remark, if I mistake not, was, that he was an acquaintance of
Colonel Elliott's, and that he (Elliott) had promised to send his
own sleigh for him. The Indian replied, "Elliott has deceived
you--he does not intend to fulfill his promise." Well, said Capt.
Hart, "if you will agree to take me, I will give you a horse, or
a hundred dollars. You shall have it on our arrival at Malden."
The Indian said, "_I cannot take you_." "Why?" asked Captain
Hart. "You are too badly wounded," said the Indian. Captain Hart
then asked the Indian, what they intended to do with them?
"Boys," said the Indian, raising himself up into an attitude and
air of consequence and insult, "_your are all to be killed_."
Though involved in the same calamity myself, I could but notice
the calmness and composure with which the brave officer received
the sentence of death. The only reply which I heard him make was
in the language of prayer to Almighty God to sustain him in this
hour of trial. Feeling that the awful sentence included myself as
well as all the rest, my heart seemed to sink within me,
expecting every moment to receive the fatal blow. Just at this
moment an Indian dragged Captain Hickman out of the house by one
arm, and threw him down near where I stood, with his face on the
snow. He was tomahawked, but not yet dead. He lay strangling in
his blood. From this scene I turned away, and walking round the
end of the house, towards the back yard, met an Indian at the
corner of the house, who took hold of me and searched my pockets
for money, but finding none, passed on. I then passed on round
the house, leaving the main building on my right, and walking
slowly that I might not appear to have any design, and that I
might not attract the attention of the enemy. I thought,
possibly, I might reach a small log building which I discovered
not far from the house. As there was but one small entrance into
it, and as it appeared dark within, it seemed to present the only
possible refuge; and as there was no time to lose, and as life
and death were depending, I determined to make the attempt to
gain this place of retreat. But as I was within a few paces of my
hiding place, an Indian coming from the opposite direction met
me, and taking hold of me, asked me where I was wounded: I placed
my hand upon my shoulder. He then felt of it, and finding that
the wound was not bad, he took me back to the house where he had
deposited his plunder; put a blanket around me, gave me a hat,
then took me to the back door of the house in which the wounded
lay, and gave me his gun and plunder in charge. In a moment every
thing seemed to wear a different aspect. I now experienced one of
those sudden transitions of mind impossible to be either
conceived or expressed, except by those whose unhappy lot it has
been, to be placed in like circumstances. Until now, despair had
spread its gloomy mantle over me; but hope, that cheering
companion, again visited my sinking heart, and I again saw a
faint prospect that my life _might_ be spared. Thus situated, I
had time to see what was passing around me. I had command of the
way leading to Malden; and I saw but one road. I remained in this
position about two hours, during which time I saw several pass--I
suppose all who were able. Here I saw a striking example of the
estimate a man places on life. I saw some of our own company--old
acquaintances who were so badly wounded that they could scarcely
be moved in their beds, understanding that those who could not
travel on foot to Malden were all to be tomahawked, pass on their
way to Malden, hobbling along on sticks. Poor fellows, they were
soon overtaken by their merciless enemies and inhumanly
butchered. A few moments after, being placed here by the Indian
who claimed me, another Indian set fire to the house. The fire
was built in the passage near the backdoor where I stood. After
the fire had taken considerable hold of the house, an Indian came
running down stairs with a keg of powder in his hand, with the
head out. Just as he got to the foot of the stairs his foot
slipped, and he come very near falling into the fire with the
powder. Had the powder caught, both he and I would have perished.
The general opinion, I believe is, in reference to Captain Hart,
that an Indian engaged to take him to Malden; and that another
Indian, unwilling that he should go, shot him on the road. This
may be true, but has always appeared to me improbable. From the
position I occupied, having command of the way to Malden, I
believe I saw all who passed in that direction, but saw nothing
of Captain Hart. Upon the whole, I am induced to think that
Captain Hart met his fate in the front yard where I left him.
I remained here until the roof of the house set on fire had
fallen in. I heard no cry within, from which I infered that the
wounded were killed before the house was burnt.
My Indian finally returned, bringing with him one of the United
States' pack horses; and placing his bundle of plunder on him,
gave me the bridle, making signs to march on towards Malden. I
soon found the bodies of those poor hapless boys who had made the
attempt, but were too badly wounded to travel, massacred,
scalped, and stripped. When we reached the woods, we halted a
short time by the fire. We then went on to Stony creek, where the
British had encamped the night before the battle. Their wounded
were still there, waiting to be conveyed to Malden.
Here the Indians made a large fire of rails, and gave the
prisoners some bread. Our number was eight or ten. As we were
eating, one of the Indians deliberately walked up to his
prisoner, a fine looking young man, a son of Dr. Blythe of
Lexington, and struck the tomahawk into his head. I was looking
the young man in the face when he received the deadly blow; he
closed his eyes, and sunk under the first stroke of the deadly
weapon. After he had fallen, and received two or three strokes
from the hand of the Indian, an old Frenchman took the weapon out
of the hand of the savage and gave the dying man another stroke
upon the head, which stilled him in death.*
*[Having marked the place where this old Frenchman lived, in
order that I might the more readily find him, should I ever be
permitted to visit the country again: and having taken particular
notice of the house, I found no difficulty in ascertaining its
location, and even the very habitation in which the old tory
resided.
After the lapse of about eighteen months, from the time I was
there a prisoner with the Indians, I was there again under
_General McArthur_, who commanded a regiment of mounted
volunteers--one battalion of which was from Kentucky, under the
command of Major _Peter Dudley_.
Passing by this old man's house, in company with Benjamin
Whitaker, our Lieutenant, we met this man in the street near his
own house; I immediately recognized him as the individual who had
so inhumanly assisted in the massacre of young Mr. Blythe, at
Stony creek.
I mentioned the circumstance to Whitaker, and asked his advice in
reference to the course best to be pursued; who instantly
replied, "_let us take him_." I was glad of the opportunity, and
forthwith approached him, and the first salutation, as near as I
can recollect, was, "_Well sir, do you know any thing of me?_"
His reply was, "No sir, I know nothing about you." "Well sir,"
said I, "I know you very well." He seemed at first to be somewhat
surprised at my confident address, and looking on me very
earnestly seemed to express some doubts on the subject. I,
however, soon removed the old man's doubts, by remarking to him,
"You are the man who was guilty of the cruel and inhuman act of
assisting the savages in killing one of the prisoners at Stony
creek, taken at Raisin, January 23, 1813. You are the very man,
sir, and I saw you do it." These words come upon him, no doubt,
very unexpectedly; and being seconded by the voice of conscience
within, made him tremble. He discovered evident marks of fear,
his countenance grew pale in an instant; and finding that his
very fear had betrayed him, he did not deny it; but offered as an
excuse that the Indians required it of him, and that he was
afraid to refuse. This excuse, however, did not satisfy us. We
considered, that as a citizen of Detroit, he had no business with
the British army in time of battle. We, therefore, took him,
without any further ceremony about it, and delivered him over to
the proper authorities. He was confined in jail for eight or ten
days, and then brought out for trial. I, of course, was the only
evidence that appeared against him. He plead the same excuse he
did when we first arrested him.
After nearly a whole day's managing in the matter, between the
lawyers and the jury, and after alarming the old fellow nearly to
death, they acquitted him.
I soon found that this circumstance had enraged the French
population against me--particularly the old Catholic French. I,
therefore, found it necessary, when going alone up town, to take
my gun with me well loaded: this I considered a sufficient
protection against any attack from that quarter.]
This greatly alarmed us. There appeared to be nothing in his
case, that we could see, that made it necessary for him to die
and not the rest of us. We now expected every moment to share the
same barbarity. One of our company, a young man by the name of
Jones, was so terified that he began to weep, and moved to the
opposite side of the fire, thinking that those nearest the danger
would be the first victims. We urged him to be still, and not to
discover such marks of fear, or that he would certainly be
killed. The Indian who had taken me, and claimed me as his, was
at this time a few steps from us, adjusting his pack; I stepped
up to him, and asked him if they were going to kill us all. He
answered "_yes_." I went back to the fire and tried to eat, as
well as I could, without an appetite. It was now about two
o'clock, P. M., and having eaten but little for three days past,
and that day had taken nothing until we arrived at Stony creek;
but this awful cold-blooded butchery took away all desire for
food. I soon saw that he did not understand my question, and I
was then somewhat relieved. It has been said, and perhaps with
due regard to truth, that many of the Indians engaged in this
dreadful havoc, were under the influence of rum. They were
supplied with it by the British, and when under its influence
were more savage than savages.
We now took up our march towards Malden, leaving some of the
Indians and their prisoners behind. Some of them I saw no more.
They may have shared the same fate at the fire as the young man
above. He was as able to travel as any of us, being only slightly
wounded. He had no shoes--this may have been the reason why they
did not take him on. We had gone but a short distance until we
came to a number of Indians who were dancing the war dance
around the fire. Here some of them had encamped on the night
before the battle. As soon as we arrived, I saw that the Indians
were drunk. Here my fears were again alarmed--being in the midst
of a savage camp--dancing the war dance--the blood of scores
fresh upon them--and under the influence of strong drink! Whilst
my Indian kept sober I had some hopes of protection. It was not
loner however until I saw him go into the dance and begin to
drink. Now I almost yielded myself up to despair. As I stood
holding his horse with a sad countenance, he came to me and gave
me a roasted potato. He also made some expression of friendship,
which once more tended to revive my drooping hopes.
The Indians having finished their dance, we proceeded towards
Malden, and at night we encamped in the woods upon the snow. We
took supper upon a piece cut from the side of a hog, boiled with
the hair on, without bread and without salt. It rained during the
night, and our situation was anything but agreeable; yet I felt
thankful that it was no worse.
Many strange reflections rolled across my mind during the
evening. The scenes of the day--such as I had never before
witnessed--would occasionally force themselves upon my mind, the
tendency of which was to spread a gloom upon every thing around
me, and to heighten my fears. We were in a dense forest, removed
from the sight of any habitation of man, the snow about eighteen
inches deep, the rain making it still more insupportable.
I kept my eyes upon the Indians, particularly the one to whom I
belonged, watching every motion, every step, and expression of
his countenance. As the shades of night began to close upon our
gloomy retreat, it seemed to shed a double horror upon the scene.
The sad and heart-chilling thought would, in spite of all the
efforts I could make to frown it back, intrude itself upon me,
that I had been saved from the massacre only to meet a more
horrid fate--that the fire they had kindled was perhaps to serve
the double purpose of cooking their supper and roasting me to
death. Whenever any of the company would take his tomahawk in his
hand, the thought would instantly spring up, now I am gone.
This, take it altogether, was among the most trying scenes
through which I passed during my imprisonment; not that I was
actually in more danger, but taking all the circumstances
together--the place, the time, and being separated from my
friends in suffering, and being thrown alone, and for the first
time to be secluded from all but a few savages whose hands were
yet stained with the blood of my countrymen, and not knowing the
moment my own might be shed--produced emotions extremely
distressing and trying.
After we had eaten, the Indians began to make preparations for
lodging, by scraping away the snow and placing bark down upon
which to spread their blankets; they suspended a blanket, by
means of a few poles, so as to keep the rain out of our faces.
After engaging themselves in conversation for some sime, which
they seemed to enjoy exceedingly, and which was occasionally
accompanied with loud exultations, the proposition was made to
retire for the night. My feelings now became indescribable.
Strange as it may appear, I was apprehensive that after I fell
asleep they would take that opportunity to despatch me; a death
of this kind appeared to me the most dreadful of all others. With
these feelings, by their direction I lay down, and knowing that
they were careful to save all articles of clothing, I tied up my
head in my pocket handkerchief, hoping that this might be some
protection, believing that they would not tomahawk me without
removing it, which I supposed they could not do without awaking
me. Thus I lay me down by the side, and under the same blanket,
with the Indian who claimed me, with fearful apprehensions that I
should never again see the light of the sun. But notwithstanding
the cold, the snow and rain, and my perilous condition, such had
been the excitement of the day that I was completely overcome,
and very soon fell into a sound sleep, and slept sweetly until
morning. The light of the morning was hailed with expressions of
gratitude to a kind and merciful Providence which had shielded me
through such a night. With the return of the day I had a return
of hope that I should yet be spared.
Early next morning we started on through the snow, mud and water.
We had but little to eat, and no opportunity to warm; my clothing
was scant, and not sufficient to protect me against the weather.
We fell in with several small companies of Indians, some on foot
and others on horseback, none offering any violence or showing
any hostility, but all appearing anxious to look at me and make
inquiries. Occasionally we heard a gun on the right or left; but
when we got into the vicinity of Malden the firing was almost
incessant--it seemed that the whole face of the country was
covered with Indians, rejoicing over a vanquished enemy. I again
began to feel that my condition was exceedingly perilous, and
that I was only spared from the tomahawk at Raisin, to be led to
the slaughter at Malden. Though I did not at this time fear so
much from the Indian that claimed me as his, yet I had much to
fear from the enraged and drunken savages which were to be seen
in every direction.
A short time before night, as we were passing an old house, a
squaw came out crying, and commenced beating me with all her
strength. She smote me on my wounded shoulder, and raised my
temper. For a short time I cared but little whether I lived or
died, I thought if this was to be my treatment whenever I met a
squaw, that I might as well give up at once and die. This was,
however, my first and last whipping from a female Indian. That
night we lodged at the house of a Frenchman, whose family was
very kind. We went forward again next morning, and that day we
reached the home of this Indian.
But on our way, having to pass the vicinity of Detroit, the
Indians called at the house of the old Frenchman who had stained
his hands in the blood of young Mr. Blythe, at Stony creek--(I
have since learned that this was the name of the young man.) They
held a long conversation which I could not understand, because
they conversed in Indian. The Frenchman seemed to enter heartily
into the spirit of rejoicing. They smoked together, and passed
other Indian compliments, all of which I noticed particularly;
and not only that, but marked the place, and promised myself that
if opportunity should offer, to pay him for it.
From this point we left the main road, leaving Detroit to our
right; we soon passed through a large Indian camp; just as we
were entering, a company came in who had been at the battle at
Raisin, bringing in their wounded in sleighs; the one which I saw
appeared to be very badly wounded, and contrary to all Indian
custom, or dignity of Indian character, was heard to groan. But
notwithstanding his extreme pain, he cast a most savage look at
me as the sleigh passed.
In passing this camp many Indians came to the door of their tents
to look, particularly the young squaws. Under all the
circumstances, passing through just as they were, returning from
the bloody scene of Raisin, and also bringing in some badly,
perhaps mortally, wounded, I had fearful apprehensions--I knew
not what moment an enraged savage would take my life.
After leaving this camp--at which we made no stay--I felt greatly
relieved, believing there was some hope that we might pass safely
on to our place of destination. As well as I recollect, we passed
but very few Indians after this; but about sunset, when within a
short distance of our Indian home, in passing over a pond on the
ice, which at that time was covered with snow, the horse slipped
and fell, but after some difficulty we succeeded in getting him
on his feet again, and soon reached the vicinity of camp, which
was announced to me by the Indian commencing the war-whoop at the
top of his voice, which was responded to by a number of voices as
loud and terrible as his own. All seemed to understand it--it was
the sound of victory. As soon as we approached near enough to be
recognized, every Indian, male and female, were out--all eyes
directed towards us--and every man and boy shouted to the extent
of their ability.
My feelings by this time--having recently witnessed so many
scenes of blood, and having passed through so many hair-breadth
escapes myself--had become almost deadened; but upon the approach
of this camp, amid the shouts of savages, and not knowing for
what purpose I should be brought there, unless to be a victim of
sport for them, I _felt_, and this is all that I can say--for to
express _what_ I felt, I find to be impossible.
Here we found the home of his wife, and her father and mother,
who all seemed glad to see us. The old squaw took me by the hand
and led me into the hut, and gave me something to eat, which was
in place. I now began to feel that I had friends in this family,
and considered myself pretty safe. We spent about two weeks at
this place, a few miles west of Detroit. A day or two before we
left this encampment the Indians determined on having a spree.
They went to Detroit and traded for a keg of rum. They had not
been at home long until most of the men were drunk. I now again
felt myself in danger, for one of them attempted to take my life;
I escaped because he was drunk and could not get to me. That
night the squaws hid me out in the woods behind a log in the
snow. They made me a bed of hay, and covered me with their
blankets. When I awaked in the morning the frolic was all over.
The Indians were lying about round the fires like hounds after a
hard chase; the whiskey was dying in them, and they were sleepy
and sick. The Indians now made ready to go out to their hunting
ground; and after a few days' preparation we started. As well as
I am able to judge, we travelled a west course. We were upon the
road about two weeks; our sufferings were great from the intense
cold, and from hunger; we had nothing to eat but what the hunters
could kill by the way. I rendered what assistance I could in
catching raccoons and porcupines, for these were our principal
living whilst on the road. I suppose we travelled one hundred and
fifty miles before we reached our destination. We now began to
fare a little better, though we sometimes still suffered with
hunger--it was either a _feast_ or a _famine_ with us. The
Indians would eat up all the provisions with as much despatch as
possible, and let every day provide for itself. Thus we spent our
time for several weeks.
Here I will give an account of a very aged man who I saw on our
way out to this place. There were many families on the way at the
same time--not only their wives and children, but their young
men. This caused me to think that they did not expect any more
war during the winter season. It seemed that when their actual
services were not necessary, they were then left to shift for
themselves. This was in perfect character with all the doings of
the British during this war. We had been travelling near a week,
and our hunters were so fortunate as now to kill a deer. We
encamped at the foot of a hill, so as to be screened by it from
the keen northern blasts, and have the benefit of the sun. During
our stay at this camp, the old Chief killed another deer, which,
with raccoons and porcupines, afforded us plenty of food. The
Indians made an offering of the oil, and part of the flesh of the
deer, to the _Great Spirit_, by burning it. This I took to be
their thank offering for their success in finding a supply of
provisions. Before they left the encampment they burned some
tobacco; the design of this I did not so well understand. Soon
after we began to march, I saw the marks of a cane in the snow,
and as the Indians do not use them, I supposed we were overtaking
some prisoners. The second day after I saw the cane tracks, we
came up with a company of Indians, and here I saw the old Indian
who had the cane. The moment I saw him my attention was arrested
by his very grave and ancient appearance. His head was whitened
over with, I have no doubt, the frosts of more than one hundred
winters, and still he travelled, and kept pace with the horses
and young men, from morning till evening. This was the most aged
Indian which I saw during my sojourn with them. Their old men are
much more vigorous and free from infirmity than ours. They walk
erect, and command great respect from all the younger--their
counsel is heard with profound attention and respect.
During the month of March the Indians sent to their town for
corn. We fared better now, but the corn did not last long; so we
were soon thrown back upon what game we could kill in the
forests.
From what I could learn, the Indians had adopted me into their
family, in the room of a young man who had fallen in battle. Soon
after we reached this, the place of our winter quarters, the
father-in-law of my Indian dressed me up in Indian costume, made
me a bow and arrows, and started me out with his boys to learn to
shoot. I was then in the twenty first year of my age. This was
our exercise during the cold weather, and afforded me much
amusement, as I had none with whom I could converse. We had many
a hunt through the woods with our bows and arrows, but I could
not learn to use them to much purpose. Sometimes I was permitted
to have a gun, and go on a hunting expedition, but was always
unsuccessful--I could kill no game. I once saw the Indians
proceed to kill a bear which had holed himself up for the winter.
The scratches upon the bark was the sign. They then surrounded
the tree, and all being ready, they gave a loud yell; the bear
appeared, we all fired instantly, and among hands the bear came
tumbling down. Soon after this, our old Chief killed a very large
bear--one of uncommon size even in that country, where they were
large and plenty. He brought home a part of it, and on the next
day sent out three of his sons, an old man who lived in the
family, and myself, to bring in the remainder. The snow was deep,
and we had to travel three or four miles to the place. We took
our loads and started to camp. The old Indian mentioned above had
on snow shoes in order to walk without sinking; the toe of one of
his shoes caught in a small snag which threw him face foremost
into the snow, and being heavily laden with bear meat, the strap
to which it was suspended came over his arms, and made it very
difficult for him to rise. Without thinking where I was, and the
danger I was in, I laughed at the old man struggling under the
heavy pressure of his bear meat. Fortunately he did not perceive
me; one of the young men shook his head at me, giving me to
understand that I was risking my life. I discovered that he was
also amused, but was afraid to manifest it. Our hut was now well
supplied with meat, the finest that the country could furnish. I
flattered myself that we should not want soon again; but to my
utter astonishment, our old squaw, my Indian's mother-in-law, sat
up the whole night and cooked every ounce of it! And worse yet--
to my great discouragement, the neighbors were called in next
morning, bringing wooden dishes along with them, and after many
ceremonies, the whole was divided between the company, who eat
what they could and packed off the balance.