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NECDOTES of men who have been distinguished for their bravery, whether
friend or foe, civilized or savage, seldom fail to excite an interest.
During the second war with England, the Seneca nation of Indians, who
resided in the neighborhood of Buffalo, were employed by the American
government, and attached themselves to the army, then about to enter
Canada, under the command of General Brown. The principal chief of this
tribe was “Farmer’s Brother”--a stout, athletic warrior. The frosts
of eighty winters had passed over his head; and yet he retained his
faculties in an eminent degree. He possessed all the ardour of his young
associates, and was uncommonly animated at the prospect which a fresh
harvest of laurels presented to his mind.
This celebrated chief, in the war between England and France, was
engaged in the service of the latter. He once pointed out, to the writer
of this account, the spot where, with a party of Indians, he lay in
ambush--patiently waiting the approach of a guard that accompanied the
English teams, employed between the Falls of Niagara and the British
garrison; the fort had lately surrendered to Sir William Johnson. The
place selected for that purpose is now known by the name of the “Devil’s
Hole,” and is three and a half miles below the famous cataract, upon the
United States side. The mind can scarcely conceive a more dismal looking
den. A large ravine, occasioned by the falling in of the perpendicular
bank, made dark by the spreading branches of the birch and cedar, which
had taken root below, and the low murmurings of the rapids in the chasm,
added to the solemn thunder of the cataract itself, conspire to render
the scene truly awful. The English party were not aware of the dreadful
fate which awaited them. Unconscious of danger, the drivers were
gaily whistling to their dull ox-teams. On their arrival at this spot,
Farmer’s Brother and his band rushed from the thicket that had concealed
them, and commenced a horrid butchery. So unexpected was the attack, and
so completely were the English deprived of all presence of mind, but a
feeble resistance was made. The guard, the teamsters, the oxen, and the
wagons, were precipitated into the gulf. But two of them escaped; a Mr.
Steadman, who lived at Schlosser, above the falls, being mounted on a
fleet horse, made good his retreat; and one of the soldiers, who
was caught on the projecting root of a cedar, which sustained him
until--assured by the distant yells of the savages--they had left the
grounds. He then clambered up, and proceeded to Fort Niagara, with the
intelligence of this disaster. A small rivulet, which pours itself
down this precipice, was literally colored with the blood of the
vanquished--and has ever since borne the name of “The Bloody Run.”
In the war of the Revolution, Farmer’s Brother evinced his hostility to
the Americans upon every occasion that occurred; and with the same zeal,
he engaged in the late war against his former friends--the British.
Another anecdote of this chief will show, in more glaring colors, the
real savage. A short time before the United States army crossed the
Niagara, Farmer’s Brother chanced to observe an Indian, who had mingled
with the Senecas, and whom he instantly recognised, as belonging to
the Mohawks--a tribe living in Canada, and then employed in the enemy’s
service. He went up to him, and addressed him in the Indian tongue:--“I
know you well--you belong to the Mohawks--you are a spy--here is my
rifle--my tomahawk--my scalping knife--I give you your choice, which
of them shall I use?--but I am in haste!” The young warrior, finding
resistance vain, chose to be despatched with the rifle. He was ordered
to lie upon the grass; while, with the left foot upon the breast of his
victim, the chief lodged the contents of the rifle into his head.
With so much of the savage, Farmer’s Brother possessed some estimable
traits of character. He was as firm a friend, where he promised
fidelity, as a bitter enemy to those against whom he contended; and
would rather lose the last drop of his blood, than betray the cause he
had espoused. He was fond of recounting his exploits, and, savage-like,
dwelt with much satisfaction upon the number of scalps he had taken in
his skirmishes with the whites.
In company with several other chiefs, he paid a visit to General
Washington, who presented him with a silver medal. This he constantly
wore, suspended from his neck; and, so precious was the gift in his
eyes, that he often declared, he would lose it only with his life. Soon
after the battles of Chippewa and Bridgewater, this veteran paid the
debt of nature, at the Seneca village; and, out of respect to his
bravery, he was interred with military honors from the fifth regiment of
United States infantry.
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