAKE GEORGE
III.  SCHOOLDAYS AND AFTER
IV.   THE WAYS DIVIDE
V.    ACROSS THE SEA
VI.   BRANT MEETS HERKIMER
VII.  FORT STANWIX AND ORISKANY
VIII. FIGHTING ON THE FRONTIER
IX.   CHERRY VALLEY
X.    MINISINK AND THE CHEMUNG RIVER
XI.   OVER THE BORDER
XII.  ENGLAND ONCE MORE
XIII. STATESMAN OF THE TRIBES
XIV.  THE CHURCH BELL RINGS
XV.   THE PINE-TREE TOTTERS
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE



CHAPTER I

THE YOUNG MOHAWK

A group of huntsmen were camping on the Ohio river. The
foliage swayed in the night wind, and the argent light
of the moon ran in fleeting bars through the dim recesses
of the forest. From the ground arose a ruddier glare.
High and dry, fires had been built and the flames were
darting and curvetting among the trees. In the weird
light the hunters were clustered about in squads, silently
stripping their prey or preparing their weapons for the
morrow's chase. In the background were the women, moving
here and there in the dancing shadows. One was bending
low over a newborn infant, and as she uttered his name
in the stillness of the evening it blended with the music
of the tree-tops.

'Thayendanegea!' [Footnote: Pronounced Tai-yen-da-nay-geh.]

The name was taken from the great book of nature. It was
a birth-name of the Mohawks meaning two sticks of wood
bound together, a sign of strength; and the woman hoped
that her tiny child might one day be a man of valour
among the Mohawks. Could she have but known it, her desire
was to be more than realized, for in vigour of mind and
body he was destined to surpass all the offspring of his
race.

So it was, in the pear 1742, in the reign of King George
the Second, that Thayendanegea was born among the Mohawks
on the banks of the Ohio. To the untaught savage this
sluggish stream was a thing of life, and he called it the
'River Beautiful.' The Ohio valley was at this time the
favourite hunting-ground of the Indian peoples. Because
this valley was rich in game and comfortable to dwell in,
it had been a scene of bitter strife. The problem of rule
on the Ohio was of long standing. For a whole century
Delaware and Shawnee and Wyandot and Six Nations contended
for the territory; tribe was pitted against tribe, and then
at last the answer was given. The Iroquois confederacy,
or Six Nations, [Footnote: Mohawks, Cayugas, Senecas,
Oneidas, Onondagas, and Tuscaroras.] whose villages lay by
the Hudson river, united, determined, and vengeful, had
gained the ascendancy; from the banks of the Hudson to the
seats of the stranger beside lake Erie the lands belonged
to them; and other tribes to the east and west and north
and south paid them tribute. The Mohawks were the mightiest
of the Six Nations; in the confederacy they were chief in
council; from their ranks was chosen the head war chief,
who commanded on the field of battle; they took the
first-fruits of the chase, and were leaders in everything.

Some time was to pass, however, before Thayendanegea
could understand that he was sprung from a race of
conquerors. As yet he was but a simple Indian babe, with
staring brown eyes and raven-black hair. Of the mother
who cared for him history has practically nothing to say.
She may have been a Mohawk, but this is by no means
certain. It has even been hinted that she came from the
Western Indians, and was a damsel of the Shawnee race
who had left the wigwams of her people. At all events we
may be sure that she had the natural instincts and impulses
of a forest mother; that she knew where the linden grew
high and where the brown-red sycamores clustered thick
by the margin of the stream. It may be supposed that when
the sun mounted high she would tie the picturesque, richly
ornamented baby-frame containing her boy to some drooping
branch to swing from its leathern thong in the cooling
breeze. We may imagine her tuneful voice singing the
mother's Wa Wa song, the soft lullaby of the sylvan glades.
Thayendanegea's eyes blink and tremble; he forgets the
floating canopy above him and sleeps in his forest cradle.

The hunting excursion to the Ohio came at length to an
end, and then the Mohawks started for their lodges in
the far north-east. Up the broad river sped the strongest
canoe-men of all the peoples of the forest, with
Thayendanegea stowed snugly in the bottom of some slender
craft. Over the long and weary portages trudged his
mother, her child bound loosely on her shoulders. Their
route lay towards Lake Erie, then along the well-trodden
trail to the Mohawk river; and the baby was for the first
time among the fertile cornfields and the strange Long
Houses of his people. At this period the Mohawks lived
farthest east of all the tribes of the Six Nations. Their
main settlements were along the Mohawk river in what is
now the state of New York, but they claimed authority
over the region stretching thence towards Montreal. They
had three settlements on the Mohawk, the central one of
which, called Canajoharie Castle, was the home of
Thayendanegea's parents. Near by lived the celebrated
William Johnson, His Majesty's representative for Indian
Affairs in the colony of New York, who some years later
became sole superintendent of 'the six united nations,
their allies and dependents.'

When Thayendanegea grew stronger he began to romp with
the other boys of the village. With them he followed the
women down to the river's brink, picking up shiny pebbles
from the sand, or watching the minnows dart about in the
sunlight. With them, when the days were long, he crawled
through the brambles, looking for luscious berries, or
ran with the wiry Indian dogs into copse and brushwood.
Then he learned to swim, to fish, and to dip his paddle
noiselessly in the stream. Like every red child,
Thayendanegea listened rapt in wonder to the tales that
were told him. The Mohawks had a storehouse of fable,
and he soon became versed in the lore of the forest.
Perhaps, too, he sat beside his wrinkled grandfather,
who was a sachem, [Footnote: That Thayendanegea was the
grandchild of one of these sachems who were so honoured
appears from information given in an article published
in the London Magazine; of July 1776. The material for
this account of him is supposed to have been supplied by
the famous author James Boswell, with whom, while on a
visit to England in that year, he was intimate.] or petty
king, of the Six Nations, and heard the old man tell the
romantic story of his trip to England in the pear 1710,
when Anne was sovereign queen; heard how five sachems at
this time had gone on an embassy for their people and
were right royally entertained in the city of London;
how, as they passed through the streets, the little
children flocked behind, marvelling at their odd appearance;
how at the palace they appeared in garments of black and
scarlet and gold and were gladly received by the queen,
whom they promised to defend against her foes; and how,
after seeing the soldiers march, and after riding in the
queen's barge and enjoying various amusements, they
returned to their own country.

There is some obscurity surrounding the identity of
Thayendanegea's father, but it is generally agreed that
he was a full-blooded Mohawk and a chief of the Wolf
clan. [Footnote: The Mohawks were divided into three
clans--the Tortoise, the Bear, and the Wolf.] By some
writers it is said that he bore the English name of Nickus
Brant. Others say that Thayendanegea's father died while
the son was still an infant and that the mother then
married an Indian known to the English as Brant. By and
by, as Thayendanegea mingled with the English, he acquired
the name of Joseph, and so came down through history as
Joseph Brant; but whether he acquired this name from his
father or from his step-father we cannot tell, and it
does not really matter. We shall know him hereafter by
his English name.

In the traditions of the Mohawk valley it is told how
one day a regimental muster was being held, in Tryon
county, in the colony of New York, at which William
Johnson was present. Among the throng of those who were
out to see the sights was Molly Brant, Joseph's elder
sister, a lively, winsome girl of sixteen years. During
the manoeuvres a field-officer rode by, mounted on a
spirited steed. As he passed, Molly asked if she might
get up behind. The officer, thinking it a bit of banter,
said she might. In an instant she had sprung upon the
crupper. Away went the steed, flying about the field.
Molly clung tight to the officer, her blanket flapping
in the breeze and her dark hair floating wide. Every one
burst into merriment, and no one enjoyed the spectacle
more than Colonel William Johnson himself. A flame of
love for Molly was kindled in his heart, and, being a
widower, he took her home and made her his bride after
the Indian fashion. It would seem quite natural, then,
that the superintendent should be interested in the career
of Molly's brother Joseph. Born, as the young redskin
was, of princely stock, he might, with such an advantage,
be expected to attain to honour and dignity among the
people of the Long House. There was, however, one obstacle;
although Joseph's father was a chief, he did not inherit
rank, for it was the custom of the Six Nations to trace
descent through the blood of the mother, and his mother,
who had brought him over hill and water from the banks
of the Ohio, was of humble origin. If Joseph wished,
therefore, to rise among his fellows, he must hew out
his own path to greatness. By pluck and wisdom alone
could he win a lasting place in the hearts of his people.
As we tell his story, we shall see how he gathered strength
and became a man of might and of valour.



CHAPTER II

BATTLE OF LAKE GEORGE

No one delighted more in the free and easy life of the
frontier than did Colonel William Johnson. He was a
typical colonial patroon, a representative of the king
and a friend of the red man. The Indians trusted him
implicitly. He had studied their character and knew well
their language. He entered into their life with full
sympathy for their traditions and was said to possess an
influence over them such as had never been gained by any
other white man. For a long time he lived at Fort Johnson,
a three-storey dwelling of stone on the left bank of the
Mohawk, and later at Johnson Hall, a more spacious mansion
several miles farther north. Here all who came were
treated with a lavish hand, and the wayfarer found a
welcome as he stopped to admire the flowers which grew
before the portals. Within were a retinue of servants,
careful for the needs of all. When hearts were sad or
time went slowly, a dwarf belonging to the household
played a merry tune on his violin to drive away gloom
from the wilderness mansion.

On one occasion, however, Johnson's hospitality was taxed
beyond all bounds. This was at Fort Johnson in the year
1755, just after he had been made a major-general in the
colonial militia. The French from Canada had already been
making bold encroachments on territory claimed by the
English to the north and the west. They had erected Fort
Duquesne at the junction of the Alleghany and Monongahela
rivers, where the great city of Pittsburgh now stands;
they had fortified Niagara; and now they were bidding
defiance to all the English colonists between the Alleghany
Mountains and the sea. War had not been declared in
Europe, but the inhabitants of the Thirteen Colonies,
only too eager to stay the hand of France in America,
planned a series of blows against the enemy. Among other
things, they decided that an attempt should be made to
capture the French stronghold of Fort Frederic at Crown
Point on Lake Champlain. The officer selected to Command
the expedition to be sent on this enterprise was William
Johnson, now a major-general of the colony of New York.

It flashed at once across Johnson's mind that his redskin
friends could aid him in the undertaking; so he sent
messages with all speed to the tribes, asking them to
gather at his house. Eleven hundred hungry Indians answered
the summons. From all quarters they came in, taking up
their residence for the time being upon his broad domain.
Johnson's bright and genial face clouded as he looked
upon the multitude of guests and saw his food supplies
vanishing and every green thing that grew upon his fields
and meadows being plucked up. But he bore it all
good-naturedly, for he was determined to win their support.
Seated on the grass in squads, according to their tribes,
they listened while he addressed them and told them of
their duties to the English crown. With rising eloquence
he said that they were bound in their allegiance to the
English as though with a silver chain. 'The ends of this
silver chain,' he added, 'are fixed in the immovable
mountains, in so firm a manner that the hands of no mortal
enemy might be able to move it.' Then as he bade them
take the field, he held a war belt in his hands and
exclaimed with fervour:

'My war kettle is on the fire; my canoe is ready to put
into the water; my gun is loaded; my sword is by my side;
and my axe is sharpened.'

Little Abraham, sachem of the lower Mohawk valley, took
the belt from him, Red Head, a chief of the Onondagas,
made reply, telling him that from every castle warriors
would follow him to the north. A war dance followed, and
a large body of the Six Nations were ready for the fray.

No doubt young Joseph Brant was in this great audience,
listening to the speeches of his elders. He was only
thirteen years of age at the time, but the spirit of the
war-path was already upon him. The zealous appeals of
the major-general must have stirred him greatly, and it
may well be that this lad, with youthful frame and boyish
features, here received an impulse which often sustained
him in later years during his long career of active
loyalty on behalf of the English cause. As it happened,
Joseph was soon to be in active service. On August 8,
1755, Johnson's expedition left Albany, and a week later
arrived at the great carrying-place between the Hudson
and Lac St Sacrement, as Lake George was then called. At
this point Fort Lyman [Footnote: Afterwards named Fort
Edward.] had been built the same summer. Thence the
major-general set out, with fifteen hundred provincials
and three hundred Indians, on his journey northward. King
Hendrick, a chief of the Mohawks, led the tribesmen, and
under his direction a number of braves were being tested
for the first time. One of these--we may imagine the
boy's intense delight--was young Joseph Brant.

On reaching Lac St Sacrement Johnson made a halt and took
up a strong position on the shore. Soon reinforcements
arrived under General Phineas Lyman, his second in command.
Johnson re-named the lake. 'I have given it,' he says,
'the name of Lake George, not only in honour of His
Majesty, but to assert his undoubted dominion here.'

Meanwhile Baron Dieskau, the commander of the French
forces, having landed at South Bay, the southern extremity
of the waters of Lake Champlain, was moving down through
the woods. His army was made up of a large body of French
Canadians, Indians, and regular soldiers of the regiments
of La Reine and Languedoc. He marched by way of Wood
Creek, and was bent on making a vigorous attack on Fort
Lyman. But when he arrived at a point about midway between
Fort Lyman and Johnson's camp on Lake George, his Indians
became unruly, declaring that they would march no farther
south nor venture off the soil that belonged to France.
There was nothing for Dieskau to do but to change his
plans. Swerving in a north-westerly direction, he struck
the new road that Johnson had made to the lake. This he
followed, intending to fall upon the English forces
wherever he should find them.

Johnson's scouts, prowling to the southward, detected
this move. Back to the encampment they brought the news
of Dieskau's approach and the English leader at once made
ready to defend his position. Trees were felled; the
wagons and bateaux were brought up; a strong breastwork
was built across the new-cut roadway; cannon were put in
position to play upon the advancing enemy. Then discussion
took place as to the advisability of making a sortie
against the foe. It was suggested that five hundred men
would be sufficient, but at the mention of this number
King Hendrick, the Indian leader, interposed. What,
indeed, could such a paltry handful do in the face of
the oncoming Frenchmen?

'If they are to fight,' he said, 'they are too few; if
they are to be killed, they are too many.'

In the early morning, September 8, 1755, a force of twelve
hundred set forth, only to learn the wisdom of Hendrick's
advice. Dieskau was proceeding cautiously, hoping to
catch the English in a trap. He sent out flying wings of
Indians and Canadians, while his French regulars formed
the centre of his force. As the English advanced along
the road, they found themselves suddenly attacked on both
sides by the enemy. A stiff struggle then took place in
which Johnson's men were badly worsted. King Hendrick's
horse was shot down, and before he could free himself
from his saddle he was slain by a bayonet thrust. Retreat
now became necessary, and by a steady movement the English
fell back upon their camp. There they determined to make
a decisive stand. Dieskau, emboldened by the success of
his previous advance, led his troops towards the lake in
battle array. His progress, however, was stopped by the
rude barricade which had been piled across the road, and
by eleven o'clock the second engagement of the day was
already being fought.

Brant has described his feelings when, as a mere boy, he
received his baptism of fire upon this battle-ground.
When the clatter of the musketry fell upon his ears, his
heart jumped and an indescribable fear seemed to take
possession of him. His limbs trembled, and in despair he
looked for something to steady him in the ordeal. Near
by grew a slender sapling, and he clutched at this and
held on tenaciously while the bullets went whizzing by.
After a few volleys had been fired he regained his natural
poise and took his place beside the old fighters who were
holding their own against a savage attack. From this
moment he acquitted himself with valour in the battle,
and, youth though he was, he fulfilled his desire 'to
support the character of a brave man of which he was
exceedingly ambitious.'

At length the French troops began to recoil before the
sweep of the English cannon. Dieskau received a severe
wound and the ardour of his followers was visibly cooled.
At four o'clock the English general thought the opportune
moment had arrived to make a sortie, and his men climbed
over the rampart and drove the French to flight in every
direction. The wounded Dieskau was made prisoner and
borne to the camp of his enemy. Johnson's leg had been
pierced by a bullet, and in this condition he was carried
to his tent.

As the two generals lay helpless on their litters, several
redskins entered the tent and scowled upon the recumbent
Dieskau. 'These fellows have been regarding me with a
look not indicative of much compassion,' said the French
commander. 'Anything else!' answered Johnson, 'for they
wished to oblige me to deliver you into their hands in
order to burn you, in revenge for the death of their
comrades and of their chiefs who have been slain in the
battle.' Then he added: 'Feel no uneasiness; you are safe
with me.'

This affair at Lake George was only an opening battle in
the Seven Years' War between France and England which
was waged in three continents and closed in America with
the fall of Montreal in 1760. For his victory over Dieskau
William Johnson was made a baronet, and thus became Sir
William Johnson. He continued to offer his services until
the war ended; and during the memorable campaign of 1759,
while Wolfe and Amherst were operating in the east, he
was sent with Brigadier Prideaux to effect, if possible,
the capture of Fort Niagara. The expedition ascended the
Mohawk in June, crossed over to Oswego, and thence followed
the south shore of Lake Ontario to its destination. The
French fort stood at the mouth of the Niagara where it
enters Lake Ontario, and was under the command of Captain
Pouchot. No sooner had this officer heard of the English
approach than he sent to Presqu'Ile and other points in
the west asking that reinforcements should be dispatched
with all haste for his relief.

The English investing army consisted of twenty-three
hundred regulars and provincials, together with nine
hundred Indians from the tribes of the Six Nations. At
the very outset Prideaux was accidentally killed by the
premature bursting of a shell from a coehorn and Johnson
had to take command. Acting with vigour he prosecuted
the siege until July 24, when firing in the distance told
that help for the besieged would soon be at hand.
Straightway Johnson selected one-third of his men and
marched to meet the relieving force, which was led by
Captain D'Aubrey and comprised eleven hundred French and
several hundred redskins from the western tribes. The
conflict which ensued was short but desperate. The Six
Nations, posted on the flanks of the English line, fought
valiantly, and, largely owing to their valour, the French
were put to rout. On the same day Pouchot capitulated.
By this success the chain of French forts stretching from
the St Lawrence to Louisiana was snapped near the middle.
Although Brant's deeds have not been recorded, it is
stated on good authority that he was with Sir William
Johnson on this occasion and that he bore himself with
marked distinction.



CHAPTER III

SCHOOLDAYS AND AFTER

Through the storm and stress of these campaigns, the eyes
of the Mohawks were upon Joseph Brant. They expected much
of him, and he earnestly tried to fulfil their hopes.
Still in his teens, he was already a seasoned warrior,
having 'fought with Death and dulled his sword.' The
Mohawks were pleased. Let a few more autumns strew the
carpet of the forest, and they would have in him a brave
and robust leader worthy of their tradition. Joseph, on
the other hand, was dissatisfied. He had lived and communed
with white men and had come to know a greatness that was
not to be won by following the war-path. He had wielded
the tomahawk; he had bivouacked among armed men on the
field of battle: now he was eager for the schoolroom. He
wished to widen his knowledge and to see the great world
that lay beyond the rude haunts of the red men.

Joseph was in this frame of mind when an Indian with the
very English name of David Fowler came to Fort Johnson.
Fowler was on a long journey from his home by the sea
and rode on horseback. He had something to relate, he
said, that was of significance for the Indian people. At
Lebanon, in the colony of Connecticut, there was an
institution for the education of any young redskin who
might be able to come, and he had been sent by Doctor
Eleazar Wheelock, its principal, to gather recruits.
Addressing Sir William Johnson, he asked him if there
were among the Six Nations Indians any lads whom he should
like to send to the school.

Sir William was not slow to act. Joseph Brant, the pride
of Canajoharie Castle, thirsting for knowledge, must
surely go. Two other boys, named Negyes and Center, were
chosen to accompany him. These were 'three boys,' as Dr
Wheelock afterwards wrote, 'who were willing to leave
their friends and country, and come among strangers of
another language and quite another manner of living, and
where, perhaps, none of their nation, then living, had
ever been.'

The trip to Connecticut was made in 1761, and the lads
arrived at Lebanon about mid-summer. They were not at
all sure that the school would be to their liking and
had planned, if such should prove to be the case, to make
a hasty flight back to the Mohawk valley on the horses
they brought with them. Negyes and Center looked rather
woebegone as they came into Dr Wheelock's presence: 'Two
of them,' he says, 'were but little better than naked.'
Brant, however, created a good impression. 'The other,
being of a family of distinction, was considerably clothed,
Indian fashion, and could speak a few words of English.'

The school was kept up by a number of benevolent persons
who contributed liberally to its funds. Sir William
Johnson was ready to do his share to aid the good work,
and some four months and a half after the Mohawk boys
had arrived he wrote to the principal: 'I shall not be
backward to contribute my mite.' A house in which to hold
the classes and two acres of land had been given by a
farmer named Joshua Moor; hence the institution was
generally called Moor's Indian Charity School. The
principal, Dr Wheelock, was a man of wide scholarship,
and became later on the founder of the seat of learning
in New Hampshire now known as Dartmouth College.

But little is known of the course of study pursued by
Joseph at Moor's School. When he entered it his knowledge
must have been very slender, and as a young man he began
to learn things ordinarily taught to a mere child. It is
likely that he now became much more fluent than formerly
in his use of the English tongue. From the beginning his
progress was very rapid, and Dr Wheelock does not stint
the praise that he bestows upon him: 'Joseph is indeed
an excellent youth,' was his comment; 'he has much endeared
himself to me, as well as to his master, and everybody
also by his good behaviour.'

The master here spoken of was Charles Jeffrey Smith, a
young man of ample means who wished to be of service to
the Indians. He had come to the school after Joseph's
arrival and helped the principal in giving instruction.
He very soon remarked the superior intelligence which
Joseph showed among the twenty-five pupils in his charge.
Intending to make a missionary tour among the Indian
tribes, he proposed to take his young pupil with him as
an interpreter. Writing to Sir William Johnson about the
matter, he referred to Joseph in most glowing terms: 'As
he is a promising youth, of a sprightly genius, singular
modesty, and a serious turn, I know of none so well
calculated to answer my end as he is.'

It was with sad misgivings that Joseph thought of turning
his back upon the school, where he had been for scarcely
two years; but Smith promised to continue as his teacher
when they were together in the Indian country, and to
pay him something for his work as an interpreter. This
appealed to the young redskin. It appeared that his
schooldays were ended in any event, for his people were
jealous of his prolonged stay in the lodges of the stranger
and he had received a message calling him back to
Canajoharie Castle.

In the month of June 1763, master and pupil set out
together, but, as fate would have it, Smith's quest among
the tribes was to be quickly ended. Hardly had he begun
his pilgrimage when he found the Indians in wild commotion.
Again the hatchet had been unburied, and for the sake of
security he had to bring his mission to an abrupt end.

Pontiac, great chief of the Ottawas, had raised the
standard of revolt against English rule. This was an
aftermath of the struggle just concluded with France,
and began when the Western Indians saw that another race
of pale-faces had come upon their lands. With skill and
adroitness Pontiac had gathered many tribes into a strong
offensive league. He declared that if they followed in
his train he would drive the feet of the intruder from
the red man's territory. There was a savage rising in
May 1763. In a twinkling eight English posts in the
interior fell before the savages. Fort Ligonier and Fort
Pitt, [Footnote: Formerly Fort Duquesne.] at the head-waters
of the Ohio, and Fort Detroit in the west, were alone
left standing of all the places attacked, and Detroit
was besieged by Pontiac with thirty-six chiefs at his
back. The call to arms in defence was urgent. A portion
of the Six Nations joined their old allies, the English,
and among the warriors who went out was Joseph Brant.
'Joseph tarried,' we are told, 'and went out with a
company against the Indians, and was useful in the war,
in which he behaved so much like the Christian and the
soldier, that he gained great esteem.'

A body of Mohawks were among the troops which brought
succour to Major Gladwyn in his resistance at Fort Detroit
in 1763, and it is possible that Brant was in the thick
of the fight in this vicinity. It is possible, too, that
he was with Colonel Bouquet in August at the battle of
Bushy Run, near Fort Pitt. In this engagement, after two
days of strenuous backwoods fighting, the Indians were
finally worsted. Pontiac's star had begun to set. With
hopeless odds against him, the stubborn chief of the
Ottawas kept up the struggle until the following year,
but at last he was compelled to sue for peace.

In the meantime Brant's reputation among his tribesmen
was steadily rising. In the spring of 1764, when the
fighting was at an end, he returned to Canajoharie Castle.
There he built a comfortable house, wedded the daughter
of an Oneida chieftain, and dwelt for some years in peace
and quiet. Two children, Isaac and Christiana, were born
to him of this, his first, marriage. We may pass rapidly
over these tranquil years of Brant's life. He did his
domestic duties as a man should; and Sir William Johnson,
finding him trustworthy, had constant work for him, and
sent him on many important missions to the Indians, even
to the far-western tribes. During this period Brant became
a communicant in the Anglican Church, and, knowing well
what hardships the missionaries had to endure, he gave
them what help he could in their work among the red
people. He assisted the Rev. John Stuart, a missionary to
his tribe and afterwards a distinguished clergyman in Upper
Canada, in his translation of the Acts of the Apostles,
in a History of the Bible, and in a brief explanation of
the Catechism, in the dialect of the Mohawks. It is
related that a belated missionary, footsore and weary,
crept one day to Brant's abode, where he was given food
and cared for in his sickness. 'Joseph Brant,' the
missionary wrote in grateful tribute, 'is exceeding kind.'

It was well that a man of judicious mind and fearless
heart was coming to the fore among the nation of the
Mohawks. A cloud had begun to fleck the horizon; soon
would come the sound of the approaching tempest. How
would it fare with the Six Nations in the day of turmoil?



CHAPTER IV

THE WAYS DIVIDE

The happy ending, in 1763, of the war with France left
the English colonies in America with little to disturb
them, except the discontented red men beyond the Alleghany
Mountains. The colonies grew larger; they did more business
and they gathered more wealth. But as they prospered they
became self-confident and with scarce an enemy at home
they became involved in a quarrel with the motherland
across the sea. England, they said, was taxing them
unjustly and posting soldiers in their chief cities to
carry out her will. They were by no means disposed to
submit. As early as 1770 a mob in Boston attacked an
English guard and drew upon themselves its fire, which
caused bloodshed in the city's streets. This was the
prelude of the American Revolution. A brief lull came in
the storm. But as Britain still insisted on the right to
tax the colonies and made an impost on tea the test of
her right, rebels in Boston accepted the challenge and
were inflamed to violence; they swarmed on a tea-ship
which had entered the bay, dragged the packets from the
hold, and cast them into the waters of the harbour. When
news of this act of violence reached England, parliament
passed a bill providing for the shutting up of the port
of Boston and removing the seat of government to Salem.
In 1774 General Gage, the recently appointed governor of
Massachusetts, placed the colony under military rule,
and it was cut off from the rest of the country. The
signal for revolt was thus given, and a general revolution
soon followed.

The colonists immediately divided into two parties; on
the one side were those who felt that they must obey what
they thought to be the call of liberty; on the other were
those who had no desire, and felt no need, to follow a
summons to insurrection against His Majesty the King.
The red man began to see clearly that the whites, the
'Long Knives,' brethren of the same race, would soon be
at one another's throats, and that they, the natives,
could not remain neutral when the war broke out.

During these alarming days Sir William Johnson died, when
scarcely sixty years of age. He had seen that the break
with the motherland was coming, and the prospect was
almost more than he could bear. On the very day of his
death he had received dispatches from England that probably
hastened his end. He was told, under the royal seal, of
the great peril that lay in store for all the king's
people, and he was urged to keep the Six Nations firm in
their allegiance to the crown. On that morning, July
11, 1774, the dying man called the Indians to council,
and spoke what were to be his parting words to the tribes.
They must, he said, stand by the king, undaunted and
unmoved under every trial. A few hours later the gallant
Sir William Johnson, the friend of all the sons of the
forest, the guide and helper of Joseph Brant, had breathed
his last. His estates and titles were inherited by his
son John Johnson, who was also promoted to the rank of
major-general in the army. The control of Indian Affairs
passed into the hands of his son-in-law, Colonel Guy
Johnson, an able man, but less popular and wanting the
broad sympathies of the great superintendent. Brant was
at once made secretary to Guy Johnson, and to these two
men Sir William's work of dealing with the Indians now
fell. Their task, laid on them by their king, was to keep
the Six Nations true to his cause in the hour when the
tomahawk should leave its girdle and the war fires should
again gleam sullenly in the depths of the forest.

Joseph Brant set about this work with restless energy.
He was no longer the stripling who had gone away to the
West that he might aid in bending the pride of Pontiac.
Ten years had passed, and now he was a mature man with
an ever-broadening vision. Some time during these years
he had reached the position among his tribesmen which he
long had coveted. He had been recognized by the Mohawks
as one of their chieftains. This honour he had won by
right not of birth but of merit, and for this reason he
was known as a 'Pine-tree Chief.' Like the pine-tree,
tall and strong and conspicuous among the trees of the
forest, he had achieved a commanding place in the Mohawk
nation. True, he was a chief merely by gift of his tribe,
but he seems, nevertheless, to have been treated with
the same respect and confidence as the hereditary chiefs.
He rejoiced in his new distinction. Evil days were ahead,
and he was now in a position to do effective work on
behalf of his people and of the British when the inevitable
war should break out. A still greater honour was in store
for him. When war was declared he at once became recognized
as the war leader of the Six Nations--the War Chief. The
hereditary successor of King Hendrick, who was slain at
Lake George in 1755, was Little Abraham; but Little
Abraham, it appears, desired to remain neutral in the
impending struggle, and by common consent Brant assumed
the leadership of the Iroquois in war.

Two things favoured Brant in any appeal he might make in
the interests of the British to the loyalty of the Six
Nations. For over a hundred years they had taken from
the colonial agents who represented the crown wampum
belts as a sign of treaty obligations. Treaties had been
made with the king; the word of the red man had been
given to the king. Promises made to them by the king's
agents had always been performed. Why, therefore, should
they now plight their faith to any other than their Great
Father the King, who dwelt far over the waters? Besides,
by recent actions of the colonists, the resentment of
the Indians had been fanned to a fury. In 1774 some
colonial land-hunters were scouring the country of the
Shawnees. Without any real cause they fell upon some
redskins and butchered several in an inhuman way. Not
satisfied with this act of cruelty, they seized two brave
chiefs, Bald Eagle and Silver Heels, and killed them in
cold blood. The anger of the Indians was aroused and they
rallied under the banner of the noble Logan, 'Mingo Chief'
of the Shawnees. Against him the Virginians sent a large
force of more than two thousand men. A fierce battle took
place at the Great Kanawha river, at the point where that
stream flows into the Ohio. For a time Logan and his
Indian ally Cornstalk and their followers fought
desperately, but in the end they were forced to flee
across the Ohio. This war was short, indeed, but it had
no just warrant, and the Indians could not forget the
outrage that had been committed. The memory of it rankled
with the Six Nations, especially among the Cayugas, to
whom Logan was bound by ties of blood.

While Joseph was doing his utmost to keep the Indians
loyal and was keeping watch upon those who were plotting
to win them from their allegiance to the crown, Sir John
Johnson was growing anxious for his own life. So great
was his, fear of being killed or abducted that he increased
his body-guard to five hundred men. At the same time,
he placed swivel-guns about his house, in order to
withstand a sudden attack. He energetically organized
the settlers on his domains into a protecting force. In
particular the Highland loyalists in his district rallied
to his aid, and soon a hundred and fifty brawny clansmen
were ready to take the field at the shortest notice.

But the Six Nations were by no means united in their
loyalty to the crown. Brant saw that the tribe most
wavering in its support was the Oneidas. He found that
their missionary, Samuel Kirkland, was in league with
the rebels, and sought to have this clergyman removed.
Failing in this, he wrote to the Oneida chiefs, urging
them to remain loyal to the king. A letter that an Oneida
runner let fall at this time on an Indian path is the
earliest bit of handwriting that we have from Joseph
Brant's pen. In it he warns the Oneidas against the subtle
work which the colonists were carrying on. 'Guy Johnson
is in great fear of being taken prisoner by the Bostonians,'
he says. 'We Mohawks are obliged to watch him constantly.
Guy Johnson assures himself, and depends upon your coming
to his assistance... He believes not that you will assent
to let him suffer.' The appeal thus made seems, however,
to have met with little response from the Oneidas, and
Brant was rebuffed. Even before this they had sent a
letter to the governor of Connecticut expressing in,
plain terms their desire to remain neutral when hostilities
should commence. 'We cannot intermeddle in this dispute
between two brothers,' was their decision. 'The quarrel
seems to be unnatural.' The Oneidas had the right to
their opinion, but their conduct must have stung the
heart of the chief of the Mohawks. Yet never for a moment
did his courage fail. He knew that the bulk of the Six
Nations were willing to give their life's blood in the
service of the king. He and they would be true to the
old and binding covenant which their forefathers had made
as allies of the crown. 'It will not do for us to break
it,' said Brant, 'let what will become of us.'

Civil war was now impending in the colonies. The battle
of Lexington had been fought, and the whole country was
taking breath before the plunge into the conflict. Guy
Johnson and Brant were waiting to declare themselves and
the time was nearly ripe. The first move was made just
after the Mohawk chiefs had been summoned to a council
at Guy Park, [Footnote: 'A beautiful situation immediately
on the bank of the Mohawk. The elegant stone mansion is
yet [1865] upon the premises giving the best evidence of
substantial building.'--William L. Stone, _Life of Joseph
Brant_, vol. i. p. 71.] about the end of May. Secret
orders had come from General Gage, and Johnson knew
precisely what course he was expected to follow. Leaving
his house to what fate might befall it, he started westward
with Brant and a force of Indians and white men. At their
first important stopping-place, Cosby's Manor, a letter
was sent back to throw a blind across their trail. Then,
with their faces still towards the setting sun, the loyal
band wended their way through the dark mazes of the forest.

After a weary journey the loyalist party emerged among
the populous western villages of the Iroquois confederacy.
There, at Ontario, south of the lake of that name, was
held a great assembly, and fifteen hundred warriors
listened to the messengers of the king. In reply the
chiefs of the assembled throng expressed their willingness
to 'assist his Majesty's troops in their operations.'
Johnson and Brant then went on to Oswego, on the margin
of the lake, where an even larger body heard their plea.
Johnson prepared for the redskins a typical repast, and
'invited them to feast on a Bostonian.' The Indians avowed
their willingness to fight for the king. Then, while the
summer days were long, a flotilla of canoes, in which
were many of the most renowned chiefs of the Six Nations,
set out eastward for Montreal over the sparkling waters
of Lake Ontario. In one of the slender craft knelt Joseph
Brant, paddle in hand, thoughtful and yet rejoicing. He
was but thirty-three years old, and yet, by shrewdness
in council and by courage on the field of battle, he
already occupied a prominent place among the chiefs of
the confederacy. Moreover, great days were ahead. Soon
the canoes entered the broad St Lawrence and were gliding
swiftly among its islets. With steady motion they followed
its majestic course as it moved towards the sea.



CHAPTER V

ACROSS THE SEA

Before many suns had set, this company of dusky warriors
had brought their canoes to shore near the swift rapids
which run by Montreal. The news of their coming was
received with enthusiasm by the officers stationed at
this place. Every friendly addition to the British ranks
was of value now that war had begun. Sir Guy Carleton,
the governor of Canada, was especially delighted that
these bronzed stalwarts had made their appearance. He
prized the abilities of the Indians in border warfare,
and their arrival now might be of importance, since the
local Canadian militia had not responded to the call to
arms. The French seigneurs and clergy were favourable to
the king's cause, but the habitants on the whole were
not interested in the war, and Carleton's regular troops
consisted of only eight hundred men of the Seventh and
Twenty-Sixth regiments.

No time was lost by the governor in summoning the redskins
to an interview. Chief Brant, it appears, was the leading
spokesman for the Indians on this occasion, and a sentence
or two of the speech made by Carleton has been preserved
by Brant himself. 'I exhort you,' was Carleton's earnest
request of the Indians, 'to continue your adherence to
the King, and not to break the solemn agreement made by
your forefathers, for your own welfare is intimately
connected with your continuing the allies of his Majesty.'
In reply the Indians asserted once more their ancient
pledges. 'We acknowledged,' said Brant, 'that it would
certainly be the best in the end for our families and
ourselves to remain under the King's protection, whatever
difficulties we might have to contend with.'

In order that he might render due service to the army,
Brant was put under military discipline, and was given
a captain's commission in the king's forces. He was in
Montreal when Ethan Allen, a colonial adventurer, made
an unauthorized attempt (Sept. 24, 1775) to surprise and
capture the city. Carleton had been apprised of Allen's
project; the plan miscarried, and Allen, along with other
members of his band, was sent to England as a prisoner
of war. Meanwhile General Montgomery had been advancing
from the south, and, in September, he laid siege to Fort
St John, the English stronghold on the Richelieu river.
This post was stoutly defended by Major Preston with a
force of regulars until Fort Chambly, near by, fell into
the enemy's hands, and further resistance was useless.
Whether Brant's services were employed in or about either
of these forts cannot be ascertained, but we know that
he had left the neighbourhood and was on his way to
England before Montreal capitulated on November 17.

Brant's visit to Montreal had no doubt an important
influence on his career. This was perhaps the first time
he had ever seen a sea-port. [Footnote: It is thought
possible that he had gone down the St Lawrence as far as
Montreal with Sir William Johnson in 1760.] At this time
Montreal had some five or six thousand inhabitants and
was a walled town of growing commercial importance. It
had several commodious religious houses, some large,
well-built churches, and a number of handsome residences.
As Brant stood on the river's bank, he saw a medley of
craft afloat in the current: ships of the fur traders
laden with peltry; transports coming and going with food
for the garrisons, or new men for the service;
sloops-of-war, lying at anchor with their complement of
guns, grim and menacing.

All this gripped as with an iron hand the imaginative
nature of the Mohawk chief. The spirit of romance was
aglow within him, and he had a wondering desire to see
the lands that lay beyond the ocean. He would sail upon
the high seas; he would stand in the presence of the
Great King. How beautiful was this land called England!
and how powerful were its army and navy! Doubtless Guy
Johnson and other officers at Montreal encouraged Brant
to undertake the journey which he fain would make. It
may be that it was they who first showed him how such a
journey was possible. At any rate, before the ice had
begun to lock the green waters of the St Lawrence, in
the year 1775, he had passed through the Gulf and was
tossing on the billows of the deep Atlantic. Towards the
end of the year he arrived, along with Captain Tice, in
the English metropolis. London had altered greatly since
the days of Queen Anne more than half a century before,
when his grandfather had been there. It had become a
greater market for trade, and the common people had been
elbowing their way to the parts where only fine residences
had once stood. Two kings of the House of Hanover had in
the meantime reigned and died, and now King George III,
another of that line, sat upon the throne.

On reaching London Chief Brant was escorted to a small
hostel of not very imposing appearance called 'The Swan
with Two Necks.' It was intended that he should soon be
taken to other lodgings that would be more in keeping
with his rank; but the innkeeper and others were so kind
to him that he was loth to leave, and could not be coaxed
to other quarters during his whole stay in London. In
the streets he was accustomed to dress like the Europeans
of the day, but on state occasions he wore a gala costume,
his head crowned with waving plumes and his body decked
with those fancy ornaments that pleased the proud Indian.
On the burnished tomahawk that glistened in his belt was
traced the initial 'J,' followed by his Indian title,
'Thayendanegea.'

Brant appeared at court and had audience with the king,
for whose person he felt a sacred reverence. He loved
freedom, but at the same time he always had a great
respect for authority. A story is told of the pointed
answer he made to his old instructor, Dr Wheelock, who,
thinking to draw Brant over to the side of the colonists,
or at least to keep him neutral, had written him a long
and earnest appeal. The Mohawk chief replied in a kindly
fashion, referring to the pleasant hours he had spent at
the school. He remembered especially the prayers that
were said in the household, and one prayer in particular
that had been repeated over and over again; as they bent
their heads in entreaty before the Maker of all things,
the request had ever been 'that they might be able to
live as good subjects, to fear God and honour the King.'

Not only did high officials in London treat Brant with
consideration, but men of learning, as well as of social
position, vied with one another to make his visit
interesting and pleasant. Among those who entertained
him was James Boswell, who knew all the gossip of London
society and was a man of rare talents. He took a peculiar
liking to the bronzed chief of the Six Nations and
persuaded him to sit for his portrait. The Earl of Warwick
also wished to have Brant's picture, and the result was
that he sat for George Romney, one of the most famous
artists of the day. This portrait was probably painted
at the artist's house in Cavendish Square, and we may
accept it as a good likeness of Brant as he appeared at
this time. With head erect, the strong-knit figure of
the chief stands at repose. The eyes are mild and wide-set
and about the lips a smile is playing. In the portrait
we see, too, the resolute heart, the thoughtful mind,
and the restless energy that made Joseph Brant a ruler
of the native races.

On being asked as to the help he might render to the
English arms in the New World, Brant asserted strongly
that he and his people were loyal. He said that, as War
Chief, he would lead three thousand of his warriors into
the struggle, and that they would fight manfully as
subjects of the king. He knew full well how desperate
the contest was going to be, and wishing to have some
article on his body that would identify him in case of
death, he bought from a London goldsmith a ring, in which
he had his full name engraved. This he wore through the
vicissitudes of many a long year.

Before the winter was over Brant was anxious to return
to his tribes, for he knew that when the hatchet was
whirling the wigwam was more fitting for him that the
palaces of London. Accordingly, in the spring of 1776,
he set out for his western home.



CHAPTER VI

BRANT MEETS HERKIMER

When the ship on which Brant was a passenger touched the
shores of America, he was landed secretly somewhere near
New York city. He was now face to face with the difficulty
of reaching his friends--a task that called forth all
his alertness. He was in a hostile country, a long way
from the forests of the Mohawk valley lying above Albany.
But he was a wily redskin, too clever to be caught, and
after adroitly evading many dangers he eventually reached
the border country and crossed over safely into Canada.

In July 1776, several weeks before his arrival, the
colonists had declared their independence. The language
of the Declaration of Independence was confident, but
soon after it was uttered the colonists suffered a series
of defeats. Arnold was beaten by Carleton on Lake Champlain
and Washington was forced to retreat until he had crossed
the Delaware. It has been said that Brant took part in
the Battle of the Cedars, where, on the north bank of
the St Lawrence, Captain Forster overpowered a body of
four hundred Americans; but this occurred in May 1776,
and since Brant's ship did not arrive until July he could
not have been one of the combatants in this engagement.
What Brant was doing during the greater part of the year
following his arrival in Canada has not been recorded.
In the spring of 1777 we are able to pick up his trail
again. While the armies were preparing for another summer
campaign, Brant returned once more to his old haunts near
the frontier of the colony of New York, taking up his
position at a place called Oquaga on the Susquehanna
river, south of the Mohawk valley. This was a favourite
resort of the Indians, and Brant was well aware that from
this point he could carry on to advantage a guerrilla
warfare against the rebels and their sympathizers.

His coming sent a shiver of dread through all the
neighbouring settlements. Hitherto this part of the colony
had been remote from the main theatre of the war, but
now that Brant was there any moment might bring an attack,
and the inhabitants began to make ready their defences.
More particularly were steps for protection taken in
Cherry Valley, a rich and fertile area stretching up
towards the Mohawk. Because of its strength and situation,
the house of Colonel Samuel Campbell, one of the prominent
farmers in the valley, was selected for a fortified post,
and logs and earth were banked about it and the two
adjoining barns. Thither from all sides the people
collected, thinking that at any moment the chief of the
Mohawks might pounce upon them.

Brant did, indeed, intend to assail this fortress, as it
contained many of the leading rebels of that district,
but a strange incident deceived him with regard to the
strength of the place and made him change his purpose.
It was not a common thing for him to make errors of
judgement, but for once he was misled--hoodwinked--in a
very simple manner. Like a wise commander he had set out
to reconnoitre the enemy's position, and proceeded in
the direction of Campbell's house with a small body of
men. When about a mile away, he concealed himself behind
some thick shrubbery on the crest of a hillock. As he
peered through the tangled foliage his view was obscured,
and he descried what seemed to him to be a battalion of
troops marching near the house. This was nothing more than
a number of boys with wooden guns in their hands playing
at soldiers and parading in great glee upon the grassy
sward beside the fortified house; but so well did they
perform that Brant imagined they were soldiers training
for active service in the war. 'Colonel Campbell has got
his house well guarded, I perceive,' he said, turning
about and addressing his followers. Thinking that it
would be folly to venture near the spot with his slender
force, Brant decided to retire and he took the road
leading towards the Mohawk river. The same evening, as
he lay in wait with his men behind a large boulder, two
horsemen approached. One was an officer named Wormwood,
the other a settler. Without having suspected an ambush,
they suddenly found themselves in the clutches of an enemy.
In the struggle Lieutenant Wormwood met his death, much
to Brant's sorrow, as they had been good friends before
the war. After this event the chief returned to Oquaga.

As the weeks passed, his following on the Susquehanna
grew apace. The name of the great War Chief had a charm
about it that drew to his command warriors from every
part of the forest. Little wonder that the settlers became
more and more alarmed. At length they resolved to try to
negotiate peace with him. One of their number, Nicholas
Herkimer, decided to go to the Susquehanna and there have
an interview with the chief himself. Herkimer was a
citizen noted for his integrity and had been made a
brigadier-general in the provincial army. He had formerly
lived three miles from Brant, when his home was on the
upper Mohawk, and knew him well. Nothing has ever been
said to show that Herkimer lacked courage. But he was
vain enough to think that a few words from him might
weaken Brant's steadfast loyalty. Furthermore, like too
many frontiersmen of his day, he held the Indian race in
little esteem and, as we shall see, he did not scruple
to treat them with the basest kind of treachery. The plea
may be made that he was apprehensive of duplicity on the
part of the Mohawk chief, but this does not wholly excuse
his conduct.

After duly making his plans, Herkimer invited Brant to
meet him at Unadilla, on the Susquehanna, higher up than
Oquaga. He arrived at this place in the month of July
with three hundred and eighty militiamen, but had to wait
a week before Brant put in an appearance. The fact that
he came with such a numerous escort was well fitted to
cause suspicion. Captain Brant also came with a large
contingent of warriors, pitched his camp at some little
distance from the Americans, and sent a runner to ask
the general why he had been honoured with this visit.
Herkimer replied that he merely wished to have a talk
with his brother Brant and that would be all. The runner
said he would bear the message back, but first asked
slyly whether all these men were anxious to talk with
the War Chief also. Before departing, Brant's messenger
signified that the colonials must not trespass upon the
field that stretched away towards the Indians' camp.
About half-way between the two parties a shed was now
put up, large enough to seat two hundred people. It was
agreed that each side should send a deputation to this
hall, where a meeting would be held. On no account,
however, were any firearms or other weapons to be brought
from the camps.

Upon the day appointed Herkimer was the first to reach
the spot, while Brant arrived a little later. The Indian
chief had scented danger and was strictly on his guard.
With him were two pale-faces, a Mohawk chief, about two
score warriors, and an Indian woman. It was the custom
in such a parley to draw a circle on the ground and for
the leaders to stand or sit within this. Herkimer and
two officers entered the circle, while Brant was accompanied
by the inferior chieftain. Brant was all the time watching
the general like a hawk and again asked him what was the
meaning of his visit. Herkimer repeated that it was only
for the sake of good fellowship.

'And all these have come on a friendly visit too?' asked
Captain Brant. 'All want to see the poor Indians; it is
very kind.' Unaffected by Brant's irony, Herkimer next
referred to the troubles between England and the colonies,
and tried to draw out Brant. The chief was slow and
taciturn in answering, but at last burst forth in no
uncertain language. He said that 'the Indians were in
concert with the King, as their fathers had been; ...
that General Herkimer and his followers had joined the
Boston people against their Sovereign.' For all that, he
had no fear of the result and knew 'that although the
Boston people were resolute, yet the King would humble
them.'

The meeting did not break up before there were signs of
coming violence, but finally better feelings appeared to
prevail and they decided to assemble again on the following
morning.

In the interval Herkimer is said to have devised one of
the vilest schemes that has ever been charged against a
man of his rank. He selected a settler, named Joseph
Waggoner, and three other trusty men as his accomplices.
These persons were to assist him in a conspiracy against
Brant's life that was simply an attempt at murder. The
details of the plot were furnished in a confession made
afterwards by Waggoner. As the parties stood in the
circle, the four accomplices were to take a cue from
Herkimer and shoot the Indians down without warning. But
Herkimer was reckoning without his host. Joseph Brant
was far too shrewd to walk headlong into such an open
snare. It is plain that he had come to suspect the
intentions of his adversary. Next morning, as he stepped
into the circle, he assumed a grave and dignified mien.
Addressing Herkimer, he spoke in stern accents:

'I have five hundred warriors with me, armed and ready
for battle. You are in my power; but as we have been
friends and neighbours, I will not take advantage of you.'

As he ended, a great band of redskins advanced from the
engirdling forest, and the war-whoop rent the air. Backed
by his faithful warriors, the War Chief could speak in
tones of authority to his foe. He did not forget to thank
him for his coming, but bade him direct his steps once
again towards his home on the Mohawk. Thereupon Brant
turned about and strode away among the trees. Just then
thick clouds blotted out the sky; a terrible storm swept
in violence across the land, a fitting presage, as men
thought, of the scourge of war that must now bring ruin
and havoc in its wake.



CHAPTER VII

FORT STANWIX AND ORISKANY

Fresh from undoing Herkimer's ugly plot, Brant abandoned
the Susquehanna and went off in the direction of Lake
Ontario. A great Indian council was to be held at Oswego,
and possibly he was hurrying to this meeting.

A vigorous campaign had been set on foot for the midsummer
of 1777 by General Burgoyne, who was now in command of
the British forces at Montreal. It was arranged that
Burgoyne should strike southward with the main army until
he reached the Hudson river. Meanwhile another body of
troops, under Lieutenant-Colonel St Leger, would make a
long detour by way of Lake Ontario and the western part
of the colony of New York. The object of this latter
movement was to rally the Indians, collect a force of
loyalists, and fight through the heart of the country
with the hope of forming a junction with Burgoyne's army
at Albany.

St Leger reached Oswego about the middle of July. There
he was joined by a regiment of loyalists, the famous
Royal Greens, and a company of Tory Rangers under Colonel
John Butler. Brant was present with two hundred Mohawks,
while a large band of Senecas were also grouped under
the king's standard. In all there were seventeen hundred
men, fully one thousand of whom were Indians under the
supreme command of Captain Brant.

On starting out, St Leger, who knew that a surprise might
be attempted, outlined his order of march with great
care. A detachment from one of the battalions was sent
on ahead, and this was later joined by Captain Brant with
a party of his warriors. Five columns of Indians went in
front, in single file; the flanks also were protected by
Indians at a distance of one hundred paces from the
central column.

It was intended that the first blow should be struck at
Fort Stanwix, on the head-waters of the Mohawk. This was
an old English stronghold that had fallen into decay,
but was being repaired and defended in the interest of
the revolting colonies by Colonel Peter Gansevoort. It
lay on the traffic-road to Oneida Lake, and was considered
a strong point of vantage. Its garrison was made up of
about seven hundred and fifty colonials. They had provisions
enough to last for six weeks and a goodly supply of
ammunition, and hoped to be able to withstand attack
until help should arrive.

The English leader reached this fort on August 3, and
immediately began to invest it. A demand was sent in
under a flag of truce calling upon the garrison to
surrender. St Leger said it was his desire 'to spare when
possible' and only 'to strike where necessary.' He was
willing to buy their stock of provisions and grant security
to all within the fort. The offer was generous, but the
garrison rejected it with a good-tempered disdain and
the siege went on with renewed earnestness. The Indians,
hiding in the thickets, poured their fire upon those who
were working on the walls. The presence of the savages
lent a weird fury to the scene, made it, indeed, well-nigh
uncanny. One evening in particular they 'spread themselves
through the woods, completely encircling the Fort, and
commenced a terrible yelling, which was continued at
intervals the greater part of the night.' Fort Stanwix
was soon in dire straits. The news of the investment had
sent a thrill through the whole of the Mohawk valley.
The colonials came together in haste, and soon about a
thousand of them, led by Nicholas Herkimer, were ascending
the river in straggling array. They hurried on their
course with such zeal that they did not even send out
scouting parties to warn them of danger and prevent
surprise. On August 5 this relief force was close to
Oriskany, and only eight miles distant from St Leger's
position. Herkimer now matured a clever plan, the success
of which he confidently expected would bring him victory.
He chose three men and sent them forward to gain entrance
to the fort and to tell Gansevoort that help was coming.
The moment they arrived the besieged were to fire three
guns in rapid succession. This was to be Herkimer's
signal; he would speed at once along the road to the
British position and fling himself on its rear, while,
at the same time, Gansevoort must issue forth and attack
it in front. St Leger's army, it was hoped, would crumble
in hopeless defeat between two shattering fires.

As fortune would have it, this ruse was doomed to complete
failure. The messengers set out at eleven o'clock at
night, and Herkimer thought they would surely reach the
fort by three in the morning. But he waited in vain the
whole night through; no sound of cannonade disturbed the
quiet air. As the hours crept by his officers became
fretful and impatient; in the end they declared for an
immediate advance, denouncing Herkimer as a faltering
coward. At length the old man, sorely against his will,
gave the order to march. The relief party streamed through
the forest with disordered ranks. In the meantime Brant's
Indians had not been idle. They had carefully watched
the manoeuvres of the hostile force, and had given timely
warning. St Leger at once took steps to bar the road to
attack. For this purpose a division of the Royal Greens
was detailed, as well as the Tory Rangers, with Butler
in command. The bulk of the contingent, however, were
Indians, and it fell to the lot of Joseph Brant to fasten
Herkimer in the strong meshes of his net.

The ground over which the Americans had to pass was
uneven, and this had not escaped the watchful eye of
Brant. He was an adept in the tactics of Indian warfare,
and now used his knowledge to good effect. Herkimer had
not gone far along the narrow trail before he found
himself in difficulties. The road slanted down into a
boggy hollow some six or seven miles below Fort Stanwix.
This hollow had a winding course in the form of a crescent,
and across its march a causeway of heavy logs had been
built. Between the ends of the encircling ravine there
was an elevated position, thickly wooded and dry. Upon
this Brant had laid his ambush, having posted his men
with only a slight opening in their ranks towards the
incline of the road.

Down into the gully came the colonials, their wagons and
a small guard bringing up the rear. As they toiled up
the opposing ascent, the gap was closed upon them, and
they were surrounded on every side. The rear-guard were
left behind with the wagons and fled in a tumult, with
a throng of Indians in close pursuit. From the sheltering
trees a deadly fusillade swept the hapless files of those
who were hemmed about on the rising ground. Darting from
their cover, the Indians sprang upon such as lay wounded
and dispatched them with knife and tomahawk.

The first onslaught had resulted in a carnival of blood.
Now the colonials, owing to their numbers, were able to
get together and to place themselves on the defensive.
The fight soon became hand to hand and there ensued one
of the most gruesome melees of the whole War of the
Revolution. The men were able to look into one another's
faces; they fought at quarters too close for bullets,
and relied upon gun-stock, knife-blade, and bayonet.
There was slashing and cutting, clubbing and throttling,
and often in their frenzy they grappled tight and died
in one another's fast embrace. In the midst of it all
Herkimer proved himself no craven. With his leg ripped
by a bullet he propped himself against a tree, lit his
pipe, and directed the order of the battle. Above the
din rang out clear the wild cries of the red men, their
painted bodies flashing bright among the trees. In the
forefront was Brant, fighting vehemently, his towering
form set firmly, his deep voice echoing loud.

While the battle was at its height, rolling clouds had
gathered and a drenching storm checked the combatants in
their work of slaughter. The colonials were still fighting
desperately, but for them the day was lost. After the
few moments' interval they re-formed their scattered
ranks and resolutely faced the foe. No sooner, however,
had the struggle again commenced than the noise of cannon
came reverberating upon the moist air. The appointed
messengers had arrived at Fort Stanwix, many hours late,
and the signal had been given. Deceived by the cannonading
and fearing that St Leger might be in distress, the
loyalists rapidly drew off with their Indian allies,
leaving their opponents on the crimson field. But so
exhausted were the colonials by the fierce fighting they
had experienced that they could not follow after the
retreating army and were forced to move dejectedly down
the Mohawk valley. Four hundred of their men had fallen
in the battle, dead or wounded, nearly half the number
that had entered the swampy ravine. On a litter of green
boughs General Herkimer was carried to his stone house
on the river, where, a few weeks after the cruel fight,
he died with the same fortitude that he had shown when
under fire.

The laurels for this victory at Oriskany rested with
Captain Brant. He had commanded the greater part of the
loyalist forces and his plan had placed the enemy at
their mercy. Thanks to this success, the colonials had
received a stunning blow, and Colonel St Leger's army
was possibly saved from an utter rout. But the Indians
had paid a heavy price for their victory; many of their
chiefs and warriors lay dead upon the field.

The siege of Fort Stanwix was kept up until August 22.
By this time St Leger had reached a point one hundred
and fifty yards from its outer wall. During the interval
the word of Herkimer's defeat had brought General Arnold
with a strong body of militiamen to the rescue. While
still some distance away this commander thought that he
might create a false alarm in the English camp. A
half-witted fellow, who went by the name of Hon-Yost
Schuyler, had been captured and was in Arnold's camp. He
was freed on condition that he should go to the English
camp and give an exaggerated account of the new force
which was coming to the relief of Fort Stanwix. When he
reached the camp Schuyler went first among the Indians,
showing a coat riddled with bullets, and told of the host
that was on its way. When asked how many there were, he
pointed to the fluttering leaves above his head. The
redskins always had a superstitious awe of this stupid
fellow and now they were terror-stricken by his words
and antics. Panic seized the besiegers. Perhaps Brant
tried to quell the disorder, but, if he did, his efforts
were in vain. St Leger himself seemed to share in the
panic, for he beat a hasty retreat, following the road
leading to Oswego. But the War Chief of the Six Nations--it
is pleasant to relate--did not retreat with him. While
St Leger journeyed to the north, Brant had called together
a band of his willing followers. Then he took one of
those flying marches which made him famous in border
warfare. Crossing the territory of the enemy with great
skill and daring, he hurried eastward, and in a short
time he was in the camp of General Burgoyne on the banks
of the Hudson.



CHAPTER VIII

FIGHTING ON THE FRONTIER

Brant was now regularly in the pay of the British, and
until the close of the war he was to be employed actively
in weakening the colonists by destroying their settlements
intervening between the populous centres of the Atlantic
states and the borders of Canada. In this unhappy
fratricidal war each side used the Indians to strike
terror into the hearts of its enemies, and as a result,
in the quiet valleys lying between the Hudson and Ohio
and the Great Lakes, there was an appalling destruction
of property and loss of life. Brant proved himself one
of the most successful of the leaders in this border
warfare, and while he does not seem ever to have been
guilty of wanton cruelty himself, those under him, on
more than one occasion, ruthlessly murdered their foes,
irrespective of age or sex. That he tacitly permitted
his followers to murder and scalp unarmed settlers shows
that he was still much of a savage. As one historian has
written: 'He was not a devil, and not an angel.' It is
true, as we shall see, that on several occasions he
intervened to save Tory friends and acquaintances, but
these are isolated examples, and his raids were accompanied
by all the horrors of Indian warfare. The only excuse
that can be offered for him is that he was no worse than
his age, and that the white loyalist leaders, such as
the Butlers, as well as the colonial commanders of the
revolutionists, were equally callous regarding the
destruction of property and life.

Brant appears to have spent the winter of 1777 and 1778
in Canada, but with the opening of military operations
in the spring he was again at Oquaga and Unadilla. One
of his first exploits of the year 1778 was at Springfield,
a small settlement lying some miles beyond Cherry Valley
at the head of Lake Otsego. When news of Brant's approach
reached this place, a number of the men-folk fled for
their lives. Those who remained were taken prisoners.
The chief gathered the women and children into one house
and set the torch to all the other buildings in the
settlement. Brant's care for the weaker sex and the
children during this expedition shows that he had a
tenderness of heart unusual among the red men of his
time.

During the hay-making season the chief was reconnoitring
in the Schoharie district, which was situated some distance
west of Albany and south of the Mohawk river. The scythe
had been at work in the tall grass, and a farmer's lad
was busy in a sunlit meadow raking hay. As he dragged
the loose bundles over the stubble, he heard a footfall
in his rear. Turning about he saw that a sturdy Indian
dressed in warrior's garb had stolen upon him. The boy
involuntarily raised his rake as though to strike.

'Do not be afraid, young man,' the intruder said in good
English; 'I will not hurt you.'

The warrior then asked the youth in friendly terms where
a Mr Foster, a loyalist, had his dwelling. He went further
and asked the lad his name.

'I know your father well,' said the redskin, when the
boy had answered his questions; 'he lives neighbour to
Captain McKean. I know McKean very well, and a fine fellow
he is too.'

The boy was now quite reassured that the Indian would do
him no harm, and boldly inquired who his interrogator
might be.

'My name is Brant,' answered the redskin, although he
pondered for a moment before replying.

'What! Joseph Brant?' said the youth, as a sharp thrill
went coursing through his veins.

'No!' answered the warrior, 'I am a cousin of his'; but
a smile lit up his dark countenance, and the boy knew
that his denial was just a bit of native humour. Thereupon
Brant disappeared in the direction of Foster's house.
The boy at once rushed from the field to the fortified
post near by to tell his story, and a hue and cry was
soon raised. A party hurried to the loyalist's house to
seek Brant, but he was not there. Foster said that he
had never come and that he knew nothing of him. So,
checkmated in their search, the group of would-be captors
had to wheel about and go back disappointed to their
fortress.

Brant was fast gaining an unsavoury reputation which he
but partly merited. Owing to the character of the country
in which he was fighting, and to the lack of discipline
in the force under his command, destruction of property
and plunder were certain to occur. Brant, as we shall
see, did little to discourage this among his warriors.
His argument was that his antagonists had taken up arms
against their lawful king. As rebels, their lands and
property were forfeited to the crown and were justly
liable to seizure by the king's forces. To the settlers
on the border, however, Brant was looked upon as a ruthless
marauder, thirsting for blood. Whenever acts of wanton
cruelty took place, the blame was generally laid at his
door. This explains the bitterness of their attitude to
him both during and after the conflict and the singular
fear which his name inspired among them.

At Unadilla Brant had begun to fortify an area which lent
itself to defence, and thither the tribesmen flocked from
the surrounding districts. So determined were the settlers
to capture him that they offered a reward to any one who
would bring them any knowledge of his movements. Even
men like Captain McKean, whom Brant had mentioned so
kindly to the farmer's boy, were hot upon his trail. This
officer set out with five other men in order, if possible,
to effect Brant's capture. While on their quest the little
party came one night to the house of a Quaker. To their
great delight, the Quaker told them that Brant had been
at his place during the day and would come back. He warned
them, however, that Brant was prepared to meet them, and
that if he returned suddenly their lives would be in
danger. McKean, however, was stubborn in his resolve to
stay.

'Your house, friend Sleeper,' he said, with a show of
bravado, 'shall be my fort to-night.'

But the Quaker would have none of them, and sent the
searchers on their way. Then Captain McKean wrote a letter
to Brant. Placing this in a stick, he cast it on an Indian
path, where it was soon found by a redskin and carried
to the War Chief's wigwam. In the letter McKean arraigned
Brant for the ferocious manner in which he was fighting,
and dared the Mohawk chief to single combat, or to send
a chosen body of men to meet him in fair field against
an equal number. If he showed his face in Cherry Valley,
threatened McKean, 'they would change him from a Brant
into a Goose.'

Brant knew the impulsive nature of McKean and took this
amusing letter for what it was worth. Yet the letter was
not without its effect upon him. They had dared him;
they had taunted him with threats; he would show them
that Joseph Brant would have a day of reckoning and that
right early. 'Cherry Valley people,' he wrote in the
postscript of a short note sent to an ardent loyalist,
'[are] very bold, and intended to make nothing of us;
they call us wild geese, but I know the contrary.'

Early in July a bloody engagement had occurred in the
valley of Wyoming, an extensive region in Pennsylvania
on the north branch of the Susquehanna river. For many
years after the encounter it was commonly believed that
Brant was the leader of the Indians who took part in it.
The valley of Wyoming had once been a possession of the
tribes of the Six Nations but, in 1754, they had been
ousted from their inheritance by a colonizing company.
When the Revolutionary War began it was already well
peopled with settlers. Naturally eager for vengeance,
the dispossessed Indians invited the co-operation of
Colonel John Butler and his rangers in a raid. Butler
accepted the invitation, and the Indians and rangers to
the number of five hundred made a swift descent of the
Susquehanna and invaded the valley. Their approach,
however, had been discovered, and the entire militia of
the district, mustering eight hundred, advanced against
them. In the battle which followed, the defenders were
defeated with great slaughter and many scalps were taken.
Older American historians misrepresented the fight as a
cruel massacre of non-combatants and asserted that Brant
was present. British writers, following them, fell into
the same error. Thomas Campbell's poem, 'Gertrude of
Wyoming,' written in 1809, gives a gruesome picture of
the episode, telling of the work which was done by the
'monster Brant.' During his visit to England in 1823,
the War Chief's youngest son, John Brant, vindicated his
father in a letter to Campbell, and showed that the
reference to his father in this poem was based on false
information. He declared that 'living witnesses' had
convinced him that his father was not in the neighbourhood
of Wyoming at the time of the so-called massacre; testimony
has been forthcoming to support the claims which John
Brant then made. It has been shown that the tribesmen of
the Six Nations whom Butler had with him were Senecas,
while the rest were Indians from the western tribes, and
that Brant's tribe, the Mohawks, were not present.
Nevertheless the Wyoming slaughter differs only in degree
from other scenes of bloodshed and plunder in which Brant
took part. In the month, indeed, in which the vale of
Wyoming was being bathed in blood, he swept down on the
little hamlet of Andrustown, and, bearing away a few
captives and much booty, disappeared with his followers
in the surrounding forest.

It was now nearing the time of harvest, and in the Mohawk
valley the grain had ripened to a golden brown. Even amid
the din of war men must live, and so the settlers began
to garner the season's crop. Nowhere on the river were
there fuller barns than in the populous district that
went by the name of the German Flatts. Bordering the
Mohawk river on either side, it stretched for ten miles
along the valley, rich in soil, and with broad green
pastures and plenteous herds. The settlers knew that the
enemy was not far off, and they grew more afraid of attack
with each passing day. They had two strongholds to which
they could flee in case of trouble, Fort Herkimer on one
bank of the river, Fort Dayton on the other; but these
would be of little use to the settlers if they had not
sufficient warning of the approach of the enemy. Mindful
of this, they sent four of their number to act as scouts
and to warn the settlement of any danger. While on this
mission three of the party met with death at the hands
of their adversaries, but the fourth escaped and hastened
back to the German Flatts. One evening, just before
sunset, he arrived with the fearful tidings that Brant
was moving up the river with a large band of Indians and
would soon be upon them. The alarm was spread through
the valley, and men, women, and children gathered up what
articles of value they could take with them in their
hurried flight, and rushed pell-mell to the forts. During
the evening some carried off a portion of their household
effects in small boats. In the meantime Caldwell, commanding
a party of rangers, with Indians under Brant, had come
to the outskirts of the settlement. Then, even before
the first gleam of daylight had begun to slant across
the valley, the Indians were flitting like ghostly spectres
in and out among the buildings. Almost at the same moment
flames arose in every direction, flashing and darting
against the morning sky. Powerless to stay the destruction,
the settlers, huddled behind their defences, witnessed
a melancholy sight. Houses and barns, everything that
could be given to the fire, were soon a heap of smoking
embers.

Caldwell had no means of laying siege to the forts, as
he was without cannon; so he made no effort to effect
their capture. But he did not check his warriors from
roaming at will over the valley. Running down the slopes
into the pasture land, they rounded up the horses, the
herds of black cattle, and the browsing sheep; and, having
collected these together, they drove them from the meadows
and disappeared with them among the trees. Before sundown
they were many miles away, leaving behind desolation and
blank dismay.



CHAPTER IX

CHERRY VALLEY

The next occurrences in Brant's life are even more
deplorable than those narrated in the preceding chapter.
The Cherry Valley episode can only be regarded as a sad
instance of what the use of Indian allies sometimes
involved. A peaceful farming district was devastated;
peasants were plundered and slain. It is true that some
of them were in arms against British rule, but as a whole
they were quietly engaged in farming operations, striving
to build up homes for themselves on the outskirts of
civilization. In this work of devastation and death Brant
was only second in command; the leader was a white man
and a British officer. But neither Brant nor Butler, who
commanded the expedition, was able to restrain the cruelty
and ferocity of the Indian warriors until much havoc had
been wrought.

A haze was now brooding over the Susquehanna, and the
autumn leaves were being tinged with red. The struggle
of the year 1778 seemed over and Brant decided to spend
the winter at Niagara. Accordingly he set out with a band
of warriors from his entrenched position at Unadilla and
went forward by easy stages along the old and well-beaten
Indian trail leading towards Lake Ontario. He had proceeded
well on his way when, to his surprise, a party of former
allies crossed his path in the forest. Led by Captain
Walter N. Butler, a son of Colonel John Butler, the
victorious leader at Wyoming, a body of the Tory Rangers
who had been with Brant at Oriskany were going eastward.
In 1777 their youthful officer had suffered harsh
imprisonment among the enemy, and, burning for vengeance,
he was making a late-season tramp into the rebels' country.
He had asked for a number of his father's rangers, and
his request had been granted. He was also allowed the
privilege of taking Brant along with him, should the
chieftain be found willing to join his force.

On meeting with Brant so opportunely by the way, he gave
him an outline of the measures of retaliation which he
proposed to adopt. As the scheme was unfolded, the
war-scarred chief of the Mohawks saw that he was meant
to serve under this youth of small experience. Brant
was ready for almost any work that might be of service
to his king, but he was at first reluctant to serve under
Butler. The situation between the two leaders became
strained, but at last Brant gave in; their differences
were patched up, and the two men came to friendly terms.
Orders were issued by Brant to his motley throng of
redskins, and five hundred of them reversed their march.
The united contingent of seven hundred men first headed
for the banks of the Tioga river, one of the branches of
the Susquehanna. Here a conference was held, and it was
agreed that they should make a combined attack upon the
settlers of Cherry Valley. To Butler this was more than
pleasing, eager as he was to pay off what he considered
a heavy score. The heart of the War Chief throbbed with
savage delight. A flaunting challenge still rang in his
ears; the settlers had invited him to enter their valley,
and now he would answer their gibing call. Little did
the inhabitants of Cherry Valley dream what was in store
for them. During the summer they had carried most of
their movable property to a well-built fortress. But as
everything had now grown tranquil, they had taken it back
to their homes again. Yet hardly had this been accomplished
before Colonel Ichabod Alden, commandant of the fort,
received a note from an official source telling him that
enemies were near at hand.

In spite of the trustworthy source from which it came,
Colonel Alden gave barely any heed to this warning message.
He declared that the threatened danger was but an idle
rumour, that all would be well, and that he would take
every precaution for the safety of his people. On November
9 spies were sent out in different directions with a view
to getting fuller information. One body of these went
boldly down the Susquehanna, where their own carelessness
brought about their undoing. At nightfall they lit a
fire, and, wrapping themselves up snugly, had gone fast
asleep. But to their astonishment, as they rubbed their
eyes in the light of morning, they were surrounded by a
party of Indians, were bundled off as prisoners of war,
and hurried into the presence of Brant and Butler, who
extracted much useful information from them. In the light
of this information plans were made for an immediate
attack on the settlement in Cherry Valley. The settlers
were still unsuspecting, when, on the evening of November
10, the enemy arrived within a mile of the fort and crept
to the summit of a hill densely shaded by evergreens,
and hid themselves from sight. The snow was fluttering
down, but towards morning this had changed to a drizzling
rain, and the air was thick and murky. Groping their way
forward as silently as possible, they stole upon the
slumbering cluster of habitations. Just as they came near
the edge of the village, a settler was seen riding in on
horseback. An Indian fired and wounded him. But the man
clung to his horse and pressed on heroically to sound
the alarm. Before rushing to the onslaught, the Rangers,
under the immediate command of Butler, paused a moment
to see what damage their powder had taken through the
wet. This moment was fatal for the settlement, for the
Indians now rushed on in advance and sped into the doomed
village like hounds let slip from their leashes.

The savages were now beyond control, and Brant knew that
even he could not stay the slaughter. Fiercest of all
were the Senecas, who tomahawked and slew with the
relentless fury of demons. But the War Chief thought of
the family of a Mr Wells, whom he knew and hoped that he
might save. He took a short cut for this settler's house,
but the way lay across a ploughed field, and as he ran
the earth yielded under his feet and he made slow progress
through the heavy soil. When he came to the house, he
saw that it was already too late. The Senecas and other
Indians with them had done their work. Not one of the
inmates had escaped the tomahawk.

While the attack upon the houses was in progress, the
Indians made several assaults upon the fort, but to no
avail. Their work of destruction, however, went on
unchecked among the habitations of the settlers. It was
not long before flames were mounting in every quarter.
Butler, dismayed to see the Indians so completely beyond
control, was forced to hold his regular troops in readiness
to oppose a sally from the garrison. Brant meanwhile
exerted himself in performing numerous acts of kindness,
and did what he could to check the rude violence of his
savage band. In one house he found a peasant woman working
calmly at her daily toil.

'Are you thus engaged,' he questioned, 'while all your
neighbours are murdered around you?'

'We are the king's people,' was the simple response.

'That plea will not avail you to-day,' said the chieftain.
'They have murdered Mr Wells's family, who were as dear
to me as my own.'

'But,' replied the woman, 'there is one Joseph Brant: if
he is with the Indians, he will save us.'

'I am Joseph Brant,' came the rapid answer, 'but I have
not the command, and I know not that I can save you.'

No sooner had he done speaking than his sharp eye detected
a group of Senecas coming to the house. 'Get into bed
quick,' he said abruptly, 'and feign yourself sick.' The
woman did his bidding, and the Indians when they entered
were completely deceived by her pretence. Then, as they
departed, Brant gave a piercing signal, and some of his
Mohawks gathered into the room. He had called them to
help him save this woman and her family. His mark on them
would, he believed, make them safe even in this time of
general slaughter. He had no colouring matter with him
and he asked the Mohawks to use theirs. With deft fingers
the Indians then placed the chief's own mark upon the
woman and her children in order to protect them.

'You are now probably safe,' said Brant and moved out
again into the smoke of fire and battle.

When the massacre was over, it was found that thirty or
forty settlers had escaped death and had been made
prisoners. From one of these Brant made inquiries respecting
the whereabouts of Captain McKean. He learned that this
officer had taken his family away to the Mohawk valley.

'He sent me a challenge once,' remarked Brant; 'I have
now come to accept it. He is a fine soldier thus to
retreat.'

'Captain McKean,' was the rejoinder, 'would not turn his
back upon an enemy where there was a possibility of
success.'

'I know it,' said Brant, with open generosity. 'He is a
brave man, and I would have given more to take him than
any other man in Cherry Valley. But,' he added, 'I would
not have hurt a hair of his head.'

On the evening of the day of carnage the prisoners were
led down the valley to the loyalist encampment, several
miles to the south of the fort. Fires had been lighted
on every side, and within the extensive range of these
fires the luckless captives were corralled for the night.
But the air was chill, and many who were clothed in scanty
fashion passed the hours of darkness in helpless agony
on the cold, bare ground. During the night the shrill
cries of the Indians, as they gloated over the scene of
their triumph, resounded through the forest. The spoils
were divided among the raiders, and with the dawning of
another day they set out in the direction of Niagara.

The captives were separated into small parties, and
apportioned among the different sections of the force.
They had expected little mercy from the victors, but to
their surprise clemency was shown to them. Butler had
now succeeded in reasserting his authority on their
behalf. As the marching bands came to a standstill, they
were collected together and the women and children were
released. Only the wives of two colonial officers with
their families were held captive and carried away into
the western forests. In Cherry Valley heaps of smoking
debris were all that remained. Groups of redskins still
hovered about the unhappy village until, on the following
day, they saw that an enemy was approaching. A body of
militia had come from the Mohawk river, but they were
too late; the savages, avoiding an encounter, departed,
and the scene was one of havoc and desolation. As one
chronicler has written: 'The cocks crowed from the tops
of the forest trees, and the dogs howled through the
fields and woods.'



CHAPTER X

MINISINK AND THE CHEMUNG RIVER

Brant now proceeded to the loyalist rendezvous at Niagara,
but his restless spirit would not allow him to remain
idle. He was soon intent on forwarding a design of
far-reaching import, in the prosecution of which he hoped
to receive the assistance of the western tribes. He held
intercourse with the Delawares and the Shawnees, and
planned a joint campaign with them to take place during
the winter months. The Western Indians were to make an
attack on the borders of Virginia, while he would lead
an expedition into the heart of the colony of New York.
This bold enterprise, however, was fated to miscarry.
Word came that Governor Hamilton, the British commander
of Fort Detroit, had been overpowered by Colonel George
Clark, in February, on the Wabash river. Hamilton, who
had captured Fort Vincennes there, had for some time been
endeavouring to interest the western tribes in the British
cause; but, on July 5, 1778, Clark had captured the town
of Kaskaskia in the Illinois country, and, after a forced
march from that place to the Wabash with his Virginia
militia, had appeared at Fort Vincennes and compelled
Hamilton to surrender. The blow was a severe one and
robbed the western tribes of their courage; they were so
discomfited, indeed, that they would not venture into
the country of the enemy. Balked in his purpose, Brant
was forced to remain inactive at headquarters.

During the spring of 1779 the whole struggle in America
was rather bare of events. The raids against Wyoming and
Cherry Valley had roused the indignation of the Congress
of the United States, and it had turned its attention
energetically to the Indian races who were opposed to
its rule. They must be crushed at all hazards. On February
25 Congress had voted that means should be taken to bring
aid to those settlements which had been suffering from
the Indians. A campaign of vengeance into the homeland
of the Six Nations was to be the crowning effort of the
year. This was the plan. A numerically strong force was
to operate under the command of General Sullivan. Sullivan
was to move up from Pennsylvania, and along the Susquehanna
until he reached the Tioga river. At the same time,
General James Clinton was to advance from the north,
meeting his brother officer by the way. The two divisions
should then follow the bed of the Chemung river, and
sweep mercilessly upon the villages of the Senecas and
Cayugas.

Clinton was at Canajoharie Castle on June 16. With
difficulty he crossed the twenty-mile portage to Lake
Otsego, and by the end of the month was able to tell
General Sullivan that he was ready for the last stage of
the journey. Sullivan, on the other hand, was making no
attempt to hasten. He moved forward at a leisurely pace,
and Clinton grew very impatient at the delay. Even Brant
marvelled at Sullivan's inaction. The War Chief knew only
too well that when the two rebel forces met the struggle
to save the homes of his people would be difficult.

At this juncture the great Mohawk lay with a considerable
body of warriors at Grassy Brook. He had learned that
Minisink in the Shawangunk Mountains close to the New
Jersey line was left unguarded, and decided to fall upon
it. Taking sixty redskins and twenty-seven white men
apparelled as Indians, he advanced so stealthily that
his approach was unnoticed. During the night of July 19
he surprised the town, burnt it to the ground, and carried
off prisoners and booty.

Orange county, in which Minisink was situated, was at
once in a state of tumult. The local militia flocked
together, and were eager to follow hard after their daring
foe. Some thought it more prudent to stay at home, but
the majority wished immediately to take up the chase.
The matter was settled when Major Meeker sprang on his
horse, waved his sword, and cried with vehemence: 'Let
the brave men follow me, the cowards may stay behind.'
With this, the ill-advised settlers picked up the trail
of the redskins and started in pursuit. A body of scouts
who were slightly in the lead emerged, after various
exciting adventures, upon the broad hills that skirt the
Delaware river. Below them they could see the Indians
twining in and out among the trees. The red men were
evidently making for a shallow place where they might
ford the stream.

To the colonials this seemed a stroke of good fortune.
They would dash down the hill and dispute Brant's passage
of the river. Acting on the impulse, they swung confidently
along, only to find themselves outgeneralled. No sooner
had they sunk from sight in the forest than Brant had
artfully changed his march. He slipped through a deep
ravine and came out on the enemy's rear. Then he chose
his own position for an ambush. The Orange county men,
looking high and low for the Indians, at length came to
a halt, when to their dismay they found that the enemy
were posted in an unlooked-for quarter. There, in
concealment behind them, lay Brant's force. The War Chief
now issued from among his redskins, and made overtures
to the opposing force. He advised them to surrender
without offering resistance; if they did so he would see
that no harm befell them. Should the battle begin, he
added, he might be unable to restrain his followers. The
only answer which came was a hurtling bullet that clipped
a hole through the covering of his belt. In an instant
Brant had faced about and disappeared under cover.
Straightway the enemy bore down at break-neck speed upon
the tree-sheltered lair of the Indians. In wading through
a narrow brook that obstructed their advance, their ranks
became disordered, and Brant made effective use of the
situation. His voice rose in a war-whoop and his warriors
sprang into motion. After delivering one sharp, destructive
volley, they seized their tomahawks and surged into the
midst of their foe. From an hour before noon until sundown,
sheltered by trees and rocks, both sides fought stubbornly.
At last the whites gave way, and the battle closed with
appalling slaughter. Of the retreating remnant thirty
survived, while the bodies of many of their comrades were
left upon the field of battle. Of those who sought safety
by swimming the Delaware, a number were killed in the
water by the Indians, who fired upon them as they struggled
towards the opposite bank.

After the fight, as Brant traversed the blood-stained
field he bent over the wounded form of Gabriel Wisner,
who was a magistrate of Orange county. The fallen man,
though suffering excruciating pain, was still able to
speak, but the chieftain saw that he was dying. There
were wolves in the forest, and these would soon visit
the scene of carnage. To bear Wisner from the field would
avail nothing. For a moment the War Chief debated what
he should do. Then, turning the attention of the wounded
man in another direction, he poised his hatchet. In a
flash it had smitten the skull of the dying magistrate
and his misery was at an end. In this act as in others
Brant showed that his contact with civilization had not
freed him from the basic instincts of his savage nature.
Few white men could have performed such a deed even on
the field of battle with so much calmness.

Brant now returned to the border country and, together
with Sir John Johnson, drew up a plan of defence. It was
resolved that they should fortify a position on the
Chemung river, to resist the advance of the Americans
into the Indian country. The place selected was not far
from the village of Newtown. A breastwork was built, half
a mile in length, and this was protected on one side by
the river and on the other by two stretches of elevated
ground. Upon these ridges battalions were placed. But
the defenders were able to muster only a comparatively
small force, vastly inferior to the foe in numbers. In
all, the garrison consisted of about eight hundred men,
two-thirds of whom were Indians.

It was barely four weeks after the battle on the Delaware
that Generals Sullivan and Clinton joined forces at Tioga.
They had a very powerful army, consisting altogether of
some five thousand men, including a strong brigade of
experienced riflemen and an artillery corps with a number
of heavy guns. They had sent out corps of light infantry
in advance and were now moving slowly against the defences
occupied by the king's forces.

The War Chief was in charge of the Indians, and despite
the strength of the opposing force he had resolved to
make a determined stand. As the foe came on, he sent out
his men in small parties from the works to annoy them
and retard their advance. The Indians attacked the invaders
after the manner of bush-fighters, firing and then seeking
cover while they reloaded their muskets. The conflict
that ensued was desperate beyond description. Every bit
of cover--bush, tree, or boulder--held its man. With
dogged valour the savages stood their ground, till driven
back by the very impetus of the onset. The enemy were
massed deep in front and but little impression could be
made on their compact ranks. More distressing still, the
Americans had brought their heavy artillery into play,
and it began to thunder against the defences. On this
day Brant was an inspiring figure to his thin line of
warriors. His resolute countenance gave them hope; his
resonant voice rang out strong and clear amid the clamour
and spurred them to resist. Wherever the fight was fiercest
he made his way, issuing his orders with care, speaking
words of cheer, and, in the face of death, striving to
stem the current of certain defeat.

Meanwhile General Sullivan had caught sight of the troops
that infested the rising ground. A detachment was
immediately told off under Major Poor with orders to
storm the slopes and drive the defenders from their
position. The War Chief grasped the situation in an
instant. In a last attempt to save the day, he rallied
his warriors and, with the aid of a battalion of Rangers,
threw himself with renewed energy into the struggle. But
though Brant hurried from place to place with the utmost
energy, it soon became evident that the day was lost.
The Americans climbed the ascent and, in the teeth of a
brave opposition, turned the loyalists' flank. The troops
of the enemy began to fold about the garrison.

'Oonah! Oonah!' The savages' doleful cry of retreat
vibrated upon the air. Moving towards the stream, redskins
and white men crossed it together in headlong flight. It
was an Indian custom to carry the dead from the field of
battle, but on this occasion so precipitate was their
retreat that eleven corpses were left to lie where they
had fallen in the struggle. Sullivan and his army had
undisputed possession of the field. To Brant and to the
men of the Six Nations this was a day of grief and
disaster. The gates of their country were thrown open;
their villages were left undefended; there was nothing
to prevent the ravager from treading down and plundering
the fair land of their fathers, the pride of a noble
race, the gift of the centuries. But in the light of
their conduct at the affair in Cherry Valley it must be
said that their fate was not undeserved.

As General Sullivan advanced, burning and devastating,
he came at length into the valley of the Genesee. This
he made 'a scene of drear and sickening desolation. The
Indians were hunted like wild beasts, till neither house
nor fruit-tree, nor field of corn, nor inhabitant, remained
in the whole country.' One hundred and twenty-eight houses
were razed in the town of Genesee. Sullivan became known
to the Indians as the 'Town Destroyer.' 'And to this
day,' said Cornplanter, in a speech delivered many years
afterwards, 'when the name is heard, our women look behind
them and turn pale and our children cling close to the
necks of their mothers.'

The War Chief had, indeed, been beaten on the Chemung
river. And yet, in the hour of defeat, he had added lustre
to his name. In the annals of the forest there are few
incidents as glorious as this Spartan-like struggle on
the frontiers of the Indian country. Points of similarity
can be traced between this battle and another which was
waged, in 1813, by the great Shawnee warrior Tecumseh,
at Moravian Town, on the Canadian Thames. Like Brant,
Tecumseh was allied with a force of white men, and, like
the chief of the Mohawks in the struggle on the Chemung,
Tecumseh played the leading role in the battle of the
Thames. In each engagement the fight was against an army
much stronger in numbers; in each the defeat was not
without honour to the Indian leader.



CHAPTER XI

OVER THE BORDER

Instead of proceeding to attack the strong loyalist fort
at Niagara, General Sullivan re-crossed the Genesee on
September 16. Lack of provisions, he asserted, was his
reason for turning back. Before this, Brant had frustrated
a plot which was afoot among the Indians to desert the
British cause. Red jacket, an influential chief of the
Senecas and a very persuasive orator, had suggested that
the Six Nations should negotiate a permanent peace with
the colonists. 'What have the English done for us,' he
exclaimed, as he pointed in the direction of the Mohawk
valley, 'that we should become homeless and helpless for
their sakes?' A considerable following embraced the view
of the Seneca chieftain, and it was agreed that a runner
should be sent to the camp of General Sullivan to acquaint
him with their desire to come to terms. If Sullivan was
prepared to negotiate with them, he was to be asked to
send his proposals under a flag of truce. These proceedings
came to Brant's knowledge and, whether his act may be
justified or not, he adopted probably the only means of
preventing a wholesale desertion to the enemy. He chose
two of his trustiest warriors and gave them instructions
to waylay the bearers of the flag of truce from Sullivan's
camp. The bearers were killed and the proposals of the
American commander fell into Brant's hands, and Red Jacket
and his party were left to imagine that Sullivan had not
been gracious enough even to send them an answer.

Not long after the rout of the Six Nations on the Chemung
river and the destruction of their villages the snow had
begun to fall. The winter of 1779-80 was an unusually
severe one, and the Indians suffered untold hardships
through famine and disease. They were driven to trek in
great numbers to the vicinity of the English fort at
Niagara. Brant was there at this time, and during his
sojourn he saw a wedding performed according to the sacred
rites of the Anglican Church. He had lost his first wife,
the mother of Isaac and Christiana, and had married her
half-sister, Susanna; but she also had died childless,
and Brant had taken to his tent the daughter of a Mohawk
chief, whom he now decided to wed after the manner of
the white people. His third bride, who was about twenty-one
years of age at the time of her marriage, is known in
history as Catherine Brant. She bore Brant three sons
and four daughters, and lived for some years after his
death. Her father was the leading sachem of the Tortoise
clan and consequently she was able to bestow high rank
within the Mohawk nation upon her son, Ahyouwaighs, or
John Brant.

The story of Brant's part in the War of the Revolution
from this time on can be related very briefly. Before
spring he was again on the war-path and helped to destroy
the villages of the Oneidas, because of their active
sympathy for the rebel cause. In the month of April he
closed in upon the settlement of Harpersfield and levelled
it to the ground. As he was making his way back from
the last adventure, he was seized with fever and forced
to move by slow stages. He allowed his warriors to travel
only every other day. There is an anecdote telling how
he cured himself of his malady in a very Indian-like
manner. Taking his position on the side of a hill, a
haunt of rattlesnakes, he waited till one should crawl
out to bask in the sun. When at length a snake showed
itself he seized it and bore it to his camp. This reptile
was cooked in a broth, and Brant supped eagerly of the
hot decoction. And after partaking of this wonderful
remedy, according to the story, he was well again in a
very short time.

In August of the same year, 1780, Brant again invaded
the Mohawk valley. On this occasion he gained his object
by an artful device. He learned that some stores were
being borne to Fort Schuyler and pretended that he was
going to seize them and attack the fort itself. The local
militia marched to the fort's defence and, while they
were intent on this, Brant doubled back to the rear.
Swooping down upon the white settlement at Canajoharie,
he laid everything low and carried away captive many
women and children. Later in the season he made a similar
descent into the Schoharie-kill, but here there is on
record to his credit at least one act of kindness. After
the raid, a group of settlers were gathered together,
telling of all the mishaps that had occurred to them.
One sad-eyed woman told of the loss of her husband and
several of her children. She had been bereft even of an
infant, which had been torn from its cradle. But that
morning, while the officers of the colonial camp were
seated at their breakfast, a painted redskin sprang into
their midst carrying in his arms a slender child and
handed a letter to the officer in command. It was the
woman's child that he bore, and the letter was from Joseph
Brant.

'Sir,' ran the epistle, 'I send you by one of my runners
the child which he will deliver, that you may know that
whatever others do, I do not make war upon women and
children. I am sorry to say that I have those engaged
with me in the service who are more savage than the
savages themselves.'

The year 1781 brought the war to its climax. On October
19 Lord Cornwallis, hard pressed at Yorktown by an army
of sixteen thousand men under Washington and a powerful
French fleet under Admiral de Grasse, was forced to
surrender. This was the last important episode before
peace was arranged. During the summer the War Chief had
still been fighting on the border and harassing the
country of those who sympathized with the Americans. In
August he was found in the west, having defeated a part
of Colonel Clark's forces near the Great Miami river,
which empties into Lake Erie.

The treaty of peace between Great Britain and the United
States of America was signed in November 1782. Canada,
Newfoundland, and what are now the Maritime Provinces of
the Dominion remained in the hands of the crown, but the
independence of the other English colonies in the New
World was recognized. In the whole text of the treaty
there was not a word about the Six Nations. But all their
lands south of Lake Ontario as far as the banks of the
Hudson came into the possession of the United States.
For some time it seemed as though the Indians' sacrifices
on behalf of His Majesty the King were to be reckoned as
nothing, and the tribesmen who had been loyal were very
wroth. They had fought valiantly for the crown, and now
expected that the king should do something for them in
return. All that they had to fall back upon was the
promise that their rights would be respected when the
conflict ended.

'Now is the time for you to help the King,' General
Haldimand had said to the assembled redskins in 1775.
'The war has commenced. Assist the King now, and you will
find it to your advantage. Go now and fight for your
possessions, and, whatever you lose of your property
during the war, the King will make up to you when peace
returns.'

Sir Guy Carleton had also assured the Indians that money
would be spent to give them the same position after the
war that they had occupied before it, and that the
government would not be lax in dealing with their needs.
In 1779, when General Haldimand was already in command
of all the forces in Canada, he had reiterated his
promises, and said that he would do his best to fulfil
them, 'as soon as that happy time [the restoration of
peace] should come.'

When the war was ended most of the Mohawk nation were
dwelling on the west bank of the Niagara river. They had
pitched their wigwams close to the landing-place, now
Lewiston, which was some miles above the fort. Their old
territory was situated in the heart of the country of
their conquerors and to this they could not return with
safety. The Senecas, who lived near by, saw how sad was
their plight and offered them land upon which they might
reside. The Mohawks appreciated the kindness of this
proposal of the warlike nation which had fought by their
side in the long struggle, but they could not accept the
offer. In the words of Brant himself, they were resolved
to 'sink or swim' with the English.

To settle the matter the War Chief journeyed down the St
Lawrence to confer with the Canadian leaders. At Quebec
he met General Haldimand and was welcomed by this officer
with the sincerest friendship and given a chance to
discuss the unhappy lot of his homeless people. Haldimand
said that he would be quite ready to fulfil the promises
that he had made during the war. Brant replied that his
tribesmen would like to settle on English ground, and
named the region on the Bay of Quinte as a spot suited
to their needs. These lands were especially fertile and
beautiful, and Haldimand was quite willing that the grant
should be made in accordance with their wishes. He said
that a tract would soon be purchased and given to the
warriors of the Six Nations. Brant must have been well
accompanied on his journey to the east, since on his way
back twenty Indian families turned aside and pitched
their abodes in the territory allotted to them on the
Bay of Quinte. They were ruled by an Indian named Captain
John, and a thriving Mohawk settlement was thus begun.
Brant continued his journey along the south side of Lake
Ontario, and came once again to Niagara.

But when the War Chief told the waiting redskins of his
negotiations with General Haldimand there was a great
outcry of dissatisfaction. The Senecas, who were the
chief objectors, stated that they could not allow their
kinsmen and old comrades-in-arms to go so far away from
them as the Bay of Quinte. The Senecas were still afraid
that they might have difficulties with the people of the
United States, in whose country they were dwelling. The
Mohawks must be near at hand to come to their rescue
should the hatchet again be upraised.

Brant felt very keenly for the Senecas, who had done him
such yeoman service in the war. They could be cruel in
combat, but were very loyal to their friends, and he knew
that something must be done for them. Accordingly, he
repaired a second time to Quebec and again discussed the
situation with General Haldimand. The outcome was that
he obtained another grant of land, on the Grand river,
which runs with a southerly course into the waters of
Lake Erie. A tract six miles wide on each side of this
stream, extending from its source to its mouth, was
allotted to the Six Nations. This beautiful district,
bordering on the shore of Lake Erie, only forty miles
from the outer fringe of the Seneca villages, was in a
direct line of intercourse between the Six Nations and
the many tribes of the west and the upper lakes. Brant
obtained the title-deeds to this territory for the Indians
in the autumn of 1784, under the seal of royal authority.
It was a gift, as indicated by the terms of the award,
'which the Mohawks and others of the Six Nations... with
their posterity,' were to enjoy for ever.

Having been provided with a new home, the band of
copper-hued patriots now began to cross the Niagara. They
were loyalists of another than the white race, and, like
the other Loyalists, they had left their Long Houses
behind in the hands of the stranger. On their bodies were
the marks and scars of many a campaign; their limbs had
become suppler with the long march and swarthier in the
summer sun; they did not dare to cast a glance back at
the fair land that had been the hunting-ground of their
fathers. With them were their women, dark-eyed Amazons
of the north. Their little ones toddled by their side.
The journey was shortly over and they beheld the waters
of the Grand river, flowing between their narrow banks.
Here, in the flowering glades, they raised their tents
and lit anew their council fires. Then they toiled up
against the current, searching out the borders of their
country; down-stream they shot again, their glad eyes
beaming as they saw how wide and goodly was their heritage.

The nation of the Mohawks had come to Canada to stay.
Among them settled many from their kindred tribes, red
men who would not forsake their Great White Father the
King. By the sheltering boughs of the regal maple, the
silver-garbed beech, or the drooping willow they built
the rough huts of a forest people. Then they tilled the
soil, and learned to love their new abode. Although of
a ferocious stock, unrivalled in the arts of savage
warfare, the Mohawks and other Indians of the Six Nations
in Canada have rarely, if ever, been surpassed by any
other red men in the ways of peace.



CHAPTER XII

ENGLAND ONCE MORE

Meanwhile, how was it faring with the tribesmen of the
Six Nations who had remained in their former territories
east of the Niagara? They were anxious to come to terms
with the government of the United States, but not by
themselves alone. In any treaty which might be made, they
wished the concurrence of the western tribes. The officials
of the new republic were, however, opposed to this and
treated their desire with scant courtesy. In 1784 a
conference was called at Fort Stanwix, but the western
tribes were not invited to come. While this was taking
place, Red Jacket, the Seneca orator, rose in the company
of his fellows and uttered a speech burning with eloquence.
His attitude towards the Americans had undergone a change
since Brant had undone his treachery before the war had
closed. The Six Nations should renew the contest, said
Red Jacket. Never should they submit to the yoke of their
oppressors. On the other hand, Chief Cornplanter, with
sounder judgment, argued for peace. It would surely be
an unwise thing for the Indians to enter upon a fresh
war single-handed, and without the assistance of their
former allies, the English.

At length Cornplanter had his way, and on October 22 a
treaty was made with the representatives of the United
States. By this treaty the Indians were to give up all
the prisoners of war still in their hands. Until this
was done, six hostages were to be furnished from among
their number. At the same time, the boundaries of the
country over which they held sway were defined.

Loud murmurs of complaint arose within the Six Nations
on the completion of this pact, and no one was more angry
than Joseph Brant himself. He was at Quebec, on the point
of leaving for England, but he hurried back on learning
the terms of the treaty. He was especially exasperated
because Aaron Hill, one of the lesser chiefs of the
Mohawks, was to be given up as a hostage. Arriving at
Cataraqui, Brant, on November 27, sent a long and stirring
letter to Colonel Munroe. In this he showed that his
Indians were in no way to blame for the retention of
prisoners of war. The fight was over, and the Six Nations
wanted harmony restored. With considerable feeling, he
referred to the 'customs and manners of the Mohawks.'
'They are always active and true,' he protested; 'no
double faces at war or any other business.

The difficulty was quickly righted and the War Chief
satisfied, but he saw that all the Indian races were in
a precarious position and might, sooner or later, be
drawn into hostilities. Meanwhile he was meditating a
scheme which might be likened to the bold conception of
Pontiac. In vision he saw all the Indian tribes united
into one far-reaching confederacy for the assertion of
their liberties. Brant was of a singularly ambitious
disposition and had no humble idea of his own capacities.
He pictured himself as the chosen head of such a vast
league of the native races. It was with this in view that
at this very time he paid a visit to the western tribes
and sought to ascertain their ideas upon the subject.

At the close of 1785 Brant was ready to make his second
journey across the Atlantic. It was indeed fitting, after
his years of active service for the crown, that he should
do homage once more at the English court. He desired,
also, to plead the cause of his Mohawks, who had lost so
much in the struggle. It is even likely that he was
pondering over his design of uniting all the tribes and
wished to disclose this scheme to the home authorities.
A striking sketch of the War Chief's appearance during
this period is given by the Baroness Riedesel. This
talented lady, who had met the Mohawk chief at Quebec,
was the wife of the noted general who led a troop of
Hessians in the War of the Revolution.

'I saw at this time,' she writes, 'the famous Indian
Chief, Captain Brant. His manners are polished: he
expressed himself with fluency, and was much esteemed by
General Haldimand.' The strenuous scenes through which
Brant had lived, indeed, seem to have left but little
impression on his face. 'I dined once with him at the
General's,' continued the baroness. 'In his dress he
showed off to advantage the half military and half savage
costume. His countenance was manly and intelligent, and
his disposition very mild.'

On his arrival in London for the second time, Brant
received a welcome even exceeding that which was given
him on his first visit. He was lauded as king of the red
men and lord of the boundless forest. In the houses of
the most illustrious people in the realm he was given a
place of high honour. One of those who took delight in
Brant's company was Lord Percy, heir to the dukedom of
Northumberland. Lord Percy had served in America and had
been adopted, according to Indian custom, into one of
the tribes of the Six Nations, and was called in its
language the Evergreen Brake. Charles James Fox, the
statesman, was also among the admirers of the War Chief.
Fox caused a beautiful silver snuff-box to be sent to
Brant, engraved with his initials. The Prince of Wales
was attracted by the chieftain and took Brant with him
on many of his jaunts about the capital. Brant was amazed
at some of the places to which his royal conductor
resorted. At the royal palace he was warmly greeted by
King George and Queen Charlotte and held in high esteem.

His official visit to their Majesties was marked by a
somewhat uncommon incident. As a dutiful subject, it was
in keeping with tradition that he should kiss the king's
hand, but this he refused to do. The War Chief could not
bend, even before the greatest of potentates. Turning to
the queen, however, after the fashion of a cavalier,
Brant said that he would be only too pleased to kiss her
hand. George III did not seem in the least annoyed. He
appeared rather to be delighted at this courtesy shown
his queen, and so the affair passed happily.

One humorous episode which happened during Brant's stay
in London caused quite a sensation. Through the good
graces of Earl Moira, he was invited to attend a masquerade
ball in Mayfair. It was to be a festive event, and people
of distinguished rank were expected to be present. Brant
did not go to any pains to deck himself out artfully for
the occasion, but was attired only in the costume of his
tribe. To change his appearance, he painted a portion of
his face, and arrived in this guise at the place of
entertainment. As he entered the gay ball-room, his lofty
plumage swayed grandly and a glittering tomahawk shone
from his girdle. The scene that met his eyes was resplendent
with life and beauty. Masked figures were flitting by,
clad in every imaginable garb. Here was a sleek-faced
friar, rotund and merry; there, a gypsy maid, or mild-eyed
shepherdess with her stave. Lonely hermits and whimsical
jesters, cackling witches, and members of a pilgrim
band--all thronged together with laugh or grimace, adding
their own peculiar lustre to the brilliant assembly. By
and by a Turk came strolling down the floor; he was a
diplomat of high degree, and two nymphs from the paradise
of Islam hovered near at hand. Suddenly the Turk caught
sight of the painted features of the sturdy redskin. He
stopped, and fixed the Indian with his gaze. Here, he
thought, was the chance for a bit of frolic. In a moment
he had lost his stately demeanour and lurched jocularly
towards the warrior. He reached for the Indian's face,
thinking it was screened with parchment. The next instant
he had tweaked the nose of the great chief of the Six
Nations. Above the confusing medley of sounds burst the
wild accents of the blood-freezing war-whoop. On the
instant Brant's tomahawk was forth from his girdle, and
was whirling about the head of the astonished offender.
Never had such a cry been heard within the halls of
fashion. Faces turned ashen pale and screams resounded
through the spacious mansion. Helter-skelter, in every
direction, fled the terrified masqueraders. The Moslem
thought that his last hour on earth had come. Then Brant's
arm fell; his tense features relaxed, and he had become
once more the genial 'Captain of the Mohawks.' According
to his own declaration, which may or may not have been
exactly true, he only intended a playful contribution to
the pleasures of the evening. The Turk was calmed, and
the frightened company came slowly streaming back.
Everything was explained and Brant became a greater hero
than ever before. Yet it is hardly likely that the pompous
follower of Islam ever forgot the lively scene which his
rashness had produced.

Notwithstanding the gay round of entertainment in which
he joined, Brant had been attending to the business
matters that had brought him to England. He had sent a
letter relative to the affairs of the Six Nations to Lord
Sydney, the secretary of state for Colonial Affairs, and
he delivered a speech upon the same topic in Sydney's
presence. He told him of the losses sustained by the
Indians, and hoped that a speedy settlement would be made
with them by the British government. 'On my mentioning
these matters, since my arrival in England,' wrote Brant,
'I am informed that orders are given that this shall be
done; which will give great relief and satisfaction to
those faithful Indians, who will have spirit to go on,
and their hearts [will] be filled with gratitude for the
King, their father's, kindness.'

Just before leaving for America, Brant received a letter
from Lord Sydney saying that King George desired that
the red men should receive justice. 'His Majesty,' said
Sydney, 'in consideration of the zealous and hearty
exertions of his Indian allies in the support of his
cause, and as a proof of his friendly disposition toward
them, has been graciously pleased to consent that the
losses already certified by the Superintendent-General
shall be made good.'



CHAPTER XIII

STATESMAN OF THE TRIBES

When Brant appeared again in the open councils of his
people, he found the red men still in a fretful mood.
The Treaty of Fort Stanwix was a source of constant
aggravation to them. The white settlers were pressing
over their frontiers so boldly that the Indians felt that
their lands must sooner or later slip from their grasp.
England feared an outbreak of war, and the Indians believed
that in such a case she would aid them. A proof of this
was the manner in which she was keeping garrisons in the
western posts which she had agreed to surrender. It is
now conceded that this was done because the United States
had failed to live up to its pledges. Be that as it may,
Joseph Brant was expected in case of hostilities to
organize the strong league of native races that he had
planned to form.

In November 1786 a great council of Indian tribes was
held at Huron Village, on the Detroit river. This was
well attended, and its deliberations were very grave. An
address, probably written by Brant, was sent by order of
the assembled Indians to the Congress of the United
States. Peace was desired, but it would be necessary for
the Congressional representatives to treat with the
redskins as a whole; difficulties had been engendered
because the United States had entered into negotiations
with separate tribes--'kindled council-fires wherever it
saw fit'--without ever deigning to consult the Indians
as a whole; this, affirmed the address, must happen no
longer.

During the next few years the War Chief was unsparing in
his efforts to come to some solution of the problem which
the attitude of the United States had presented. He was
quite aware that there was not enough concerted action
among the various tribes. In his efforts to unite them
he was aided and supported in all that he did by the
English officials. But, try as Brant might, it seemed
impossible to arrive at that wide union among the tribes
at which he was aiming. On every hand were differences
of opinion and petty jealousies. In 1789 General St Clair,
indeed, was able to make two separate treaties with the
Indians, much to the delight of the government at
Philadelphia. 'I am persuaded,' St Clair wrote confidently,
'[that] their general confederacy is entirely broken.
Indeed it would not be very difficult, if circumstances
required it, to set them at deadly variance.'

But though unwilling to unite, it was with jealous and
angry eyes that they watched the white men cross the
Ohio. The year 1790 found the western tribes ablaze with
passion and again on the war-path against the United
States. The Shawnees, Potawatomis, and Miamis were the
leaders of the revolt. An expedition under General Harmar
marched against them, but it was defeated with great
loss. The Six Nations were the next in arms, and fell
without mercy on the settlements by the Alleghany river.

The horizon was now dark and it seemed as though a
widespread struggle with the Indians was certain to occur.
While the British authorities trusted implicitly in Joseph
Brant, the executive of the United States was also trying
to win his confidence. Both sides clearly recognized that
the future of the red men depended largely on the policy
that Brant should adopt. To have two great nations each
striving to enlist one's services is a fair indication
that the possession of those services will give either
nation a distinct advantage. Brant did not lack vanity,
and on this occasion he was more than flattered. But, to
do justice to Brant, it must be admitted that all the
time he had been in favour of peace. He did not wish the
tribes to go madly into an unequal contest when there
was very slight hope of success, and yet he was strongly
of the opinion that his people must not bow too readily
to the avarice of the pale-face. The Ohio river should
be the dividing-line between the Indian territories in
the west and those of the republic, and by this they must
stand or fall.

The government of the United States at length concluded
that neither Brant nor the tribes would listen to its
terms and that war was inevitable. It determined to carry
the fight vigorously into the very strongholds of the
western tribes. General St Clair was chosen for this
purpose, and he was given a large force to deal with a
certain unrest which had developed in the country of the
Miamis. What the War Chief had feared was now about to
happen. His hatchet was dull and rusted, and he had grown
unused to the strain and hazard of the war-path. But
could he hold aloof? The 'Long Knives' were moving against
the lodges of his brethren in the west, and so he bent
his ear once more to hear the warrior's call.

St Clair set out from Fort Washington in September 1791
and proceeded in the direction of the Miami villages, to
the south-west of Lake Erie. As he advanced, he found
himself worried by bands of redskins who hung upon his
line of march. By November 3, however, he had come within
fifteen miles of the Indian villages. When he pitched
his camp, his army of militiamen and regulars numbered
about fourteen hundred men all told. The Indians were
also fairly numerous, and were under the guidance of
Little Turtle, a brave chief of the Miamis. Though drawn
from various nations, their hearts were knit together by
the peril which confronted them. Within their ranks were
a hundred and fifty stalwarts of the Mohawk tribe, as
well as a number of white men and half-breeds from Canada,
who had come to their assistance.

When the fight began the Mohawks were seen to do the
bidding of a tall and agile chieftain. Though Little
Turtle was the nominal leader, it is conceded that the
main antagonist whom St Clair had pitted against him in
this engagement was Joseph Brant. Having sent his militiamen
on in advance, the American general had bivouacked with
the regulars by the side of a small stream, which ran
into the Wabash. Just before daybreak on November 4, the
raw militiamen found themselves suddenly attacked by a
force of redskins. The Americans, who were about a quarter
of a mile from the principal camp, turned and fled in
confusion. This was what the Indians desired. So hotly
did the militiamen retreat towards the camp that St
Clair's main force was almost carried off its feet. A
rally was made, but the Indians dashed forward with
swiftness and daring. Following on the heels of the
fleeing militiamen, they were soon at the very edge of
the encampment. There they began to pick off the American
gunners one by one.

In a short time St Clair's invading army was hemmed in
on every side and many of his officers had fallen. Charge
after charge was made by his men, but all to no avail.
At length he saw that the day was lost and gave orders
for retreat, hoping to save what was left of his force.
A weak spot was found in the redskins' line, and a remnant
of St Clair's proud army went free, scurrying off in wild
precipitation to Fort Jefferson, thirty miles away. The
ground was thickly strewn with their dead. It has been
computed that in this battle eight hundred of St Clair's
force were killed or wounded.

This disaster in the country of the Miamis showed the
United States how hard it would be to break the spirit
of the red men. War having effected nothing, it was again
decided to resort to entreaty. A number of chiefs of
different tribes were invited to go to Philadelphia, and
among them was Captain Brant. 'I can assure you,' wrote
the secretary of state in the federal government to Brant
on February 2, 1792, 'that the President of the United
States will be highly gratified by receiving and conversing
with a chief of such eminence as you are, on a subject
so interesting and important to the human race.' After
some persuasion Brant consented to go and, proceeding on
horseback by way of the Mohawk valley, he arrived at the
capital city on June 20. There he was gladly welcomed,
and every effort was made to win him for the United
States. 'I was offered a thousand guineas down,' wrote
the War Chief at a later time, 'and to have the half-pay
and pension I receive from Great Britain doubled, merely
on condition that I would use my endeavours to bring
about a peace. But this I rejected.' The American
authorities then held out an even more tempting bait.
They would give him pre-emption rights over land estimated
to be worth twenty thousand pounds and an annual allowance
of fifteen hundred dollars. But Brant steadfastly refused,
and his reason was very plain. How could he accept such
a bribe? 'They might expect me,' he said, 'to act contrary
to His Majesty's interest and the honour of our nations.'
He did, however, promise that he would urge the Miamis
to come to terms with the United States, and that he
would go to them for that purpose.

As he was on his way home from Philadelphia he found that
a Dutch-American, named Dygert, was pursuing him with
the intention of making an attempt upon his life. In New
York, while he was talking to several officers at his
lodgings in Broadway, he happened to peer out, and saw
a man in the street below with his eyes intently fixed
on the window of his room.

'There is Dygert now,' he cried.

Colonel Willet, one of the officers, went down and accused
the man of basely plotting Brant's assassination.

'Do you know,' said the colonel, 'that if you kill that
savage, you will be hanged?'

'Who,' said Dygert in surprise, 'would hang me for killing
an Indian?'

You will see,' answered Willet; if you execute your
purpose, you may depend upon it that you will be hanged
up immediately.'

At this the would-be criminal went off and did not trouble
the War Chief any more.

On his safe return to Canada Brant was taken ill and was
not able to attend a grand council held in the autumn at
Au Glaize, on the Great Miami. When the council met it
was agreed that hostilities should be suspended until a
fresh council should be held at Miami Rapids.

During the winter of 1792-93 Brant received a visit from
Simcoe, lieutenant-governor of Upper Canada, at his home
on Grand River. This officer, who had lately been installed
at Niagara, carried a letter to the War Chief from his
old friend Lord Percy, now the Duke of Northumberland,
together with a brace of pistols that the duke had sent
to him. Simcoe was on his way to Detroit by sled, and
stopped for three days at the Mohawk village. A _feu de
joie_ was fired in his honour, flags were hoisted, and
the Indians made a display of their trophies of war.

Brant and some of the redskins accompanied the
lieutenant-governor as far as the Thames river, where
was situated the village of the Delawares. Here the War
Chief was forced to return. Soon afterwards His Excellency
again halted at Grand River on his way back. The Indians
entertained him in royal style, performing the calumet
dance, the feather dance, and several other dances of
their tribe.

In the middle of the summer of 1793 a great assembly of
Indians took place at Miami Rapids. Commissioners who
were sent to represent the United States were not allowed
to approach the place of meeting. Brant made three
speeches, urging upon the Indians the advisability of
peace. But the red men were still headstrong, and the
commissioners had to go away without having reached any
understanding with them.

The end of the struggle, however, was coming fast. In
1794 General Wayne marched to the neighbourhood of Fort
Miami with a numerous force, defeated the Indians at the
Fallen Timbers, and drove them before him in all directions.
Crestfallen and heartsore, they saw that the day of the
white man had come at last. Brant stood by as their helper
to the very end, but it availed them little. The Black
Snake, as they called General Wayne, had beaten them,
and they knew he would beat them again. The tribesmen
who had come from the far west withdrew sullenly across
the Mississippi, the other races submitted, and the Treaty
of Greenville was signed with General Wayne on August 3,
1795. The ox-cart began to rumble north of the Ohio; the
tall forests fell before the settler's axe, and the red
man lived and walked no more alone by the 'River Beautiful.'



CHAPTER XIV

THE CHURCH BELL RINGS

Joseph Brant had been a valiant warrior; he had dealt
with the affairs of the Six Nations wisely and well. But
he had never forgotten that one of the first duties of
any ruler is to be, in some sense, a priest unto his
people. From a lad, he seems to have been a devoted
Christian. The alarms of war had drawn his mind for a
period, it is true, to worldly considerations alone, but
now that strife had ceased he became once more the friend
of the missionary and sought to supply the spiritual
needs of the tribes over which his influence was felt.

Like every Indian, the wonderful things which Brant saw
all about him in nature held his mind in a spell. To him
there was One who had created all things, and who was
ever ready and willing to sustain His children. On one
occasion in council Brant spoke of the primitive freedom
of the Indian people, and then exclaimed: 'This country
was given to us by the Great Spirit above; we wish to
enjoy it.' He went on to tell how the Indians had tried
to get peace, how their efforts had failed, and how their
patience was now all gone. Yet there was one covert in
which they might find shelter in time of storm. 'We
therefore throw ourselves,' was his final utterance,
'under the protection of the Great Spirit above, who, we
hope, will order all things for the best.'

While Brant was on his second visit to England, the
Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign
Parts asked his help in getting out their printed books
for the Indians. He willingly assented, and soon had a
new edition of the Prayer and Psalm Book in preparation,
He translated also the Gospel of St Mark. The Prayer and
Psalm Book and his translation of the Gospel of St Mark
were issued as one book. The publication of this volume
must have brought a feeling of pride to the breast of
the Mohawk chief. The book was a work of art, well printed
and with some fine engravings. The frontispiece depicted
the inside of a chapel, in which the king and queen were
standing with a bishop on each side of them. The monarch
and his consort were handing sacred books to the Indians,
who were clustered about in an expectant attitude.

A few years later Brant translated into the Mohawk tongue
the Liturgy of the Anglican Church as well as a doctrinal
primer. Copies of these were sent to Harvard University,
and its corporation replied with a cordial vote of thanks
to the War Chief for his gift. Brant also planned to
write a comprehensive history of the Six Nations, but
unfortunately this work seems never to have been commenced.

Hardly had the Mohawks settled at Grand River when they
began to feel that they should have a church building in
which to worship. Funds were gathered, and as early as
1785 they were laying the foundations of a suitable
edifice. This building, which was reared in the depths
of the forest about two miles from the centre of what is
now the city of Brantford, generally went by the name of
'The Old Mohawk Church.' In 1904, on a petition to the
king, it was given the title of 'His Majesty's Chapel of
the Mohawks.' Thus was restored the name of the church
in which the Indians were wont to worship in the Mohawk
valley. With its square tower, quaint slender steeple,
and the graves of bygone generations of red men who have
worshipped in it gathered about its walls, it is a
venerable reminder of the past. The Bible which was first
used in 'The Old Mohawk Church' was a gift from Queen
Anne to the tribesmen in 1712 and was brought to Grand
River from their former home on the Mohawk. The silver
communion plate was part of a service which had also been
presented to them by the same queen before they came to
Canada. It was of burnished silver and bore the Royal
Coat of Arms. The remaining pieces of this set were given
to the Indians who settled in the Bay of Quinte district.
In the year 1786 there was sent to the church a large
and melodious bell. This was a presentation from the
British government, and on it was stamped the arms of
the reigning House of Hanover.

In all the wide region later known as the province of
Upper Canada, as yet no other Protestant sanctuary had
opened its doors for the use of Christian believers. With
the erection of this temple of the Mohawks begins the
history of the Protestant churches in one of the fairest
sections of the Dominion of Canada. It was a sweet and
solemn bell that pealed out its message when service was
held on those Sabbaths in pioneer days. Into the solitudes
it rang, wakening the stillness, echoing to hill-top,
and throbbing down to distant valley. Up and along the
river stole the gladsome strain, the first call to prayer
ever heard in this scarcely broken wilderness. From among
the trees emerged the exiled people of the Long House.
They mingled together; they entered the courts of the
Great Spirit, silent and full of awe. There they listened
to the Gospel story and burst forth into many happy songs
of thanksgiving and of love.

Brant was very desirous of securing a missionary who
would suit the tastes of all. He tried to get a resident
missionary in the person of his friend Davenport Phelps,
but the bishop of Quebec refused Phelps ordination; and
it was not until 1822, when the New England Company took
over the missionary work on the Mohawk reserve, that the
Indians of Grand River had a resident pastor. Brant also
had won from General Haldimand a promise that a school
should be built for the education of the Indian children,
and that a flour-mill should be erected for the grinding
of corn.

Brant was deeply interested also in the native amusements
of the people of the Long House. He seems to have retained
a boyish heart in the later years of his life, and he
saw with pleasure the sports and pastimes of the Indian
youth. Hour after hour he would sit as an honoured
spectator watching them play a hard-fought game of lacrosse
that required fleetness of foot and straightness of limb.
An eye-witness who sat with Brant at one of these games
has told of the excitement which the match aroused. On
this occasion a great company of Senecas had come all
the way from New York state in order to compete for the
mastery with their kinsmen, the Mohawks. The contest
lasted for three days before the Senecas finally won the
valuable stakes which were offered as the prize.

The field which was cleared for the game was fairly
extensive, the goals being placed about five hundred feet
apart. The teams had sixty men a side. When any one
dropped out from either party another was supposed to
take his place, and so the energies of the contestants
did not flag. The netted rackets employed in the game of
lacrosse were three and a half feet in length, straight
at the handle but curved at the other end. The broad
portion used for throwing or carrying the ball was formed
of thongs of deerskin, interwoven and drawn firm and
tight. It was a picturesque sight when the opposing teams
were ready to commence play. The animated warriors were
nude except for a breech-cloth reaching to the knee. When
all was in readiness, an Indian maiden came tripping into
the centre of the field. She was prettily attired after
the custom of her tribe, wore bracelets of silver and a
red tiara decked with eagle feathers. Placing the ball
among the players, she hurried from the field of play.
Two experts from the rival parties then raised the ball
between their rackets and strove to make the first
successful throw. The great game had now begun, and each
time the ball went through a goal it counted one tally.
The score-keepers, who were chosen from the older sachems
of the tribes, were invested with peculiar powers. If
one team was making far less tallies than its opponent,
they could diminish its rival's score (without the players'
knowledge, however) in order that the contest might be
protracted. Games of this vigorous kind have made the
athletes of the Six Nations noted in both Canada and the
United States down to the present day.



CHAPTER XV

THE PINE-TREE TOTTERS

It came to pass before long that the Indians wished to
dispose of some of the land granted to them on Grand
River. The United Empire Loyalists and others, lured by
the prospect of cheap land, kept crossing into Canada
from the United States; accessions to the population of
the Great Lakes region had come by immigration from the
British Isles, and the country was making forward strides.
Straggling settlers and speculators were often anxious
to purchase land in the richer districts when they could
get it at a low price. It happened, however, that after
the redskins had sold and leased bits of their territory
to such persons, the provincial government began to
interfere. The land, it said, belonged to the Indians
only so long as they remained upon it. They could not,
therefore, sell any of it, as they had no direct ownership
of the soil.

This decision shed a new light upon the proprietary rights
of the Six Nations in Canada and the Indians were sorely
perplexed. All along they thought that they held their
lands like other settlers who had proved their loyalty.
Brant vigorously took up their case, made several able
speeches on their behalf, and freely corresponded with
the authorities of the province regarding the matter. In
1793 Governor Simcoe issued a new proclamation respecting
the grant, but this did not end the dispute. The province
still claimed the right of pre-emption with respect to
the whole of their reserve. Later on the matter was
carried to England, and the British government tended to
favour the Indians' claims. But nothing was done, owing
to contentions among the redskins themselves. It was
only, indeed, after Brant's death that the affair was
finally settled. The sale of large tracts of Indian land
was then authorized, and the money received was safely
invested for the benefit of the Mohawks and others of
the Six Nations in Canada. In connection with this
difficult question Brant had intended making a trip to
England, but was forced to abandon the idea.

During the latter part of his life Brant visited different
parts of America and twice journeyed as far as the Atlantic
seaboard. On these occasions he had the opportunity of
talking over old campaigns with officers who had fought
against him in the war, and he delighted his listeners
with stirring stories of his experiences in the field.
On one occasion, when in Philadelphia, he was entertained
in sumptuous fashion by Colonel Aaron Burr. A dinner
party was held in his honour, and among the guests were
Talleyrand and Volney. Early in the evening the War Chief
was rather taciturn, and the other guests were somewhat
disappointed. But this was only a passing mood, from
which Brant soon freed himself. Launching into the
conversation, he was soon the centre of attraction.

Though Captain Brant was able to pass his later years in
comparative ease, his life was marred by the occurrence
of two untoward events. His eldest son, Isaac, was a
reprobate over whom the father exercised little influence.
Isaac had been guilty of acts of violence and had begun
to threaten Joseph Brant himself. He was jealous of the
numerous children of Catherine Brant and took occasion
to offer her various insults. In 1795 both father and
son were at Burlington Heights, at a time when the Indians
were receiving supplies from the provincial government.
Isaac, crazed with liquor, tried to assault his father
in one of the lower rooms of an inn, but he was held in
check by several of his youthful companions.

Captain Brant drew a dirk which he usually carried with
him, and in the excitement of the moment inflicted a
slight wound on Isaac's hand. The cut was not serious,
but Isaac would not allow it to be properly treated, and
subsequently died from an attack of brain fever. The War
Chief was sorely grieved at the result of his hasty
action, and fretted about it until the end of his days.
He is said to have hung the dirk up in his room and to
have often wept as he gazed upon it. The other source of
trouble to Brant was the revolt against his rule of a
small minority among the tribes. This movement was led
by Brant's old adversary, Red Jacket, and another chief,
the Farmer's Brother. A council was held by the dissenters
at Buffalo Creek in 1803, and Joseph Brant was formally
deposed as head of the confederacy of the Six Nations.
But as this meeting had not been legally convoked, its
decisions were of no validity among the Nations. The
following year, at another council, legitimately assembled,
the tribesmen openly declared their confidence in the
War Chief's rule.

Because of Brant's many services to the crown, the British
government gave him a fine stretch of land on the north-west
shore of Lake Ontario, near the entrance to Burlington
Bay. On his estate, known as Wellington Square, he erected
a large two-storey house, in which he might spend the
remaining years of his life. A number of black slaves
whom he had captured in the war were his servants and
gave him every attention. Brant is said to have subjected
these negroes to a rigid discipline and to have been more
or less of a taskmaster in his treatment of them. In his
declining years he was wont to gaze over the waters of
Lake Ontario, remembering the country stretching from
the southern shore where once he had struggled, and the
valley of the Mohawk, where had been the lodges of his
people.

But the giant pine-tree of the forest was now beginning
to bend. Tall and erect, it had out-topped and outrivalled
every other tree of the woodland. Men knew that that
pine-tree was tottering. In the autumn of 1807 the Captain
of the Six Nations was in the grip of a serious illness.
Friends and neighbours came to bring solace and comfort,
for he was widely revered. Racked with pain, but
uncomplaining, he passed the few weary hours of life
which were left. On November 24, 1807, the long trail
came to an end. Close by Brant's bedside. John Norton,
[Footnote: Norton was a Scotsman who, coming to Canada
early in life, settled among the Mohawks and won a chief's
rank among them. He played an important part in the War
of 1812.] a chieftain of his tribe, leaned to catch the
last faltering word.

'Have pity on the poor Indians,' whispered the dying War
Chief; 'if you can get any influence with the great,
endeavour to do them all the good you can.'

The body of Captain Brant was taken to Grand River and
buried beside the walls of the church he had helped to
rear. In the centre of the busy city of Brantford--whose
name, as well as that of the county, commemorates his
--stands a beautiful monument, picturesque and massive,
to his worth and valour; in the hearts of the people of
Canada he is enshrined as a loyal subject, a man of noble
action, and a dauntless hero. Seldom in the annals of
Canada do we find a character so many-sided as the Captain
of the Mohawks. He was a child of nature, and she endowed
him with many gifts--a stout and hardy frame, a deportment
pleasing and attractive, and an eloquent tongue. It was
these natural endowments that gave him endurance in the
conflict, pre-eminence in council, and that won for him
the admiration of his contemporaries.

The education which Brant received was meagre, but he
could hardly have put what knowledge he had to better
advantage. After he had been relieved from the arduous
life of the camp, he began to satisfy again his desires
for self-culture. His correspondence towards the close
of his life shows a marked improvement in style over that
of his earlier years. There is no lack of convincing
evidence that Brant had a penetrating and well-balanced
intellect; but his chief glory is the constant efforts
he put forth for the moral and religious uplift of his
people.

With respect to Brant's abilities as a military leader,
there will continue to exist differences of opinion. That
he possessed the craftiness of his race in a superlative
degree, and that he used this to baffle his opponents on
the field of battle, cannot be denied. Some will go
further and assert that he had a remarkable genius in
the art of stratagem. Whatever powers he had he used,
from his boyhood days, in the interests of British rule
in America, and the services rendered by this last great
leader of the Six Nations in the War of the Revolution
were not among the least of the influences that enabled
Great Britain to maintain a foothold on the North American
continent. Joseph Brant in the War of the Revolution and
his descendants in the War of 1812 played essential parts
in firmly basing British institutions and British rule
in Canada.



BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

The principal authority for material on Joseph Brant is
William L. Stone's _Life of Joseph Brant_ (Thayendanegea),
2 vols. (1838). This includes an account of the border
wars of the American Revolution and sketches of the Indian
campaigns of Generals Harmar, St Clair, and Wayne. A
brief biography entitled _Memoir of Captain Joseph Brant_,
'compiled from authentic records,' was published anonymously
in Brantford in 1872. _History of Brant County_ (1883),
Part II, pages 85-149, is devoted almost exclusively to
Brant and his family. Samuel G. Drake's _Biography and
History of the Indians of North America from its First
Discovery_ has one chapter (pp. 577-93) given exclusively
to Brant. The chapter in the same work dealing with Red
Jacket will also be found of interest to the student of
Brant's career. William L. Stone, Jr.'s _Life and Times
of Sir William Johnson_, 2 vols. (1865), contains much
valuable information regarding the events which shaped
the early career of Brant. B. B. Thatcher in his _Indian
Biography_, 2 vols., dismisses Brant with an unsympathetic
and prejudiced paragraph, but several of his chapters,
particularly the one dealing with Red Jacket, throw much
light on the struggles in which Brant took part.

Other works which contain much material relating to Joseph
Brant are Mrs Holden's _The Brant Family_; Eleazar
Wheelock's _Narrative of the Original Design, Rise,
Progress and Present State of the Indian Charity-School
at Lebanon, In Connecticut_ (1763); William V. Moore's
_Indian Wars of the United States_; Jean N. McIlwraith's
_Sir Frederick Haldimand_, and A. G. Bradley's _Lord
Dorchester_ in the 'Makers of Canada' series; Lewis H.
Morgan's _League of the Ho-de-no-sau-nee, or Iroquois_;
E. M. Chadwick's _The People of the Long House_; _Documents
relating to the Constitutional History of Canada,
1759-1791_, selected and edited by Adam Shortt and Arthur
G. Doughty; _Haldimand Papers_, January 1779 to March
1783, copies of which are in the Dominion Archives;
_Handbook of Canadian Indians_, edited by James White,
F.R.G.S.

See also in this Series: _The Dawn of Canadian History_;
_The Father of British Canada_; _The War Chief of the
Ottawas_; _Tecumseh_.



END





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The War Chief of the Six Nations - A Chronicle of Joseph Brant" ***

Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.