MONG the leading chiefs who took part in the decisive battle at Maumee Rapids, when General Wayne smashed the Indian confederacy, was Buckongahelas, a sachem of the Delaware tribe. He was an orator of ability and a military leader of skill, with a humanity not often shown by one of his race. He took the side of the British until his attitude was changed by a certain incident, soon to be related.

No missionaries toiled more faithfully among the red men than the Moravians, who suffered every kind of persecution, facing privations, trials, tortures, and the most painful of deaths in order to bring the children of the forest to a knowledge of the true faith. They met with much success, and founded a number of missions, where scores of red men proved by their lives their belief in the religion professed by the white men. Thriving settlements were founded by the Moravian missionaries. These people, by their gentle ways, often suffered from their own race, while others, like Buckongahelas, treated them with kindness and respect, even though he did not believe in their principles.

It cannot be denied that our forefathers on the frontier were often frightfully misused by the Indians. Many atrocities were too dreadful to be described. The winter of 1782 was marked by a number of cruelties at the hands of the Sandusky Indians. In revenge, a band of nearly a hundred men gathered on the frontier of Pennsylvania, and, led by Colonel David Williamson, marched against the Christian Indians at Gnadenhutten, a missionary settlement. Friendly messengers were sent to warn them of their danger, but, sad to say, they arrived too late. In March, 1782, ninety-six men, women and children, while singing hymns and praying, were slain by this company of white men, not one of whom ever was punished for the crime.

A few months before this awful crime, two Christian Indians of Gnadenhutten went out into the woods to look for some estray horses. They had not gone far, when they met a chieftain at the head of eighty warriors. The Christians were made prisoners without explanation. Then the band took a roundabout course through the forest, until near the settlement, when they went into a secret camp, keeping the captives lest they should escape and give the alarm. Early the next morning, the town was surrounded so that none could leave, and the leader of the war party shouted to the frightened people that they must give up their chief and principal councillors, either alive or dead.

The leader named the men he wanted and was determined to have, but the Christians replied that it chanced that every one was absent, having gone to Pittsburg some days before. The visitors searched each house from attic to cellar, and found they had been told the truth. Then the chief ordered that the leading men remaining in Gnadenhutten and Salem should appear before him to hear what he had to say. When they had assembled, he spoke:

"Friends, listen to what I say. You see a great and powerful nation divided. The father (the King) has called on his Indian children to help him in punishing his children, the Americans, who have become stubborn and will not obey him. Friends, often has the father been obliged to settle and make amends for the wrongs and mischiefs done to us, by his evil children, yet these children do not grow any better! They remain the same and will remain the same so long as there is left any land of which they can rob us. Listen to me and hear what I have to say. I have come to bid you arise and go with me to a safe place. I will take you to a country (the Miami), where your fields shall yield you abundant crops and where your cattle shall find plenty of pasture; where there is much game; where your women and children, together with yourselves, will live in peace and safety; where no Long Knife" (meaning the sword and bayonet of the colonists) "shall ever disturb you. Nay; I will live between you and them, and not even allow them to frighten you. There you can worship your God without fear. Here where you live you cannot do so. Think on what I have said to you and believe that if you stay where you are, very soon the Long Knives will talk to you with fine words, and while they are talking they will kill you all."

The chief who uttered this warning was Buckongahelas, and he was honest in his wish to take the gentle people with him, to where they would escape the danger to which he knew they were exposed. They thanked him but declined his offer, believing that their principles and goodly lives were so well known that no one would harm them. The chief then asked that those who wished to leave should be allowed to do so. This was agreed to and a few left. How true the words of the good man were was proven soon after when the massacre named occurred!

Buckongahelas next went to Salem. The following account is by Heckewelder who was present:

"The Christian Indians," said the chieftain, "were a happy people and he would never trouble them on account of their not joining in the war. Indeed they could not with propriety join in wars, without first renouncing praying," (meaning Christianity). "And every Indian, or body of Indians, had a right to chose for themselves, whom they should serve. For him, he had hired himself to his father, the king of England, for the purpose of fighting his refractory children, the Long Knives, whilst his friends and relations, the Christian Indians, had hired themselves to the Great Spirit, solely for the purpose of performing prayers," (meaning attending to religion). "He added that both were right in their way, though both employments could not be connected together. And only yesterday they were told, while at Gnadenhutten, that God had instructed all Christian people to love their enemies, and even to pray for them. These words, he said, were written in the large book that contained the words and commandments of God! Now, how would it appear, were we to compel our friends, who love and pray for their enemies to fight against them—compel them to act contrary to what they believe to be right—force them to do that by which they would incur the displeasure of the Great Spirit, and bring his wrath upon them? It would be as wrong in him to compel the Christian Indians to quit praying and to turn out and kill people, as it would be in them to compel him to lay fighting aside, and turn to praying only."

Did Indian or white man ever utter nobler sentiments? Buckongahelas was not a Christian, and he claimed the right belonging to every one, to think for himself and to form his own judgment, but he did that which many, who may profess the same principles, are unable to do; he accepted just as fully the right of every one else to do the same. He complimented the principles of the Christians, for he respected them and, as has been already said, his only wish was to befriend and save them from the cruelty of the white man. He knew better than they that no trust could be placed in those of the other race, and sad indeed was it for the Moravian Christians that they did not act upon his own counsel.

Before entering Salem, the chief made all his warriors leave their guns behind, so as not to alarm their hosts.

When ready to leave, he turned and addressed the assembled Christians thanking them for their hospitality, and assuring them that they could always depend upon his steadfast friendship.

The following incident will illustrate a peculiar phase of the character of this remarkable man:

One of the most noted scouts connected with Colonel Brodhead's army, and afterward with Harmar, St. Clair and Wayne, was an Irishman named Murphy. He was a rollicking fellow, with all the wit and waggery of his people, brave to the last degree, and a master of woodcraft. Some of the exploits with which he is credited sound incredible. No Indian could follow a shadowy trail through the woods more truly, and few were his equal in resources and quickness to see the right thing to do in a crisis. He was tall, bony, homely of feature, with a shock of fiery red hair and a freckled countenance. With many, his greatest gift was his fleetness of foot. In all the races in which he engaged he never met his superior. Simon Kenton, who, in his prime, could run like a deer, said Murphy was able to lead every one else.

This point became well known to the Indians, and many of them put forth their utmost efforts to capture him. Aware of the valuable help he gave to the whites, they would have given much to lay hands on him. He had slain and scalped (sad to say that barbarous practice was not confined to the red men) some of their most noted warriors, and there would have been general rejoicing among all the tribes could the means be found to check his destroying career.

Well, disaster came to Murphy at last. He had a hard fight with three Delawares, one summer afternoon, in the depths of the wilderness. He shot one, wounded the second, and would have gotten away as usual, but at the critical moment, a score of bucks arrived on the spot, surrounded and made him prisoner. When the grinning captors closed about him, Murphy threw up his hands and asked them to be considerate as he had wrenched his ankle, and was barely able to stand. His appeal was useless, for they beat him unmercifully, and forced him to keep pace with them, though he limped so badly that at times he actually hopped forward on one foot. But the plucky fellow gritted his teeth, bore their blows unflinchingly, and, seemingly more dead than alive, finally reached the Delaware villages, where his coming caused great excitement and rejoicing.

It was early in the afternoon, and a discussion immediately took place as to how the prize should be disposed of. The majority favored burning him at the stake; but Buckongahelas had stopped that inhuman practice, and would not listen to anything of the kind. Other savage pleasantries were suggested, all of which the chief vetoed, in several cases being backed by some of the leaders. Finally, some one proposed that the captive should run the gauntlet.

The grim fiendishness of this will be understood when the lameness of poor Murphy is remembered. All through the talk, he was standing in the background on one foot, his rugged face twitching with the pain he could not keep back. Buckongahelas would have interfered, had he not known that it was useless. There was a point beyond which he could not hold his warriors. He had denied them their favorite pastime, and even he could not say that they should be robbed of every form of amusement. There was not a warrior among the howling throng who did not know the scout who had wrought them so much evil, and upon whom they had tried so long to lay hands. The chieftain nodded his consent to their proposal.

Murphy was familiar enough with the Delaware tongue to understand the decision that had been reached. He was too sensible to protest and silently nerved himself for the dreaded ordeal soon to come.

The Delawares made their preparations with the enthusiasm of so many boys, while those who were not to take part chuckled with delight. The persecutors formed in two rows, facing each other, with hardly a dozen feet of space between. In each row were twenty-eight warriors and squaws, separated by slightly less distance. The arrangement was meant to give each one just enough room to swing his or her arms with freedom.

Thus, as will be seen, Murphy was doomed to run over a path nearly a hundred yards in length, and between two rows of persecutors, all eagerly waiting for him to come nigh enough for them to reach him with the clubs in their itching hands. They had laid their guns aside, and every one was armed with a heavy stick, which he meant to bring down with a vicious energy that would hurl the poor fellow to the ground, if the implement once reached its mark.

Behind these rows of exultant redskins were grouped the other members of the tribe, to the extent of several hundred. Barbarous as were the warriors, the squaws were worse, if that was possible, and the dancing children were as eager as their elders to see the white man pounded to death.

One of the Delawares took Murphy by the arm and led him to the head of the line. He limped so heavily that he barely touched the ground with the tip of one foot. He was seen to shut his lips and shake his head, as if to force back his suffering and to brace himself for the trial before him. But he did not utter a word; it was useless.

At the head of the line on his right, was stationed a warrior whom he recognized as one of his captors and his chief persecutor. He was large and inclined to corpulency, but his painted face was ugly to the last degree. He had struck the captive on the way to the village, and had subjected him to many indignities. Now he took a place which gave him the first chance to reach the helpless prisoner, and there can be no doubt that he meant to leave no work to be done by the others in the lines.

Murphy looked down the long path, and, like many situations of danger, spat on his palms and rubbed them together, as if the action gave more nerve and strength to him. All were waiting, shifting about and toying with their clubs, impatient for the amusement to open. Buckongahelas stood several rods to the rear of one of the lines, well beyond it, watching proceedings. He did not add to the turmoil, but with his arms folded over his massive chest, studied the prisoner, regarding whom he held a singular suspicion which he kept to himself.

Suddenly Murphy gathered his energies for the test. He leaned forward with his left foot advanced, and most of his weight resting on it, after the manner of the professional runner. This largely relieved the other ankle of the weight of his body. With his arms crooked at the elbows and held close to his sides, he suddenly lowered his head and shot forward as if propelled from a cannon.

The instant he did so, the suspicion of Buckongahelas became certainty. All trace of lameness vanished! Both legs were as sound as ever, and had been from the first.

But Hercules himself could not have run the length of those lines, between the rows of tormentors, and Murphy had never a thought of trying anything of the kind. With a quick turn to the right, and, when going at the height of his great speed, the top of his head struck his chief tormentor in the stomach, with an impact like that of a catapult. The life was almost knocked from his body, as he went over on his back, his moccasins kicking the air. Like a cat, Murphy leaped over the form, and with a burst of his wonderful fleetness, dashed for the nearest point in the woods.

This took him towards the spot where Buckongahelas was standing. The chief could have headed him off without trouble, but, instead of doing so, he stepped aside to make way for him. The confusion caused by the captive's break for freedom gave him the very chance needed. Among the spectators were many who had guns in their hands and several fired wildly at the fugitive, but the majority of the men who formed the double line, sped after him, with a view of recapture, and the carrying out of their amusement so suddenly interrupted by his escape.

In a few seconds, Murphy was among the trees and going with the speed of the wind. It was impossible to gain a fair shot at him, when it was seen that he was rapidly increasing the distance between him and his pursuers. Sooner than would be supposed, he was beyond danger, and the next day rejoined his friends.

Some years later, when peace had come to the frontier, Murphy and Buckongahelas met at one of the forts, and, in the course of their talk, the incident just told was recalled. Both laughed over the remembrance, and the chief told the scout that he suspected from the first that his lameness was a pretence, and he thought it strange that none of the warriors shared his belief.

"I was glad when you got away," said the Delaware.

"I observed that ye stepped aside to give me room to pass, without losing any time in doing the same," said the grinning Irishman; "I knowed ye was my friend, which is why I headed toward yersilf."

When the league of Indians was defeated by General Wayne at Maumee Rapids, they fled for refuge to the British post near at hand. The commandant had promised them that, if they were repelled, he would give them shelter. But Wayne frightened him, and he closed the gates against the fugitives, and allowed many to be cut down.

Buckongahelas was so angered by this breach of faith that his principles changed. He refused longer to trust the English, for whom he had bravely fought, became the warm friend of the Americans, and urged his countrymen to do the same. He had all the qualifications of a great hero.