house of their friends to spend the wedding-night.
We are afraid if some of the dainty belles of the present day had to accomplish as much in one day as had been done by this bride, before they could find themselves safely wedded to the object of their choice, they would shrink away dismayed, and settle down into old maids. To run away from home barefoot; to wade a creek; to ride into a fort behind her lover; to ride twenty-five miles; to buy and make a wedding-dress, and attire herself for the ceremony; to go to the minister and get married, all in twenty-four hours, showed an energy worthy of the times. Such kind of women were fit wives for the men who bore the perils of the Revolution, and whose strength of mind and heart, whose unconquerable love of liberty, secured to us our inheritance.
On their return to Schoharie, the parents of the bride were exceedingly wroth at the disobedience of their daughter, and at the presumption of the daring rifleman. For a time they refused to be reconciled; but, reflecting that no opposition could alter or recall the act, they at length concluded to overlook all and receive the couple to their love.
The brave rifleman made a true husband. Margaret, who lived with him happily for nearly thirty years, had no reason to regret the hour when she forded Schoharie creek in search of her tardy lover.
Despite of the eventful perils into which he was always flinging himself, Murphy lived to see years of peace, dying of cancer in the throat, in 1818, at the age of sixty-eight. He was an uneducated man; but, possessed of a strong will and an amiable disposition, he exerted an unbounded influence over the minds of a certain class of men, who, like himself, were schooled in trial. His power was that of originality, independence and courage—qualities which will make any man a leader of the people among whom he moves. Men of his stamp were a necessity of the times in which they lived; they seemed to spring up in the hour of need, having patience, perseverance, endurance and boldness to cope with the stealthy and murderous foes who hung upon the path of our civilization. They deserve to be embalmed in the annals of the country in whose guard they fought.
BRANT AND THE BOY.
One bright summer morning, a lad by the name of M'Kown was engaged in raking hay in a field some distance from any house, and—as was the custom with all who labored abroad in those days of danger and sudden surprise—was armed with a musket, which, however, he had stood against a tree; but in the progress of his work had advanced beyond its immediate proximity. While busily occupied, and intent upon his work, he heard a slight jingling behind him, and turning suddenly around, he beheld an Indian within three feet of him, who bore in his mien and costume the appearance of a chief; and although his position indicated peaceful intentions, the tomahawk in his right hand betokened his readiness for hostilities if occasion required it. Startled at this sudden and unexpected apparition, the youth, with a natural impulse, raised his rake to defend himself, thoughtless of the insufficiency of his weapon. His fears were dissipated by the Indian, who remarked:
Brant and young M'Kown—Page 35.
"Do not be afraid, young man; I shall not hurt you."
He then inquired of the lad if he could direct him to the residence of a noted loyalist by the name of Foster. Young M'Kown gave him the necessary directions to enable him to find that personage, and then, emboldened by the apparent peaceable intentions of the other, asked him if he knew Mr. Foster.
"I am partially acquainted with him," was the reply, "having once met him at the half-way creek."
The Indian then entered into a familiar conversation with his interrogator, in the course of which he asked him his name, and upon being informed, he added:
"You are a son, then, of Captain M'Kown, who lives in the north-east part of the town, I suppose. I know your father very well; he lives neighbor to Captain M'Kean. I know M'Kean very well, and a very fine fellow he is, too."
Thus the parties conversed together in a social manner for some time, until the boy—emboldened by the familiarity which had been established between them—ventured to ask the Indian his name in turn. This he did not seem disposed to give him, hesitating for a moment, but at length replied:
"My name is Brant."
"What! Captain Brant?" eagerly demanded the youth.
"No; I am a cousin of his," replied the Indian, at the same time accompanying his assertion with a smile and expression of countenance which intimated his attempt to deceive his interlocutor. It was indeed the terrible Thayendanega himself, who was associated, in the mind of the youth, with every possible trait of a fiendlike character; and it is not to be wondered at, that he trembled as he felt himself to be in the presence of one whose delight, it had been represented to him, was to revel in slaughter and bloodshed. He was somewhat reassured, however, by the thought, that, if his intentions had been hostile toward him, he could easily have executed them before; but he did not feel fully assured of his safety until the Indian had taken his departure, and he had reached his home with his life and scalp intact.
This little incident is but one of many, told to prove that Brant was not the bloodthirsty monster which, for many years after the Revolution, he had the reputation of being. He was a Freemason: and on several occasions, during the war, his fraternal feelings were called into play, in behalf of prisoners who belonged to that order. Among others we are told:
Jonathan Maynard, Esq.—afterward a member of the Massachusetts Senate—who was actively engaged in the Revolutionary war, was taken prisoner at one time by a party of Indians under the command of Brant. The younger warriors of the party seemed disposed to put him to death, in accordance with their determination to exterminate the whites, as agreed upon by the tories and Indians in that section of the country. Preparations had been made to carry out their intentions, when, having been partially stripped of his clothing, Brant observed the emblems of Masonry indelibly marked upon the prisoner's arms, and feeling bound to him by a tie which none but a brother can appreciate, he interposed his authority, saved his life, and sent him to Canada, to keep him out of harm's way; and he remained in durance for several months, until exchanged and allowed to return home.
There is another incident, where Brant met one of his old schoolmates; but where the circumstances of their early intimacy would not have interfered between the white officer and death, had he not saved himself by means of justifiable duplicity.
In the month of April, in 1780, it was the intention of Captain Brant, the Indian chieftain, to make a descent upon the upper fort of Schoharie, but which was prevented by an unlooked-for circumstance. Colonel Vrooman had sent out a party of scouts to pass over to the head-waters of the Charlotte river, where resided certain suspected persons, whose movements it was their duty to watch. It being the proper season for the manufacture of maple sugar, the men were directed to make a quantity of that article, of which the garrison were greatly in want. On the 2d of April this party, under the command of Captain Harper, commenced their labors, which they did cheerfully, and entirely unapprehensive of danger, as a fall of snow, some three feet deep, would prevent, they supposed, the moving of any considerable body of the enemy, while in fact they were not aware of any body of the armed foe short of Niagara. But on the 7th of April they were suddenly surrounded by a party of about forty Indians and tories, the first knowledge of whose presence was the death of three of their party. The leader was instantly discovered in the person of the Mohawk chief, who rushed up to Captain Harper, tomahawk in hand, and observed: "Harper, I am sorry to find you here!"
"Why
