Chapter III

INDIANA STORIES

THE MURDER OF
WILLIAM CHARLES

I have heard an old grandmother tell about the Indians visiting her home. She described the Indians and the ponies on which some of them rode. She told how the Indian women tied their little babies on boards and instead of carrying them in their arms, as white mothers do, the Indian mothers strapped her child on her back, much as a soldier carries his knapsack. When the Indians called at the white man's house they were treated with the kindest hospitality.

The settlers preferred their good-will. The least breach of hospitality was sure to bring trouble. The Indians never forgets a kindness. Neither did they allow the white man to escape vengeance when he offended them. The visit above referred to was the last visit at that home. Alredy they were preparing to go to the far west or join Tecumseh in his war of extermination on the whites.

The revengeful spirit of the Redskins is illustrated by the following true story: It occurred about the opening of the war of 1812. It would appear that the Indians were offended at one William Charles, a married man having a wife and one child. The Indians just before leaving the country determined on this man's death. To accomplish the deed they laid around in the dense forest and from their hiding places in the hills they saw Charles ploughing corn near the French Lick fort. On the night following the Indians hid themselves behind a stump of a large tree that had been chopped down for timber in building the fort. Here they awaited the return of Charles on the following day. Charles came in the morning, and all day long followed the plow across the field uninterrupted. Late that evening, just as the sun was setting, the treacherous Indians fired the fatal shot and Charles fell dead in the furrow.

The Indians made a rush for his scalp, but the sound of the gun alarmed the soldiers of the fort, and they made a dash for the corn field. The Indians fled, never more to return. Their revenge was accomplished and they hastened to join the members of their tribe in the Land of the Setting Sun. The shock was too great for the young widow. The mutilated form of her husband was brought to the fort. The sight of the object of all her dearest affection, cold in death, with the marks of the efforts of his murderers to carry away the shining locks that adorned the head of him she loved better than life. The cuts about the head plainly indicated that after the victim fell to the ground they were only prevented from accomplishing their cruel design by the presence of the soldiers, who followed them until they were lost in the dense woods. That was a sad night to all the company at the fort, with doubly sad to the widow. From that time until her death she wore the hat that the Indians cut with their tomahawks in their effort to take his scalp. She died in a few months of a broken heart. The child grew to manhood swearing vengeance on the whole Indian race.

His fathers cruel murderers were beyond his reach, safe in the almost impenetrable wilds of the far west. The man's desire for revenge was never gratified. The mangled remains were sorrowfully buried near the fort and tradition assert that it was on the very spot where the grand hotel now stands, and that his ashes repose beneath the vast structure.