occasion, I remember, we had for dinner a small piece of bear
meat, which, I suppose, had been sent in by some of the
neighbors. Our old mother cooked and placed it in a wooden bowl,
which was all the china we had. Our dog was looking on with
interest, being nearly starved; and when the old lady turned her
back, he sprang in upon the meat and started with it in his
mouth. The old squaw, with great presence of mind, seized him by
the throat to prevent him from swallowing it. She succeeded, and
replacing it in the bowl, we eat it, and were glad to get it. The
Indian women are doomed to a hard life. They do the drudgery. In
removing from one camp to another, they pack the goods and
children--the men carrying only their guns. I have seen the women
wade into the water to their waists in cold freezing weather.
Among the Indians, I saw several persons who had lost the tip of
their nose. This was strange, especially among the females. But
since, when I was in Detroit, I learned that this was a mode of
punishing adultery and fornication among some tribes. I am unable
to vouch for the correctness of this statement.
I will here give the reader the history of a corn dance which
took place sometime this winter. Our squaws had brought in some
corn from the towns. The neighbors were called together, neither
to eat, nor drink, but to dance. Considerable preparations were
made. Every thing was removed from near the large fire that was
burning in the centre. The company consisted of grown persons
only. One was chosen to make music, which he did by singing and
rattling a gourd with shot, or beans in it. They danced round the
fire in single file, the men in front. The women, whilst dancing,
keep their feet close together, and perform the exercise by
jumping. The men sling their arms most violently and awkardly,
and stamp their feet so as to make the earth sound. They kept up
this exercise until a late hour in the night. All seemed to
partake of the joy, which they considered to be of a sacred
character. It was a thanksgiving for a supply of corn, and the
near approach of spring. This dance was finished by a young
Indian, selected for the purpose, who performed the closing
exercise with great animation. They now all quietly returned to
their homes without taking any kind of refreshment.
I soon become satisfied that man in a state of nature labored
under many and serious disadvantages, particularly in the art of
preparing their food. Though modern refinement has no doubt
carried this matter too far, we may with safety venture to say
that man in an uncultivated state falls as far below what is fit
and proper for human health and comfort as refinement has gone
beyond.
The very best they can do is to make their corn into a kind of
small homony, which they do by the very hardest method, that of
pounding it in a mortar--and this labor is performed by the
women--after which it is boiled something like half an hour, when
it is eaten without salt or any thing else with it. But
frequently it is prepared without this process, by boiling the
corn just as it comes from the ear until a little softened. They
seem perfectly satisfied with this alone, once or twice a day
without any thing else, for they scarcely ever eat meat and corn
at the same time. But they eat most enormous quantities, without
any apparent rule as to time or quantity. I have known them to
eat several times heartily in the course of a few hours; and
perhaps the next day hunt all day without eating any thing at
all. I think it probable that it would hardly have taken all that
we saw and experienced to have satisfied even Volney himself,
that the civilized is greatly to be prefered to the savage life.
At this camp I also witnessed the mode of cleansing their bodies.
They bent hickory poles in the form of wagon bows, and covered
them over with blankets. They then took with them a bowl of water
and a large hot stone. Two went in together; they poured the
water upon the hot rock, and remained within fifteen or twenty
minutes, sometimes singing and rattling the old shot gourd. They
would then come forth covered with sweat, and sometimes plunge
themselves instantly into the river which was at hand.
Perhaps it would be proper here to notice the mode of worship of
the Indians. I speak only of the outer form: I know but little of
the object of their worship as I did not understand their
language. There appears to be some similarity between them and
the Jews. Their sacrifices and fasts are frequent. Their fasts
are promptly and faithfully attended to. Only one member,
however, of the family fasts at a time, which he does for several
days together, eating nothing until the afternoon. They treat
their females at the birth of their children in a way to remind
one of the Jewish custom. See Lev. 12 chap. At such times--let
the season be as it may--the woman is compelled to camp out in
the woods by herself, and there remain for a certain number of
days. And when she is allowed to return to the camp of the
family, she must cook in a separate vessel for so many days
longer.
Our old man was very fervent in his devotions, especially in his
prayers. I never saw anything like idolatry among them.
They are particularly careful to entertain strangers. They are
also very hospitable among themselves--they will divide the last
morsel with each other. Indians travelling, find homes wherever
they find wigwams. If there is only provision enough for one, the
stranger gets it, and gets it freely. When any are fortunate in
hunting, and it is known to them that others want provisions,
they send them a part of theirs without waiting for them to send
for it.
You have been presented with the manner in which we spent our
time during the cold weather, until sugar-making came on; and now
we found work enough. We removed to a beautiful grove of sugar
trees, and near the centre of it we pitched our camp, which is
the Indian mode. We soon made a quantity of sugar, and some of a
fine quality. We used molasses and sugar with our venison and
bear meat; and sometimes we made our meals upon sugar and bear's
oil, which was better living than the reader might suppose
without being acquainted with the dish.
The Indians are sometimes very filthy in their diet. They will
kill a deer and take out the entrails, rip them up, turn out the
contents, shake them a few times in the snow, throw them for a
few moments upon the fire, and devour them like hungry dogs. When
they kill a deer with young, the young are considered as a choice
dish. They roast them whole. They will eat every animal, and at
every part of it, from the bear to the polecat.
Shortly after the breaking of the ice, the old father, one son,
and myself, left camp for an otter hunt. We ascended the river,
placing traps where we discovered that otters had passed up and
down the banks. This we did during the first day, leaving them
until our return. We encamped during the first night on the bank
of the river. We had nothing to eat. We spent the whole of the
second day in hunting, without any success; it was a cold rainy
day, and we lay down the second night without a mouthful to eat.
On the morning of the third day the old man left the camp very
early, and about twelve o'clock returned, bringing with him two
pheasants; they were put into the pot immediately. I feared my
portion would be small, as the Indians, when hungry, eat most
enormously; but another pheasant was heard near the camp, which
the Indian succeeded in killing. It was soon in the pot, and
fearing lest the Indians should eat up theirs and then want mine,
I did not wait until it was properly cooked before I went to work
upon it. We soon devoured the three pheasants without either
bread or salt. After this fine dinner we returned to camp again.
We examined our traps but found no game.
The spring of the year now came--the ice and snow began fast to
disappear--and I now began to think more of home than I had done
during the cold season. When the sun began to shine warm, and the
birds to sing around me, I would often retire from the camp where
I could think of home, and weep, without being discovered. During
the time spent in these lonely retreats, which I sought often for
the purpose of reflection, _Shelbyville, Kentucky_, the place of
my home, would rise up before my mind with all its inhabitants
and endearments. I would think of friends and youthful associates--
of the green over which I had played when a boy a school--and of
the church to which I gave my hand as a seeker of religion a few
months before I left; and of my aged parents, who I knew needed my
assistance. These reflections crowding upon me at once, together
with the difficulty and danger of making an escape, would at times
almost overwhelm me with sorrow and despair. But the kindness and
sympathy manifested toward me by the Indians, and particularly by
the wife of the man who took me a prisoner, took off a part of the
burthen. This poor heathen woman, who knew nothing of civilization,
and the softening influences of the Gospel, nevertheless showed
that the tenderness and affection which the Gospel requires were
deeply imprinted upon her heart. I had another source of comfort: I
found among the Indians a piece of a newspaper printed at
_Lexington, Kentucky_, which I suppose had wrapped up the clothes
of some of Captain Hart's men, and thus fell into the hands of the
Indians at Raisin. This I read over and over, again and again. I
would frequently try to learn the Indians the letters and their
sounds; this to them was a very pleasing employment.
The Indians now began to prepare to return to Detroit. This was
very encouraging to me, for I now began again to indulge a hope
that one day I should yet be free, and reach my friends at home.
All hands turned out to making bark canoes. We made two for each
large family. In these canoes we ascended the river upon which we
had for some time been encamped, until we came to the very head
spring--I had no means of ascertaining the name of this river--we
then took up our canoes and carried them three or four miles, to
the head waters of a river that empties into lake Erie between
the rivers Raisin and Detroit. The ridge over which we carried
our canoes divides the waters of lake Michigan and lake Erie.
After entering this stream we advanced finely, finding fish in
great abundance. I now began to feel quite cheerful, and things
put on a different aspect. This was one of the most beautiful
little rivers I ever beheld--I could see the fish at the bottom
where the water was ten feet in depth--its beauty was much
heightened by passing through several small lakes, the waters of
which always enlarged--perhaps increased its waters one half.
These lakes were bordered round by various kinds of shrubbery
bending over the water. It was now, as near as I could guess,
about the first of May, and the scenes were indeed beautiful to
one who had been freezing and starving in a northern winter,
almost naked--and now turning, as he fondly hoped, his face
homeward. I became more and more anxious to escape, as the
prospect opened before me. I had several times formed in my mind
plans by which I thought I might escape, but being young and
unacquainted with the woods, and knowing that I must be a
distance from any of our forts, I was afraid to attempt it; but
now, as I believed I was not far from Fort Meigs, I determined to
make the attempt. For this purpose I gathered up my bow and
arrows, which had laid in the bottom of the canoe for some time,
and which I did not intend to use any more, but I wanted them as
an excuse to get out and take such a start, without being
suspected, as would enable me to make good my escape. We encamped
on this river several days; waiting, I suppose, for orders from
the British. During this time I prepared myself for the escape,
but unfortunately for my design, the camp was on the wrong side
of the river, and I could not take a canoe without being
discovered, the camp being immediately on the bank of the stream.
In a few days we continued our journey. About this time I saw the
first bread since I had been taken prisoner. Some of the Indians
had been to the settlement and obtained about half a gallon of
flour; they prepared it in their homely way, but I thought it the
best bread that I had ever tasted.
On our way down the river, as we came to the road leading from
river Raisin to Detroit, we fell in with some Indians who had
been at Dudley's defeat. There was a young man with them, a
prisoner; the Indians told me by signs to talk with him. When I
approached and spoke to him, he seemed astonished, for he had
taken me for an Indian; but when he discovered my being an
American he was greatly rejoiced. He asked many questions about
the Indians, and if I thought that they would sell him. I told
him I thought they would not, as I had been their prisoner since
the battle at Raisin, and they had not offered to dispose of me.
I farther told him I thought his hopes of getting away soon, if
ever, gloomy. He gave me a most horrible account of the defeat of
Colonel Dudley, and the slaughter and massacre of his men--and
expressed fears that General Harrison would be taken. This was
bitter news to me. While we were talking, the Indians stood
around and seemed to catch at every word, and watch every
expression of our faces--showing the greatest anxiety to know
what we said. They would laugh, and look at each other and speak
a word or two. It seemed to afford them pleasure to hear us
converse. But the time having arrived for us to proceed on our
journey, we parted--his company was going by land, and ours by
water, to Malden. If I heard the name of the young man I have
forgotten it. He was genteel and intelligent. He informed me that
he was a Surgeon. I never saw him again, and think it probable
that he was killed by the Indians--I am inclined to this opinion
because the Indians, we understood, brought in and offered for
sale, that spring, all which they did not intend to kill. I think
if he had been brought in I should have seen him. Some, it is
highly probable, were put to death in the room of those of their
friends who had fallen in battle.
We encamped at night, after we saw the young man named above, on
an island not far from Malden. The next day we arrived, and the
Indians took me down into the town, where I passed for an Indian.
It was very unpleasant to me to hear such swearing and profanity--
I soon left, and returned to the camp. In a few days we went up the
river to the neighborhood of Detroit, and pitched our tent near the
spring wells on the bank of Detroit river. Soon after our arrival
arrangements were made with the British Commissary to draw rations
of bread, and sometimes fish. They had the number of the family put
down in writing, which the Indians were to present before they
could draw the supply. The old Indian, having by some means
ascertained that I could write, fell upon a stratagem to increase
the quantity of bread. He furnished me with a slip of paper, and
proposed that we should alter the number of our family, and make it
larger; I did so, and made it about double. I went up with the note
myself the first time, to see how it would take. The Indians gave
me a horse and bag, and sent a young man of another family with me
as a guard, the distance being several miles. The young man
obtained his bread sooner than I did, and left me alone. I, after
so long a time, got my bread and started; as I passed through the
streets of Detroit, a lady spoke to me from an upper window, and
said: "Are you not a prisoner, sir?" "I am, madam." "Why do you not
leave the horse in the street and go to the fort then?" I told her
I was afraid; but did not say I lacked confidence in the British. I
feared they would not protect me, but deliver me up if the Indians
should demand me.
I went on toward home, and when I got in sight I discovered that
they had become uneasy, for the most of them were looking out
towards Detroit. When they saw me they raised a great yell, and
received me and my bag of bread with great joy.
Some time shortly after this the old man dressed himself up in
the finest kind of Indian style, for he was a Chief. He greased
his face, and then pounded and rubbed charcoal on it until he was
as black as a negro. He then painted my face red, and we started
together to town, he walking in front. As we passed along the
streets the people were very free in making their remarks upon
us. "There goes a mulato," said one, &c., &c. I seemed to pay but
little attention to what was said, but followed my old Indian
about from place to place.
In a few days they sent me over to _Sandwich_, to exchange skins
for boiled cider. I succeeded; and they drank it hot, that it
might produce the greater effect; their only design seeming to be
to produce intoxication. They are liberal with every thing they
possess but rum. I once saw an Indian give another a dram, and
being afraid that he would take too much, he first measured it in
his own mouth, and then put it into a tin cup for his friend to
drink.
Whilst we were here I saw Indians take medicine. I did not
ascertain what kind of medicine it was, only it was something
which they gathered from the woods. They boiled it down until it
became thick and black. They dug a hole in the ground--furnished
themselves with a kettle of warm water and a piece of inner
bark--after they took two or three portions of this stuff, they
laid down flat upon the ground, with their mouths over this hole,
and commenced vomiting. They would then drink large draughts of
warm water, thrust the piece of bark down their throats and vomit
again. This course they would sometimes pursue for hours
together, until one would think that they were almost dead; but
they would leave off this vomiting business and go about as
though nothing had disturbed them. I heard nothing of any
sickness before this medicinal course was commenced, from which I
inferred that they took medicine in the spring season whether
sick or well.
Not far from our encampment was the grave of an Indian who had
been buried several weeks. An old squaw raised an alarm, saying
that he had been heard to make a noise. The Indians ran with all
haste to the grave--I went too to see what was to be done--but
although they listened with their ears upon the ground, and then
stamped with their feet, and scratched in the earth, the Indian
lay still and dead in his grave.
I learned from the preparations in camp that the squaws were soon
to go out to the Indian towns and raise corn, and that I was to
go with them. I resolved that I would not go, if my escape should
cost me my life. I began immediately to think and plan some
method of escape; but every way appeared to be hedged up; there
were Indian camps in every direction; there was some faint
prospect of success down the river. I also thought of risking
myself in the hands of the British, but, as I before said, I
could not trust them; and it was well for me that I did not, as I
afterwards, to my sore affliction, found them haughty and very
inhuman to American prisoners. I wish this censure to rest only
upon the British officers, as many of the soldiers would have
treated us kindly if it had been in their power.
Just at this crisis, however, an half Indian, who spoke English,
came to our camp. I took this opportunity of communicating to the
Indians my desire of being sold to the inhabitants of Detroit,
who were purchasing prisoners from the Indians, Here I run a
great risk--I knew not that they would not instantly kill me for
making such a request. No sooner had the half Indian told my
wishes, than every eye was fixed upon me; some seemed astonished,
and others angry, because I would think of leaving after having
been adopted into the family. They soon made signs that I might
go, and the old man began to look out for a purchaser. Some of
them treated me cooly from that time until I left. A Frenchman
came to our camp, and offered a young horse for me--we went
several miles down the river to see the horse--the Indian and
Frenchman talked a long time--the Frenchman showed several other
horses--the Indian did not fancy any of them, and there was no
trade. I felt disappointed, being very anxious to be swapped
off. On the next day another Frenchman came to camp riding a snug
little pony, with mane and tail roached and trimmed. This horse
took the old man's eye, and they soon closed the bargain. The
long desired hour had come at last. I felt that I was again free
from the hand of the wild savage. I packed up the few tattered
rags of clothing which were mine, and prepared to leave; but
after all, savages as they were, I was sorry when I bid them a
final farewell. The wife of the man who took me prisoner had
always been kind--she aided greatly to lessen my sufferings--she
had often fed me, and when under the rigors of a northern winter,
in the wilderness, had thrown a blanket upon my shivering frame
at night; she had restrained the young men from imposing upon me,
as they would do by taking my food, and my place at the fire.
After Mr. J. B. Cecott, the man who bought me, and I left the
camp, the Indians stood and looked after us as long as they could
see us. Mr. Cecott took me to his own house, gave me a suit of
clothes, and introduced me to his family. Now I felt that home
was much nearer, being again among a civilized people who could
speak the English language.
And here let me pause a moment to remark--as I am about to leave
the Indians, never I hope to spend another winter with them under
the same circumstances--that the few months of captivity with
this people, were, taken altogether, the most cheerless and
solitary of any part of my life of which I have any recollection.
Though many years have rolled by since the events transpired, the
impression they made upon my mind is almost as fresh as ever.
Several things contributed to render the scene more gloomy. I
lost the day of the month, and also the day of the week; every
day seemed alike. No person can have an idea, unless they are
placed in the same predicament, how it changes the face of things
to lose all those divisions of time that we have been accustomed
to observe from our childhood. But this was not all; to render
the hours more tedious and solitary, there was not one, of all
the families that belonged to our company, that could either
speak English, or understand one word of it. And thus, day after
day, and week after week, passed over without uttering a solitary
word, unless sometimes, when a little distance from camp, I would
say a word or two just to hear the sound of my own voice; and it
would seem so strange to me, that it would almost startle me.
And, in addition to all this, I was almost eaten up by vermin;
sometimes almost starved; and shut out from all civilized
society; almost literally buried in the snows of Michigan; and in
order to prevent actual starvation, the Indians were compelled to
remove from place to place, where it was supposed the hunting
would be better. This subjected us to greater inconvenience, and
often to great suffering from cold, having to clear away the
snow, which was very deep.
But the uncertainty, and the improbability, of being released,
being constantly upon me, and there appeared not the least gleam
of hope until it was announced, by the preparations I saw making
in the spring, to go to Detroit.
I have nothing to say against the Indian character--but many
things in favor of it--but much against their manner of life.
They are a brave, generous, hospitable, kind, and among
themselves, an honest people; and when they intend to save the
life of a prisoner they will do it, if it should be at the risk
of their own. But after all this is said, no one can form any
adequate idea of what a man _must_ suffer, who spends a winter
with them in the snows of Michigan.
But now, that I was released by the friendly hand of a stranger,
Mr. Cecott, whom I shall recollect with feelings of gratitude so
long as I can recollect anything--I felt more than I shall ever
be able to express. Hope, which had almost perished, now began to
revive, and the sight of home and friends once more began to be
thought of as a matter not altogether impracticable--and that I
should set my foot again upon the happy soil of Kentucky.