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THE INDIAN CAPTIVE
A NARRATIVE
OF THE
Adventures and Sufferings
OF
MATTHEW BRAYTON
IN HIS
THIRTY-FOUR YEARS OF CAPTIVITY
AMONG THE
INDIANS OF NORTH-WESTERN AMERICA
FOSTORIA, OHIO.
THE GRAY PRINTING COMPANY,
1896.
COPYRIGHT APPLIED FOR
PREFACE
The following brief narrative of the unparalleled adventures of
MATTHEW BRAYTON is compiled for the satisfaction of those who wished
to preserve a memorial of his romantic history.
Extraordinary as the incidents may appear, there is abundant proof
of their entire truth. Living witnesses bear testimony to the
circumstances of the mysterious loss of the hero, and his identity
is established by incontrovertible proofs. Numerous circumstances
also confirm the account given by him of his adventures during the
thirty-four years spent among the Indians.
THE INDIAN CAPTIVE
CHAPTER I.
THE LOST CHILD.
That portion of North-western Ohio, situated to the South-east of
the Black Swamp, was but sparsely settled at the close of the first
quarter of the present century. The hardy pioneers who had left their
New England homes to open up the Western wilds, here and there built
their modest dwellings and tilled the few acres won from the dense
forest and luxuriant prairie. The dusky aborigines, driven from all
other parts of Ohio, clung tenaciously to this comparatively neglected
spot, and the smoke from the log hut of the settler rose within sight
of the Indian wigwam. The two races were at peace with each other, for
neither cared to convert a passive neighbor into an active enemy. The
Indians had realized their inability to drive back the constantly
advancing wave of civilization, and the white settlers had no desire
to provoke the savage retaliations of their dusky neighbors unless
compelled by necessity to do so.
In the neighborhood of the junction between the Sandusky and Tymochte
rivers, in Wyandot county, a remnant of the once powerful Wyandot
tribe still remained. One of their villages was at Upper Sandusky, and
another at Springville, in Seneca county. A small band of Senecas were
also located in the neighborhood, and some scattered Ottawas had their
wigwams on Blanchard's Fork, a few miles to the west of the Wyandot
settlements. An Indian trail led from Upper Sandusky to Springville,
and thence, through the Black Swamp, to Perrysburg. At the latter
place it crossed the Maumee, and reached the shore of the Detroit
river opposite Malden, in Canada. Some of the Indians living in the
North-west of Ohio had sided with the British in the war of 1812, and
these annually crossed over to Malden to receive their presents of
guns, ammunition and blankets. The Canadian Indians sometimes visited
their dusky brethren in Ohio, and thus the trail was frequently
traversed.
Among the settlers who had located themselves in the neighborhood of
the Wyandot villages was Elijah Brayton, a thrifty farmer from New
England, who had established himself near the Tymochte river in what
is now Crawford township, Wyandot county. In the year 1825, Mr.
Brayton was thirty-nine years of age, and his family consisted of his
wife and their six children, William, Harriet, Lucy, Matthew, Mary and
Peter. In that year Mr. Brayton was busy erecting a mill on the
Tymochte, and towards the fall of the year he went to Chillicothe for
the purpose of bringing up the mill-stones. The journey at that time
was long and tedious, and the home affairs were entrusted in his
absence to Mrs. Brayton and the eldest son William, then a lad of
sixteen.
On the 20th of September, 1825, William Brayton, with his younger
brother Matthew, then nearly seven and a half years old, started out
to hunt up some stray cattle. They proceeded for two or three miles in
the direction of the spot where William Brayton at present lives, but
found no traces of the missing cattle. Here they met a neighbor named
Hart, who was also looking for stray cattle. Matthew had become tired,
and declared his inability to proceed any farther. After a short
consultation it was agreed that William Brayton and Hart should
proceed in search of the cattle, and that Matthew should take the path
which led to the house of Mr. Baker, about sixty rods distant, where
he could amuse himself with his young playmates until the return of
William. The two set out on their cattle hunting expedition, leaving
little Matthew to pursue his way along the narrow and ill-defined
path.
At the close of the day's search, William Brayton called at Mr.
Baker's house for his little brother. To his astonishment he learned
that Matthew had not been seen by any of the family. He then turned
his steps homeward, thinking that Matthew had changed his mind and
gone home, but on arriving there no tidings of the missing boy met
him. The alarm and apprehension that filled the breast of the mother
may be conceived. A thousand fearful thoughts flitted through her mind
in rapid succession. But no time was lost in useless grieving. The men
and women who braved the dangers of frontier life were quick to think
and prompt to act. A little party turned out at once to search for the
missing boy and restore him, if possible, to the anxious household.
From the spot where the brothers had parted, the path to Mr. Baker's
house was narrowly searched, and the marks of the child's feet were
clearly discernible. At no great distance from the commencement of the
path it was intersected by a track made by some logs recently drawn
from the woods. At this point the traces showed that Matthew had
stopped in doubt. They also showed that he had finally taken the log
track in mistake for the regular path. Up that track his little
footsteps were traced for some distance, but, after awhile, they
became fainter, and at last disappeared altogether. The woods on the
margin of the track were searched in vain for traces of his feet.
The Indian trail, before spoken of, crossed the log track near where
the footsteps became invisible, and it was possible that he had taken
that trail; but his footmarks--if he had really followed that
path--had been obliterated by the feet of passing Indians.
The party sorrowfully returned from their unsuccessful search, and met
the anxious mother with heavy hearts. The night that followed was one
of sleepless agony to Mrs. Brayton. To what suffering, or dreadful
fate her little boy might be subjected, it was impossible to
conjecture, but the dark night and the lonely woods were fraught with
dangers to him and with terror to her. The absence of the father at
this critical juncture on so long and distant a journey, aggravated
the troubles and distress of the time.
Morning broke at last, and never was daylight more eagerly welcomed.
With the first dawn of light, messengers set out in all directions for
assistance, and soon the woods were astir with searching parties. The
Indian villages were examined, but the Wyandots professed entire
ignorance as to the movements of the missing boy, and joined with much
zeal in the search. The relations between the Braytons and the
Wyandots had been of the most friendly character, and there seemed to
be no possible reason for their interfering with the peace of that
family. They stated, however, that a party of Canadian Indians had
passed up the trail on the day that the boy disappeared, but could not
say whether he had been carried off by that party or not. Another
night came, and again the sorrowful mother met the dejected hunters at
her door and received no consolation. At daybreak the parties again
set out to search new tracts of country, but all without avail. Mr.
Bowe, still remembered in the neighborhood, acted as store keeper of
the party, and filled the bags of the searchers with meal as they
returned from their long expeditions. The settlers for many miles
around turned out in the exciting hunt. Days lengthened into weeks,
and then it became evident that all farther search was useless. Every
foot of territory for miles around had been examined and no trace of
the lost child could be discovered. He could scarcely have wandered
off and perished by starvation or wild beasts, for in either case some
trace would have been left. The only inference remaining was that he
had been snatched up by the party of Canadian Indians and carried off
into hopeless slavery, if not to meet a horrible death. Pursuit now
was useless, had the boy been thus carried off, and the search was
reluctantly abandoned.
Meantime Mr. Brayton had returned from his journey, and the sad
affliction that had befallen his house, fell with crushing weight on
his heart. For the sake of his wife and remaining children he bore up
nobly, but his distress was keen, and every straw of hope that floated
by was eagerly clutched at. From time to time came vague rumors of the
boy having been seen in different directions, and the faintest hope of
success sufficed to send off the bereaved father or some trusty
messenger to follow up the clue, but always without success. The last
information that assumed the appearance of probability was received in
1829, from a man who had been traveling among the Indian tribes of
Illinois, and who asserted that he had seen among the Indians of that
country a white child whose age and appearance corresponded generally
with that of the missing Matthew Brayton. Without an hour's delay Mr.
Brayton wrote to General Cass, then Indian Commissioner, but his
answer crushed out the last remnant of hope. The letter bade the
anxious father to renounce all hope based on such a rumor, for there
was no such white child among the Indians of Illinois. On what
authority the General based his assertion, cannot be said, but it is
more than probable that in this he was mistaken.
The weary years passed on but brought no comfort to the stricken
household. As all strong impressions fade in the course of time, so
faded away the memory of the loss from the minds of men. But deep in
the hearts of the parents remained the image of the lost boy, and the
thrilling scenes and emotions connected with the search of him
recurred again and again long after others had nearly forgotten the
incidents. The father never forgot him. His "lost Matthew" was ever in
his heart, and his name was often on his tongue. The oldest brother,
William, could not forget him, for the mother's reproaches, silent or
spoken, for his neglect in sending so young a boy alone on such a
path, sank deep into his heart. And could the mother that bore him
forget the missing lamb of the fold? The paling cheek, the wasting
form, the decaying strength told how deep the love, how bitter the
anguish of the mother for her lost son. If she were but sure of his
fate,--if but one rag of his clothes, but a particle of his body, had
remained to assure her that her darling had perished by wild beasts,
or been slain by still wilder men, it would at least have given rest
to her weary heart; but this torturing mystery was too great to be
borne. So the years dragged slowly onward, and each succeeding
anniversary of her boy's loss drove the sharp grief still deeper into
her heart, until sixteen years after the loss, she tired of this
world, and the peaceful turf closed over her sorrows. In her last
thoughts the memory of the lost boy had a place. She died of a broken
heart.
Matthew Brayton was born April 7th, 1818, and was therefore seven
years, five months and thirteen days old at the time of his loss.