Madison visited us. Of the latter, the Vice President of the
United States lately said in the Senate, that he was a man "of
rare patriotism--the most beloved of all the public men of his
State--the best among the best--'the bravest of the brave'--who
died with never fading laurels upon his brow." They were
accompanied by one or two British officers. After they had duly
examined into our situation, Colonel Lewis encouraged us to bear
our privations and sufferings in the spirit of true soldiers--
saying "that it belonged to the soil of Kentucky to be firm."
While this exhortation of the Colonel was received by us with
great approbation, it evidently was received with indignation by
the British officers. This made no manner of difference with
Colonel Lewis, who proceeded to make such remarks, and gave us
such advice, as he believed were for our comfort. I thought that
the British were inclined to press their rigid military rules
upon Kentuckians with more rigor than upon others. They rarely
spoke to us, and when they did it was in a manner so haughty that
we only felt the more indignant and hostile toward them. We would
not conform to those terms of respect which they exacted from
their own soldiers. Our feelings, and callings in life had been
so very different from those of British soldiers, that we felt as
if we lived in, and breathed, a different air.
Toward the latter part of the winter we were, after much entreaty
from Lewis and Madison, permitted to write to our friends. Our
letters were carefully read by the officers, and every word
rigidly examined. I now wrote to my friends, and this was the
first certain information that they received of my having
survived the battles and dangers which we had passed through,
although I had now been away from home about eighteen months.
Notices had been in the public prints, written by Hunt, of
Detroit, that prisoners had been carried on towards Quebec--but
he had no further knowledge of us, or what would be our fate.
Perhaps it was better that we were not permitted to give a
history of our sufferings: it would only have more deeply
afflicted our friends, and added nothing to our relief.
I wish here to record, that the news of our unsuccessful attempt
to escape reached, by some means, the ears of Colonel Lewis and
Major Madison, and they being desirous to obtain the particulars,
requested that two of our number might be allowed to visit their
quarters, which were not far off. Their request was granted, and
William McMillan and myself were selected to visit them. We were
conducted by a guard, and very closely watched and listened to.
We told them of our attempt and defeat. They gave it as their
opinion that we could not make a successful escape during the
winter season, and that we ought not to attempt it. They told us
of the great difficulty we would meet in travelling through the
snow in that country, also in crossing the river St. Lawrence,
even if we could, undiscovered, pass the guards. However, in case
we should make the attempt, they gave us some directions touching
the route that we should take if we succeeded in clearing the
sentinels and crossing the river.
While writing this, I am reminded of an attempt made by some
prisoners to escape about the time that we came to Quebec. They
cut the bars out of the prison windows of the second story of the
house, and let themselves down by means of their blankets. They
were successful in passing the sentinels, and crossing the river,
and prospered all the way until they came near the American
lines. Now, thinking that they were out of the reach of danger,
they halted to take rest and refreshment, and feeling like birds
let out of a cage, they felt that they might safely have a little
spree; but just as they were in the midst of their frolic, the
British pursuers came suddenly upon them, and took them all by
surprise. They were not prepared to defend themselves, and had no
opportunity to fly; therefore they had quietly to go back to
Quebec, and to prison, where they suffered the deep mortification
of a failure, and the renewed weight of British oppression.
Some time before we heard the good news of a general exchange of
prisoners, I had a violent attack of billious fever. I laid
several days in the prison before I suffered the old turnkey to
know my situation. When it was communicated to him, he sent an
old man to bleed me and to give me some physic, which gave me no
relief; I was therefore removed about a mile from town, to the
hospital, where they bled and physiced me enough. I do not
recollect how long I remained at the hospital, but I remember
that I was there when it was announced that all prisoners were to
be exchanged, and that all who were able to go were to be sent
away immediately. This was better to me than all the medicine in
Canada. The hope of seeing my country and my home, rushed in upon
my mind with refreshing power. I told the Doctor that I could not
stay any longer in the hospital--that I must start if I died on
the way. At first he opposed my going; seeing my resolution, at
length he consented. The idea of being kept behind was like death
to me sure enough. For some days before this news reached us I
had been slowly recovering, but was yet barely able to walk when
I left the hospital to return to the prison, where I found the
boys making preparations to leave for the United States. We were
to ascend the St. Lawrence in a vessel belonging to the British.
It was in the month of May when we left this gloomy prison, where
we had spent a miserable winter and spring. The recollection of
these times are horrible to my mind until this hour. I am sorry
that I ever fell into British hands. It appears that the British
officers were perfectly destitute of human feelings, so far as we
were concerned. I have no means of knowing generally their
characters, and I surely have no wish to defame them generally; I
speak only of those into whose hands I fell, and from whom I
received such little kindness.
May had not brought warm weather in that country; heaps of
drifted snow were to be seen in the mountains north of Quebec;
and the northwestern winds were keen and chilling, especially to
me in my feeble state. After we boarded our little vessel, we
remained several days, I know not what for, in an uncomfortable
situation; with but little fire, and exposed to the incessantly
blowing winds. This increased again the disease under which I had
been laboring, so that I now had chill and fever every day. I was
barely able to walk, and more than one thousand miles from home,
without money, clothes, or friends that were able to help; yet my
spirit did not quail for a moment,--I hoped somehow to get
through. At length we were put into another vessel, and set sail
up the St. Lawrence. Thus we continued until we came to the mouth
of the river Sorrell, which connects lake Champlain with the St.
Lawrence. We ascended this river for a considerable distance in
the same vessel, when we were placed in open boats and carried
across the line. It was said, with what truth I pretend not to
say, that some of the British soldiers who guarded us made a good
use of this opportunity and deserted, and left a land of
oppression for a land of liberty and plenty.
We were set on the shore fourteen miles below Plattsburg, and
then left to take care of ourselves, having neither money nor
food, and almost naked, and some of us sick. We however, used to
trials, went forward to Plattsburg--which I reached with the
utmost difficulty, shaking one part of the day, and burning with
fever the other. We had all been so long in confinement that we
travelled slowly, and this enabled me to keep up until we arrived
at a large encampment of the American army, a short distance
above Plattsburg on the lake.
Our situation was communicated to the General, who promised to
make provision for us, by giving us written passports, and
authorizing us to draw rations on the road wherever we could find
any belonging to the United States--which was all that we could
expect, or all that we asked, as he had no authority to pay us
money. We waited a day or two for the fulfilment of this promise,
when we renewed our application, telling him our necessities, how
long we had been from home, where we had been taken prisoners,
our anxiety to pursue our journey--but all to no effect; we only
obtained promises. Having renewed our petitions for a week, we
began to despair of success, and thought of seeking help from
some other quarter. We were now satisfied that it was the purpose
of the commanding officer to detain us there, place difficulties
in our way of going home, that thereby we might be induced to
enlist; he supposed that we would not certainly undertake such a
journey on foot, without money or passports. This did alarm one
or two of the company, who took the bounty and enlisted for five
years. The rest of us now resolved to make a start towards old
Kentucky; but before we left we made one more unsuccessful effort
to obtain the necessary papers from the General. By this time a
kind and noble hearted young Lieutenant, whose name was
Frederick, became interested in our welfare, and wrote us a
passport to draw upon any supplies belonging to the Government.
This answered a good purpose where the keepers were young and
ignorant, and did not understand their business; but our order
was often protested.
Notwithstanding my fatigue and exposure to the night air, and a
chill every day, my strength had much increased, yet I feared the
fatigues of the long journey before us; but to my astonishment I
had the last chill on the evening before we left the encampment--
I never had another.
On a beautiful morning, about the first of June, 1814, we left
the American army near Plattsburg, turning our faces towards home
with light hearts and little money. I had but twelve and a half
cents, and I believe I was nearly as wealthy as any of the
company. And now I feel utterly at a loss to describe my
feelings. Until now we did not feel entirely free; though in the
American camp, we were under sentinels and military restraint. We
had been for so long a time in prison, and suffering, that we
seemed to have reached a new world almost. We little thought of
the journey that was before us, but talked cheerfully of our
situation, as we passed many beautiful farms in high promise,
situated upon the sides of the lake. Above all, we felt hearts of
sincere gratitude to a kind Providence, who had delivered us out
of the hands of wild and ferocious savages, and hard hearted
tyrants, and had again brought our feet to stand upon the soil of
freedom.
We made our way up the lake on the right bank until we came to
the ferry, which we found some difficulty in crossing, because we
had no money to pay our passage. We told the keeper the true
story of our errand--where we had been, and where we were going:
after some hesitancy he took us all over without any pay. We then
took the road leading to the head of lake Champlain; some of the
people along this road were kind, but others looked upon us with
suspicion. Our appearance was very shabby indeed--the coarse
clothes which we received in Quebec, the winter past, were all in
rags and dirt, and having no possible opportunity of getting a
new supply, we were compelled to appear before all in our way in
this garb. Our rags may have been an advantage to us, as they
attracted notice, and curiosity would induce many to ask us
questions, and thus we would have an opportunity of telling our
history, and so gain something to sustain us upon our journey.
This afforded us a good opportunity of ascertaining the
dispositions of men. Many were suitably affected with our
situation, and offered relief; but other cold blooded animals had
no compassion--they lived within and for themselves--and we found
some so destitute of all sense of respect as even to insult us.
After travelling together a short distance, we began to find that
it would be with difficulty that we could travel through that
country without money. We consulted together what way would be
the best for us to take, and concluded to separate, as beggars
had better go in small companies. When we parted, it was with the
understanding that we would try to meet again at Oleann Point, on
the Alleghany river. Thus we bid each other farewell, and broke
off into companies of four. The company to which I belonged took
the road leading from the head of the lake to Utica, in the State
of New York. This road was mostly turnpiked, which made the
travelling worse for us, as we were nearly barefooted, and our
feet soon became sore, so that our stages were short. It would be
impossible for me to relate the particulars of this journey
through the State of New York; but one thing truth compels me to
state, and that is, we suffered more from hunger while passing
through this State than in all the rest of the way from Quebec to
Kentucky. We found the people generally either too proud or too
stingy to give us food, or to treat us like human beings. In
passing through the little towns and villages our appearance
would immediately attract attention, and in a few minutes the
people would gather around us in great numbers; they would ask us
a number of questions, which we would fully answer, though they
often suspected us for being deserters. We occasionally found in
these companies, persons who were touched by our appearance and
story, so they would turn out and raise a few shillings to help
us on our journey. The money thus raised we considered as common
property, to be used for the benefit of all. We made it last as
long as possible, by always purchasing the cheapest articles of
food, and never spending any unnecessarily.
When we arrived at Utica we found a recruiting party there; and
here I picked up a pair of old shoes which had been thrown away
by the soldiers; these enabled me to travel on the turnpike with
more ease and speed. We found but few who were willing either to
feed or lodge us without pay, though we only asked to lie upon
the floor. Some absolutely refused to give us any shelter at all.
I will here relate a case, and if I knew the name of the
individual I would record it as a Warning to any one who might be
tempted to treat any poor sufferer in like manner. After
travelling hard all the day, we called at a house and asked the
man the favor to stay and lie upon the floor until morning, at
the same time informing him that we had been prisoners for some
time, and that we were on our way to Kentucky, our native State,
and that we would not ask him for any thing else. He told us
pointedly that we could not sleep in his house. We then asked to
sleep in the shop, (he was a wagon maker:) this he also refused;
we then told him that we were much fatigued, and would be glad to
have permission to lie down in his barn. He then refused in the
most positive manner; telling us that there was a tavern about a
mile ahead, and as they had the profit of travellers, they should
have the trouble also. We left him to his conscience, and walked
on toward the tavern, feeling that we were strangers indeed in a
strange land, driven from door to door, fatigued and hungry,
without one cent in our pockets, knowing not where we should find
shelter; and returning too from fighting the battles of the
country we were now passing through so poorly requited. At length
we came to the tavern, and by stating our misfortunes we
succeeded in gaining permission to sleep on the floor. Soon after
our arrival supper was announced, but nothing was said to us. We
laid down on the floor of the bar room hungry, tired and sleepy.
If we had received such treatment in an enemy's country, we would
not have been surprised, but we had been out fighting for the
liberties of this very people--this made our sufferings the more
acute. We made an early start next morning, supposing that the
chance for breakfast would be as gloomy as that of the supper had
been. We determined to go forward as far as possible, hoping soon
to find another kind of people, who would help us.
When we applied in the evening for permission to lie in the barn,
and were refused, there was a gentleman present who overtook us a
day or two afterwards, and reminded us of the treatment, and that
he was present; he gave each of us some money--he said that he
had no money when he first saw us.
Not far from this hard place, we met a man of quite a different
feeling. Near sunset we were passing his house, when he called to
us and asked if we had any money; we told him we had none: "Well,
you had better stop here with me and stay all night, for the man
who keeps the next house is a tory, and will not permit you to
stay without money." I need hardly say that we acceeded to his
proposition. We were treated with kindness and hospitality, and
for once fared well. This was a set-off to some former cases.
After we had passed through the thickly settled parts of New
York, we came to the Gennessee country, which was at that time
but thinly inhabited. We were now told that we would find serious
difficulties in passing on without money; on the day that we
entered what was called the wilderness we were entirely
destitute, and had very serious fears of suffering more than we
had yet been called to endure; but as our fears were rising to
the highest pitch, we unexpectedly met a young officer belonging
to the United States service; he inquired into our history
carefully, and becoming satisfied with the account which we gave
him of our capture and sufferings, he kindly gave us one dollar a
piece, which was sufficient, with rigid economy, to carry us
through the most dreaded part of the wilderness.
It may appear to the reader that I have given, a very cheerless
and rigid account of the people along the road that we traveled
through the State of New York; I am certain of the truth of the
history, for a man starving knows when he receives any thing to
eat, and also when he is refused. I am as certain of this part of
the history, as that I was in the battle, and wounded at the
river Raisin. Whether we fell upon the only niggardly people that
lived in that part of the country, or whether the people were
mostly tories there, I have no means of determining. It may be
asked why I record these things? It may seem harsh to speak of
them; it was much harsher to feel them. If people will sin
publicly, and drive starving begging soldiers from their doors
with contempt, those soldiers, if they should live to reach home,
and should write an account of their trip, will be very likely to
refer to such treatment. If those folks are yet living, a sermon
upon "be careful to entertain _strangers_," might not be entirely
without its good effects upon them.
After passing through this wilderness, we began to draw near to
Oleann Point, the place where we had agreed to meet again when we
parted at the head of lake Champlain. One company overtook us on
the same day that we arrived at Oleann. Here we had intended to
take water, but we could hear of no craft going down the river.
Our money was gone, and provisions were scarce and dear, so we
could not stay long here. Necessity, the mother of invention,
drove us to seek out some way of getting on. We numbered eight
persons at this time; I remember the names of _Philip Burns,
Patrick Ewing, Simon Kenton, Thomas Bronaugh, William McMillan_
and _Thomas Whittington_. At length we concluded to build a raft
of slabs that we found lodged against a bridge; so we all went to
work; having walked so far, our wind was pretty good, and got our
raft completed by sunset--on Sunday too. We then procured some
bread, and set sail down the river a little before dark, not
knowing what was before us, whether there were dangerous passes,
or falls in the river--such was our destitute situation, that we
were compelled to go on. Our provisions were nearly out, and
Indians chiefly inhabited the country along the river down
towards Pittsburg. During the night we had some difficulty in
passing the drift at the short bends that are in the Alleghany,
but went on tolerably well until next morning about breakfast
time. I had laid myself down upon the dry part of the raft and
fallen asleep, not having slept any during the night, as there
was not room for more than two or three to lie down at once. We
now came in contact with a driftwood, and the current was so
strong that the raft was taken under almost instantly--we
scrambled up on the drift, and after some difficulty got ashore.
The raft came out below, and went on; and then we were left on
foot again, among the Indians called Corn Planters. Fortunately
for us, we had taken a Yankee passenger aboard our raft, who had
some money with him, with which we bought a canoe from an Indian
in which we came down the river until we reached Pittsburg.
Before we reached Pittsburg we met a recruiting party at the
mouth of French creek; the officer was very kind--he furnished us
with a room to sleep in--gave us flour and whiskey. His object
was to enlist some of us; we did not tell him that we would not
enlist; we sat up however and baked bread enough whilst the
others were asleep to last us to Pittsburg; and before the
officer was out of his bed in the morning, we were paddling on
towards home.
When we arrived at Pittsburg, we sold the canoe for five dollars,
and purchased bread, and almost immediately took passage on a
salt boat bound for Kanawha. But whilst we were in Pittsburg we
there saw the British soldiers that guarded us at Detroit
prison--they had been taken at the battle of the Thames--they
were at liberty to go to any part of the town, and to work for
themselves. We took this opportunity to remind them of the
difference between their treatment of us, and our treatment
toward them; they were compelled to acknowledge the truth, and
praised our officers very highly.
We paid our passage upon the salt boat, by working at the oars,
all except myself, who was the cook for the company. When we
floated down as far as Kanawha we were there set upon the shore,
and were once more compelled to look about for the means of
continuing our journey. After we had been there a few hours we
saw a raft of pine plank floating down the river; we hailed the
owner, asked for a passage, and were taken aboard. On this raft I
floated down to Maysville, where, thanks to a superintending
Providence, I once again set my feet upon Kentucky soil, and
breathed the air of my native State. Now I was almost naked; no
person, as well as I can remember, had offered me a single
article of clothing since I left Quebec. I had exchanged my
pantaloons, given to me in prison, for an old pair which I found
on the boat, thrown away as useless by some of the boatmen; my
shirt had, by slow degrees, entirely disappeared; I had some
where picked up an old coat that had been the property of some
regular soldier--these two articles constituted my wardrobe,
entire--I was barefooted, but had an old hat.
My companions had all left me higher up the river, and gone
across the country as a nearer way home. When I left the raft and
went into the town my situation excited attention, and soon all
my wants were supplied. Some gave the stuff, and a number of
tailors joined, and in a few hours I was clothed, and furnished
with money to bear my expenses home. I felt the difference here
between warm and cold hearted people. My anxiety was great to
pursue my journey, so I ascended the steep hill that hangs around
Maysville, and made my way through Georgetown and Frankfort, to
Shelbyville, at which place I arrived on the 20th day of June, A.
D. 1814.
Here, at length, after an absence of nearly two years, during all
of which time I had been exposed to sufferings, dangers and
privations, not having slept upon a bed until my return to my
native land, I found myself among the friends of my childhood and
my own beloved kindred. I had left them, when a mere lad, as a
volunteer soldier in the company commanded by Captain Simpson,
and I came back to them a man in years, though feeble in strength
and frail in appearance. The meeting indeed was unexpected to
them, and none can tell the fullness of joy that reigned in my
own heart.
A kind and merciful Providence had preserved and sustained me
through all the perils with which I was surrounded, and unto Him
do I give the praise for my safety. Many years have passed since
the occurrences detailed in this narrative took place. I may now
almost be classed in the number of old men. My avocations have
been those of peace. I have, for nearly twenty years, as an
ordained Minister of the Methodist Episcopal Church, endeavored
to teach the mild doctrines of my blessed master. Yet it may not
be without its use to my young countrymen to know what their
fathers have suffered. I have told them a plain unvarnished tale,
which while it may encourage them to be bold in their country's
cause, may also, acquaint them with what they owe to the
generation that has just preceded them.
W. ATHERTON.