XII
_THE STORY OF A SWORD_
"Show me what kind of country we have to march through," said theBritish General to Tecumseh, after Detroit had fallen.
Taking a roll of elm-bark Tecumseh drew his scalping knife and etchedupon it the rivers, hills, and woods he knew so well. And the marchbegan,--to be checked at Fort Stephenson by a boy of twenty-one.
It was the dream and hope of the British Fur Companies to extend theirterritory as far within the American border as possible. The whole Warof 1812 was a traders' war. Commerce, commerce, for which the world isbattling still, was the motive power on land and sea.
At the Lakes now, the British fur traders waved their flags againabove the ramparts of Detroit. "We must hold this post,--its loss tooseriously deranges our plans."
Smouldering, the old Revolutionary fires had burst anew. Did GeorgeIII. still hope to conquer America?
"Hull surrendered?" America groaned at the stain, the stigma, thenational disgrace! In a day regiments leaped to fill the breach."Detroit must be re-taken!"
Along the Lakes battle succeeded battle in swift succession.
At Louisville two mothers, Lucy and Fanny, were anxious for theirboys. Both George Croghan and John O'Fallon had been with Harrison atTippecanoe. Both had been promoted. Then came the call for swords.
"Get me a sword in Philadelphia," wrote O'Fallon to his mother.
"Send me a sword to Cincinnati," begged Croghan.
Sitting under the trees at Locust Grove the sisters were discussingthe fall of Detroit. Fanny had John O'Fallon's letter announcing theburning of Fort Madison. Lucy was devouring the last impatient scrawlfrom her fiery, ambitious son, George Croghan, now caged in an obscurefort on Sandusky River near Lake Erie.
"The General little knows me," wrote Croghan. "To assist his cause, topromote in any way his welfare, I would bravely sacrifice my best andfondest hopes. I am resolved on quitting the army as soon as I amrelieved of the command of this post."
Scarcely had the two mothers finished reading when a shout rangthrough the streets of Louisville.
"Hurrah for Croghan! Croghan! Croghan!"
"Why, what is the matter?"
Pale with anxiety Lucy ran to the gate. The whole street was filledwith people coming that way. In a few hurried words she heard thestory from several lips at once.
"Why, you see, Madam, General Harrison was afraid Tecumseh would makea flank attack on Fort Stephenson, in charge of George Croghan, and soordered him to abandon and burn it. But no,--he sent the General word,'We are determined to hold this place, and by heaven we will!'
"That night George hastily cut a ditch and raised a stockade. Thenalong came Proctor and Tecumseh with a thousand British and Indians,and summoned him to surrender.
"The boy had only one hundred and sixty inexperienced men and a singlesix-pounder, but he sent back answer: 'The fort will be defended tothe last extremity. No force, however great, can induce us tosurrender. We are resolved to hold this post or bury ourselves in itsruins.'"
Tears ran down Lucy's cheeks as she listened,--she caught at the gateto keep from falling. Before her arose the picture of that son withred hair flying, and fine thin face like a blooded warhorse,--she knewthat look.
"Again Proctor sent his flag demanding surrender to avoid a terriblemassacre.
"'When this fort is taken there will be none to massacre,' answeredthe boy, 'for it will not be given up while a man is left to resist!'
"The enemy advanced, and when close at hand, Croghan unmasked hissolitary cannon and swept them down. Again Proctor advanced, and againthe rifle of every man and the masked cannon met them. Falling back,Proctor and Tecumseh retreated, abandoning a boatload of militarystores on the bank."
"Hurrah for Croghan! Croghan! Croghan!" again rang down the streets ofLouisville. The bells rang out a peal as the Stars and Stripes ran upthe flag-staff.
"The little game cock, he shall have my sword," said George RogersClark, living again his own great days.
And with that sword there was a story.
When Tippecanoe was won and the world was ringing with "Harrison!" menrecalled another hero who "with no provisions, no munitions, nocannon, no shoes, almost without an army," had held these same redmenat bay.
"And does he yet live?"
"He lives, an exile and a hermit on a Point of Rock on the Indianashore above the Falls of the Ohio."
"Has he no recognition?"
Men whispered the story of the sword.
When John Rogers went back from victorious Vincennes with Hamilton aprisoner-of-war, the grateful Virginian Assembly voted George RogersClark a sword.
"And you, Captain Rogers, may present it."
The sword was ready, time passed, difficulties multiplied. Clarkpresented his bill to the Virginia Legislature. To his amazement andmortification the House of Delegates refused to allow his claim.
Clark went home, sold his bounty lands, and ruined himself to pay forthe bread and meat of his army.
And then it was rumoured, "To-day a sword will be presented to GeorgeRogers Clark."
All the countryside gathered, pioneers and veterans, with the civicand military display of that rude age to see their hero honoured. Thecommissioner for Virginia appeared, and in formal and complimentaryaddress delivered the sword. The General received it; then drawingthe long blade from its scabbard, plunged it into the earth and brokeit off at the hilt. Turning to the commissioner, he said, "CaptainRogers, return to your State and tell her for me first to be justbefore she is generous."
For years those old veterans had related to their children andgrandchildren the story of that tragic day when Clark, the hero, brokethe sword Virginia gave him.
But a new time had come and new appreciation. While the smoke ofTippecanoe was rolling away a member of the Virginia Legislaturerelated anew the story of that earlier Vincennes and of the sword thatClark, "with haughty sense of wounded pride and feeling had broken andcast away." With unanimous voice Virginia voted a new sword and thehalf-pay of a colonel for the remainder of his life.
The commissioners found the old hero partially paralysed. Lucy hadgone to him at the Point of Rock. "Brother, you are failing, you needcare, I will look after you," and tenderly she bore him to her home atLocust Grove, where now, all day long, in his invalid chair, GeorgeRogers Clark studied the long reach of the blue Ohio or followedNapoleon and the boys of 1812.
Nothing had touched him like this deed of his nephew,--"Yes, yes, heshall have my sword!"
The next morning after the battle General Harrison wrote to theSecretary of War: "I am sorry I cannot submit to you Major Croghan'sofficial report. He was to have sent it to me this morning, but I havejust heard that he was so much exhausted by thirty-six hours ofconstant exertion as to be unable to make it. It will not be among theleast of General Proctor's mortifications to find that he has beenbaffled by a youth who has just passed his twenty-first year. He is,however, a hero worthy of his gallant uncle, General George RogersClark."
The cannon, "Old Betsy," stands yet in Fort Stephenson at Fremont,Ohio, where every passing year they celebrate the victory of thatsecond day of August, 1813,--the first check to the British advance inthe War of 1812.
A few days later, Perry's victory on Lake Erie opened the road toCanada and Detroit was re-taken.
"Britannia, Columbia, both had set their heels upon Detroit, and youngColumbia threw Britannia back across the Lakes," says the chronicler.
Then followed the battle of the Thames and the death of Tecumseh. ACanadian historian says, "But for Tecumseh, it is probable we shouldnot now have a Canada."
What if he had won Rebecca? Would Canada now be a peaceful sister ofthe States?
Tecumseh fought with the fur traders,--their interests were his,--tokeep the land a wild, a game preserve for wild beasts and wilder men.Civilisation had no part or place in Tecumseh's plan.
With the medal of George III. upon his breast, Tecumseh fell, onCanadian soil, battle-axe in ha
nd, hero and patriot of his race, thelast of the great Shawnees. Tecumseh's belt and shot pouch were sentto Jefferson and hung on the walls of Monticello. Tecumseh's sonpassed with his people beyond the Mississippi.
From his invalid chair at Locust Grove George Rogers Clark was writingto his brother:
"Your embarkation from St. Louis on your late hazardous expedition [to Prairie du Chien] was a considerable source of anxiety to your friends and relatives. They were pleased to hear of your safe return....
"As to Napoleon ... the news of his having abdicated the throne--"
"Napoleon abdicated?" Governor Clark scarce finished the letter.Having crushed him, what armies might not England hurl hitherward! Newdanger menaced America.
"Napoleon abdicated!" New Orleans wept.
Then followed the word, "England is sailing into the Gulf,--Sir EdwardPakenham, brother-in-law of the Duke of Wellington, with a part ofWellington's victorious army, fifty ships, a thousand guns and twentythousand men!"
Never had Great Britain lost sight of the Mississippi. This was a partof the fleet that burned Washington and had driven Dolly Madison andthe President into ignominious flight.
Terrified, New Orleans, the beautiful Creole maiden, beset in herorange bower, flung out her arms appealing to the West! And that Westanswered, "Never, while the Mississippi rolls to the Gulf, will weleave you unprotected." And out of that West came Andrew Jackson andtall Tennesseeans, Kentuckians, Mississippians, in coonskin caps andleathern hunting shirts, to seal for ever our right to Louisiana.
The hottest part of the battle was fought at Chalmette, above thegrave of the Fighting Parson. Immortal Eighth of January, 1815!Discontented Creoles of 1806 proved loyal Americans, vindicating theirright to honour.
Napoleon laughed when he heard it at Elba,--"I told them I had givenEngland a rival that one day would humble her pride."
Even the Ursuline nuns greeted their deliverers with joy, and the dimold cloistered halls were thrown open for a hospital.
"I expect at this moment," said Lord Castlereagh in Europe, "that mostof the large seaport towns of America are laid in ashes, that we arein possession of New Orleans, and have command of all the rivers ofthe Mississippi Valley and the Lakes."
But he counted without our ships at sea. The War of 1812 was foughtupon the ocean, "the golden age of naval fighting." Bone of her bone,flesh of her flesh, under the "Gridiron Flag," tars of the AmericanRevolution, sailor boys who under impressment had fought at Trafalgar,led in a splendid spectacular drama, the like of which England or theworld had never seen. She had trained up her own child. A thousand sailhad Britain--America a dozen sloops and frigates altogether,--butthe little tubs had learned from their mother.
"The territory between the Lakes and the Ohio shall be for ever setapart as an Indian territory," said England at the opening of thepeace negotiations. "The United States shall remove her armed vesselsfrom the lakes and give England the right of navigating theMississippi."
Clay, Gallatin, Adams packed up their grips preparatory to startinghome, when England bethought herself and came to better terms.
The next year America passed a law excluding foreigners from ourtrade, and the British fur traders reluctantly crossed the border. Butthey held Oregon by "Joint Occupation."
"All posts captured by either power shall be restored," said thetreaty. "There shall be joint occupancy of the Oregon Country for tenyears."
"A great mistake! a great mistake!" cried out Thomas Hart Benton, ayoung lawyer who had settled in St. Louis. "In ten years that littlenest egg of 'Joint Occupation' will hatch out a lively fightingchicken."
Benton was a Western man to the core,--he felt a responsibility forall that sunset country. And why should he not? Missouri and Oregontouched borders on the summit of the Rockies. Were they not next-doorneighbours, hobnobbing over the fence as it were? Every day atGovernor Clark's at St. Louis, he and Benton discussed that Oregon"Joint Occupancy" clause.
"As if two nations ever peacefully occupied the same territory! I tellyou it is a physical impossibility," exclaimed Benton, jamming downhis wine-glass with a crash.
The War of 1812,--how Astor hated it! "But for that war," he used tosay, "I should have been the richest man that ever lived." As it was,the British fur companies came in and gained a foothold from whichthey were not ousted until American ox-teams crossed the plains andAmerican frontiersmen took the country. A million a year Englandtrapped from Oregon waters.