TIP #549 THE HANDKERCHIEF ATTACK, THE FAITHFUL HORSE, THE BLACK WHITE MAN AND THE RANGER'S SPRINT Continuing with Lewis Collin's narratives of Indian uprisings and attacks in the Fleming County area. In what is now Nicholas County, along Cassiday's Creek, Cassidy, referred to in the last post on the county, was hunting. He found himself suddenly very close to a powerful Indian and there was not much timber to hide him. Cassidy and the Indian stood looking at each other, and at the same time, both raised their guns. But Cassidy suddenly realized that his pocket handkerchief was tied around the lock of his gun; he couldn't cock his gun. If he tried to untie it, the Indian would immediately notice. So, they just stood there, pointing their respective guns at each other. He was rather amazed that the Indian hadn't fired and it suddenly it dawned on Cassity that there was something wrong with the Indian's weapon also! All of a sudden the Indian took off and ran to a tree. Cassidy ripped the handkerchief off his gun and took off after the Indian at full speed. He finally got the Indian in full view, took aim and shot him in the shoulder. He then drew his knife and approached the wounded Indian. As he approached, the Indian, who was lying on the ground, extended his hand out and cried "Brother!" Cassidy uttered some curse words, not claiming any relationship with this Indian and easily overcame him. In his lifetime, Cassidy was in over 30 Indian fights and had many "hair breadth" escaped; he was known to have live a charmed life! Fleming County was of course named for Colonel John Fleming. Born in Virginia and in coming to Kentucky with Major George Stockton, he descended the Ohio River in 1787 by canoe and settled for a time at Stroud's station. From there he moved to Fleming county and settled Fleming's Station in 1790 and died there in 1794. During his stay there, about 20 Indians with their stolen horses, made prisoners of two children near Strode's Station in Clark Co in 1791. They were pursued by about 15 whites, overtaken at a creek (now known as Battle run in Fleming County). The white settlers were forced to give way, outnumbered and outfought by the Indians. Colonel John Fleming was at this battle and dangerously wounded. Being in retreat he directed one of his men flying past him to point his gun at the Indian and force him into a tree until he could re-load his weapon. His friend yelled back that his gun wasn't loaded either. Fleming shouted back "The Indians don't know that!" so the man did as directed. During this time, Fleming reloaded his gun but his assistant fled. The Indian thought that Fleming was too dangerously wounded to be dangerous to him, came bravely towards Fleming with his tomahawk raised. Fleming, who was on the ground prone behind a log, propped his gun on the log and waited until the Indian was quite close. He fired; the Indian fell almost over the same log. Fleming's mare, who had been running loose, came galloping by and recognized her master. She went to him, let him climb upon her back and carried him bravely off the field. When he reached the large pond near Sharpsburg he was weak from the loss of blood, burning up with fever and desperately in want of water. A fellow fugitive there kept watch over him during the name and by morning, Fleming felt strong enough to continue. Ben was a slave who belonged to Major George Stockton. He was totally devoted to Major Stockton and his hatred of Indians was well known. He could handle a rifle well; was a great hunter and was loved by all for his antics and humor. Once, when a party of Indians had stolen some horses from some of the upper stations, were pursued by a party of whites. They stopped at Stockton's station for reinforcements and one of the first volunteers was Ben. The white party found the Indians at Kirk's springs in Lewis County. They dismounted, tied up their horses and headed off to the attack. They could only see eight to ten Indians who these retreated hastily over a mountain. The white party followed, but while descending the mountain, the Indians turned into a greater number than had been expected. The first Indians were the "decoy's", luring the white man out into the open where many more Indians lie in wait. The whites were ordered to hastily retreat but Ben must not have heard. Again Ben was warned of the danger and told to retreat. Ben just scowled at the man and sprung forward and charged down the mountain. The fellow who had warned him feared to leave Ben alone to meet the enemy, so he started in after Ben. When he reached Ben's side he was just in time to see Ben level his rifle at a huge Indian down the mountain. Ben's rifle cracked, the Indian bounded high in the air and fell to the earth. At the retort of the rifle, the Indians came from everywhere, skipping from tree to tree "as thick as grasshoppers." Ben started chuckling with self-satisfaction bawled out, "take dat to 'member Ben - de black white man;" and set off after the fleeing Indians. Sadly, Collins did not continue the story so we will never know what happened to Ben! Another citizen of Fleming County was William Kennan; a young man about 18 years old when he was attached to the corps of rangers who accompanied the regular force. He was known for his strength and activity. On a march to Washington, they had been informed of the enemy's approach. At daybreak of the following day, some thirty Indians were spotted about 100 yards of the guard fire, advancing to where he stood with about twenty rangers (much to his rear). He assumed it was a scouting party and that they wouldn't be superior in numbers to the rangers so he sprung forward a few steps in order to take shelter in a stand of tall grass. He fired quickly at the closest Indian who instantly fell flat on his face. He figured the rangers behind him would immediately come to his aid. The Indians began rushing forward and the rangers took off leaving him totally alone and unaware that his fellow companions had fled. Fortunately however, the captain of the rangers had seen Kennan throw himself into the tall grass and shouted "Run Kennan! Or you are a dead man!" Kennan sprang to his feet and with the Indians within 10 feet of him and his company at least 100 yards ahead of him. He ran as quickly as he could, pursued by a dozen or so strong Indians at his heels. He headed to a fording place in the nearby creek which ran between the rangers and the main army but Indians ahead of him blocked the way. One young chief matched him step by step and Kennan put everything into his race to safety. He could see, likely out of the corner of his eye, the young chief and was trying to see if a tomahawk was raised. Kennan paused just a millisecond and as he did the Indian chief gained ground on him. While watching the chief behind him with tomahawk in air, he didn't notice the big tree right in front of him. Part of the tree had been blown away, the rest was 8-9 feet tall. Kennan, with a final burst of energy bounded into the tree, jumped through the leaves and dropped on the other side. He heard a gasp behind him and it was obvious that the chief had tried the same leap, but unable to complete the task. He dashed into the bed of the creek, ran up the stream, found a place to cross and finally rejoined the rangers. Having no time to celebrate his escape, the Indians began their attack in force. The battle continued for three hours with great fury. Kennan, still running, finally reached the front and saw a private, a close friend, laying on the ground. His friend's thigh had been broken and the horsemen in the troop ignored his pleas for help. He saw Kennan running towards him and yelled out for help. Kennan was still in mortal danger but could not leave his friend. He bent down and got his friend on his back and took off running again for several hundred yards. Horseman after horseman passed him, none stopped to help. Kennan was exhausted; the Indians were getting closer and he had visions of his own death unless he rid himself of his friend on his back. His friend did not want to let go of Kennan and struggled to remain on Kennan's back; the Indians were within twenty yards. In desperation, Kennan pulled out his knife and slashed at the fingers of his friend, forcing the friend to release his grip. The man rolled off and was tomahawked to death in a matter of moments. Kennan, heartbroken, dashed to his freedom. I'll return to this early settler tales again with their struggles against the Indians, the elements, and their attempt to conquer Kentucky. I wonder if we today, would have the strength, the bravery and the fortitude to endure what our forefathers and foremothers did. © Copyright 14 July 2005, Sandra K. Gorin Sandi's Puzzlers: http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.com/~gensoup/gorin/puz.html SCKY Links: http://www.public.asu.edu/~moore/Gorin.html GGP: http://ggpublishing.tripod.com/