It was the year 1779. The Revolution was over. England had lost her colonies to her own sons. Now the Colonists were beginning the great struggle to free themselves from the curse of Indian invasion. An expedition was therefore organized to invade the Shawnee territory and to raze to the ground the famous town of Chillicothe. Benjamin Logan—now Colonel Logan—was second in command. Bowman, who had come to the rescue at Logan’s Fort, was to lead the expedition; which was to consist of one hundred and sixty men. They advanced in the heat of July, and marched with such precaution that they reached the neighborhood of the Indian town without having been discovered by the enemy.
A plan for assaulting the village was now decided upon. It was very simple, for the force was to be divided into two parts; one, under Logan, was to march to the left: the other, under Bowman, was to march to the right. The men were to spread out in single rank, and when the leading files of the two columns had met, then, they were to attack. It was dark when the backwoods soldiers began the advance. Logan’s men quite encircled the town, but where was Bowman? All through the night the leader of the left flank waited for the coming of the other column, but not a man in buckskin appeared. Hour after hour passed away and the darkness gave way to dawn. Still Bowman was strangely missing.
“Had you not better attack?” whispered one of his men. “The Shawnees will soon be awake and will discover our whereabouts.”
“Let us wait another hour or two,” answered the courageous leader. “I believe that the advance of Bowman’s column will soon be here.”
Logan’s men were secreted in ambush. Here they remained until an Indian dog began to bark, arousing his master, who came out of his tepee in order to see what was the matter. An imprudent trapper had exposed his head above the underbrush, and the keen eyes of the redskin quickly discerned an enemy. He raised a loud war-whoop.
As he did this, a gun went off on Bowman’s side of the village, and, seeing that further concealment was useless, Colonel Logan cried out to his men:
“Charge into the village, my boys. You must drive the redskins through the town, for Colonel Bowman will surely support you.”
His buckskin-clad rangers defiled quickly into the village, and, advancing from cabin to cabin, soon had reached a large building in the centre. The Indians fled swiftly before them, but later, recovering from their surprise, endeavored to turn the right flank of the Kentuckians, whom they perceived to be in small numbers. Where was Colonel Bowman?
The Shawnees had now seized their own rifles and were pouring in a hot fire upon the advancing frontiersmen, who tore the heavy doors from the Indian cabins, formed a breastwork, and protected themselves from the whizzing balls. They were holding their own and were making progress towards the Indian citadel, where most of the braves had collected, when an order came from Colonel Bowman to retreat. His ranking officer had spoken, so there was nothing for Logan to do but to obey.
As soon as the men were told that they must go to the rear, a tumultuous scene commenced. Dispirited and disheartened by the order to turn their backs upon the enemy, they rushed away from the tomahawks and balls of the savages, as best they were able. The Indians were astonished and jubilant over the turn which matters had taken and pursued the rangers with wild and exultant yelping. The frontiersmen scattered in every direction, dodging and twisting in order to avoid the balls which whistled around them, and ran from cabin to cabin, in confusion. Suddenly they collided with Bowman’s soldiers, who, because of some panic of their commander, had stood stock still near the spot where Logan had left them the night before. The redskins soon surrounded them on all sides, and kept up a hot fire.
What was the matter with Bowman? He sat upon his horse like a pillar of stone; gave no orders; and was in an apparently helpless mental condition. His men paid no attention to him, but swarmed to the protection of trees and stumps, took aim at the yelping red men, and soon held them at a safe distance. When they seemed to be quieted, the frontiersmen resumed their march. The Indians, however, came back to the attack, but were beaten off. They followed, and made an assault every half mile, or so. Their tenacity was due to the fact that they expected reinforcements and hoped to annihilate the whites.
“Keep together, my brave men,” shouted Colonel Logan, at this juncture. “Do not let these redskins stampede you, for then you will all be massacred.”
The crisis was a terrible one. The retreat would become a rout, unless the soldiers were kept together.
At this juncture Colonel Logan and a few of the boldest souls, dashed into the brush, on horseback, and cut down some of the nearest red men. As they performed this bold feat, the savages held back, and thus allowed the fleeing soldiers to get away. Only nine Kentuckians were killed, a few were wounded, and the rest escaped to the settlements. As for Colonel Logan, his gallant conduct, when under stress and fire, greatly increased his reputation, and at the next gathering of the Kentucky troops he was unanimously elected to lead them against the red men, when again they should need chastising.
The Indians remained quiescent until the summer of 1788. Then the frontier was again attacked by marauding bands, and so destructive was their advance that the pioneer militia had to be called out. Colonel Logan was asked to lead the troops against the enemy.
“Boys, I shall be delighted to do so,” said he. “But this time there must be perfect discipline and no retreating. If you break in the same way that you did in our attack upon the Shawnee town I will not answer for your scalps. Let us have order, or we will never succeed.”
“Lead on, Colonel,” cried many. “You have the right idea, and none of us will go back on you.”
The advance through the wilderness was most successful. Eight towns were burned, twenty warriors were killed, and seventy-five prisoners were taken. The son of a chief named Moluntha was carried off as a prisoner, and because of his brightness and promise was kept in Colonel Logan’s family. He was called Logan, after his distinguished captor, and grew to be a majestic-looking man, six feet in height.
As for the Colonel, he returned to his farm after this campaign fully satisfied with his work, and determined to lead a quiet existence. This he was well able to do, for the red men had been so signally chastised that they no longer attempted to rob, burn, and plunder upon the border. His namesake, however, came to an untimely end.
During one of the campaigns by General Harrison against the Maumee Indians, Logan—the redskin—was dispatched by his superior officer upon a scouting expedition with several companions. They met a large force of hostile Indians and were driven in to their own camp, where one of the white officers was heard to remark:
“Logan is a treacherous scoundrel. I believe that he will desert to those of his own color at any moment.”
This was heard by the red man and he was stung to the quick.
“I shall prove this to be a falsehood,” said he. “I am true to my white brothers.”
Next morning he started towards the enemy with some companions and had not gone far when he found himself in an ambuscade, formed by the famous chieftain called Winnemac. Logan had the same cool courage which distinguished his white namesake.
“We are deserting to our enemies, the British,” said he. “We no longer care to fight with the Americans. We are at heart your brothers.”
Chief Winnemac grunted, but kept a watchful eye upon his captives as he carried them away. After the first day, however, he decided to return the rifles and other arms to the prisoners. He had counted too much upon the words of the savage, for Logan had determined upon escape.
“We will attack our captors to-night,” he whispered to his two companions, Bright Horn and Captain Johnny. “There are seven. We will wait until some leave and