a strong personal regard for him, and who, when he saw the wounded and
enfeebled state of Mrs. Heald, released his prisoner, that he might
accompany his wife to St. Joseph’s. To the latter place they were
accordingly carried by Chandonnai and his party. In the meantime, the
Indian who had so nobly released his captive, returned to his village
on the Kankakee, where he had the mortification of finding that his
conduct had excited great dissatisfaction among his band. So great
was the displeasure manifested that he resolved to make a journey to
St. Joseph’s and reclaim his prisoner. News of his intention being
brought to the chiefs under whose care the prisoners were, they held a
private council with Chandonnai and the principal men of the village,
the result of which was a determination to send Capt. and Mrs. Heald
to the island of Mackinaw, and deliver them up to the British. They
were accordingly put in a bark canoe and paddled by the chief of the
Pottowattamies, Robinson, and his wife, a distance of three hundred
miles along the coast of Lake Michigan, and surrendered as prisoners of
war to the commanding officer at Mackinaw.
“Lieut. Helm, who was likewise wounded, was carried by some friendly
Indians to their village, on the _Au Sable_ and thence to St. Louis,
where he was liberated by the intervention of Thomas Forsyth, a trader
among them. Mrs. Helm accompanied her father’s family to Detroit. In
the engagement she received a slight wound on the ancle, and had her
horse shot under her.
“The soldiers, with their wives and children, were dispersed among the
different villages of the Pottowattamies, upon the Illinois, Wabash,
Rock River, and Milwaukie, until the following spring, when they were
for the most part carried to Detroit, and ransomed. Some, however,
were detained in captivity another year, during which period they
experienced more kindness than was to have been expected from an enemy
in most cases so merciless.”
Gen. Hunt adds, that some months after the massacre at Chicago, he met
Capt. and Mrs. Heald, walking in the street in Detroit. They had just
come from Mackinaw in a vessel, and were much pleased to see their old
friend. Mrs. Heald had recovered from her wounds, and appeared to be as
well as she had ever been. It is probable that, after the termination
of the war, her life was one of quiet usefulness, like that of her
sister pioneers; the occurrences in which she had borne so prominent
a part serving to relate as truth more strange than fiction, to those
whose fortunes had led them into less stirring scenes.
MRS. HELM was the daughter of Col. McKillip, a British officer attached
to one of the companies who in 1794 were engaged in sustaining
the Indian tribes in Northern Ohio against the government of the
United States. He lost his life at the fort at the Miami Rapids, now
Perrysburg. He had gone out at night to reconnoitre, and returning in
a stealthy manner, was mistaken for an enemy, fired upon, and mortally
wounded by his own sentinel. His widow afterwards became the wife of
John Kinzie, with whom, in 1803, she removed to Chicago, then a mere
trading post among the Pottowattamies.
At the age of eighteen, the daughter was married to Lieut. Lina J.
Helm, of Kentucky. Her death took place at Watersville, in Michigan, in
1844, and was very sudden. She had just risen from the tea-table--one
of the company having read to her a newspaper paragraph relating
to Henry Clay; and she said, “I hope I shall live to see that man
President.” Scarcely were the words uttered, than she fell backwards
into the arms of an attendant and almost instantly expired. Her
interest in the great statesman is an evidence of the patriotic feeling
for which she was always remarkable. She was generous, high-minded,
and disinterested; possessing a calm strength of nature, and was
energetic and indefatigable in action. Her piety was pure and ardent,
yet wholly untinctured with fanaticism; the faith and love by which
the true Christian lifts his heart to God and with a sincerity and
devotion rarely equalled, did she obey the precept, “thou shalt love
thy neighbor as thyself.”
Our wonder may well be excited at the heroism and the sufferings borne
with such sturdy fortitude, of the pioneer women whose lot was cast in
the midst of the troubles upon the frontier. Yet their attachment to
this wild, unsettled life was still more remarkable; for as the country
became settled, they would encourage their husbands or sons to “sell
out,” and remove still further into the wilderness.
During the time of the possession of Detroit by the British, after the
surrender of Gen. Hull, the frontier settlement suffered much from
Indian depredation. The capture of the family of Mr. Snow, taken by
the Ottawa Indians from their home on Cole Creek, in Huron County, may
illustrate the experience of many unfortunates whose names tradition
has not preserved. Mr. Snow chanced to be absent, when his house was
surrounded by a hostile party, and his wife and nine children were
made prisoners. The savages immediately started on their return, and
had gone about five miles, travelling on foot, when it became evident
that Mrs. Snow, whose health was delicate, could not drag herself
much further. A brief council was held among the savages, and it was
decided that she must be killed. Two young men were appointed to put
the cruel sentence in execution, while the rest of the party moved
forward; the victim being ordered to keep her seat upon a log. Here her
lifeless body was found by her husband and the men in pursuit. It is a
somewhat curious circumstance, that one of the Indians who killed the
unfortunate woman, afterwards expressed his remorse for the deed, and
said he knew the Great Spirit was angry with him, for that the ground
had trembled when she screamed, and his right arm had become completely
withered by a rheumatic affection. His death might have been deemed
also a judgment for the crime; in a fit of intoxication he fell into
the fire and burned himself so severely that he expired in a short time.
“On a beautiful Sunday morning in Detroit,” continues my informant,
“I heard the scalp whoop of a war party coming up the river. When
they came near, I discovered that they were carrying a woman’s scalp
upon a pole, and that they had with them, as prisoners, a family of
nine children, from three years old up to two girls full grown. These
little captives had nothing on their heads, and their clothes were
torn into shreds by the brushwood and the bushes in the way by which
they had come. I went to meet them, brought them into my house, gave
them and their Indian captors a meal, with a few loaves of bread for
further use, and told the children not to be frightened or uneasy,
for that my brother would buy them from the Indians when he should
return from Canada, whither he had gone to spend the Sabbath with his
father-in-law. The next day the prisoners came again, accompanied by
about five hundred Indians. My brother paid five hundred dollars for
their ransom, and sent them home. The girls informed me that they had
been treated by the Indians with kindness and respect. Indeed, it may
be recorded, to the praise of the Indian character, and in extenuation
of their cruelties, that an instance has not been known of improper
conduct towards a captive white woman. Their apology for the murder
of Mrs. Snow was, that they feared her release might lead to their
discovery by the whites in pursuit.”
The Rev. J. M. Peck of Illinois mentions the name of Catharine Lemen,
as a pioneer who came to that region as early as 1786, with her husband
and two children. The family were exposed to Indian depredations
during the whole period of the border troubles; and many instances are
remembered in which she exhibited a heroic and Christian spirit. She
had ten children, four of whom became ministers of the gospel. Mrs.
Edwards, the wife of Governor Edwards, is also mentioned as a matron
distinguished for lofty and heroic traits of character. She sustained
her husband through his public life, having the entire management of
his large estate and its settlement after his death.
XVIII.
ABIGAIL SNELLING.
Thomas Hunt, the father of the subject of the present memoir was a
Revolutionary officer, and a native of Watertown, Massachusetts. He
entered the American army as a volunteer, and was soon commissioned
in the regular service; was in the expedition against Ticonderoga
commanded by Ethan Allen, and one of the party who made themselves
masters of Crown Point. He was with Gen. Wayne at Stoney Point, among
the volunteers of the “forlorn hope,” and was there wounded in the
ankle. In 1794, he joined the army under Wayne against the Indians,
and served out the campaign, returning then to his family residence at
Watertown. In 1798, he was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel
of the first regiment of infantry, and ordered to Fort Wayne, where he
remained until the death of Col. Hamtramck at Detroit, when he became
Colonel, and took the command of that post, remained there some time,
and afterwards went to Mackinaw.
Our heroine was but six weeks old when the family left Watertown,
and was carried on a pillow in such a vehicle as was then used for
stages, over very rough roads, for many miles only rendered passable
by logs placed side by side, forming what are termed corduroy roads.
The severity of the exercise, as may be remembered by those who have
travelled over such roads in a new country, always caused an outcry
on approaching them, from man, woman, and child, with petitions to get
out and walk; frequently at the risk of being bitten by rattlesnakes
which were often concealed between the logs. When they arrived at
Mackinaw, they went to the Government House, which they were to occupy.
The English commander had left it with the furniture, even the window
curtains suspended from the windows, and there was an air of comfort in
and about the house. The Fort stood on the height, the town was small,
the streets were very narrow, the houses built in the old French style,
and the town was enclosed with pickets, with a gate at each end.
One of the little girl’s earliest recollections was visiting in the
family of a Scotch gentleman, Dr. Mitchell, who had married an Indian
wife. She dressed herself in silks and satins when at home, but resumed
her native dress when among the Chippewas, her own people. She would
sometimes be absent many months, purchasing furs to send to Montreal,
for her agent there to sell; and in this way she amassed a large
fortune for her husband. At one time, after she had been absent more
than six months, it was reported that she had been killed by some rival
trader. She heard on her way home that such news had been received,
and when her flotilla appeared in sight, threw herself on the bottom
of her birch canoe. Her husband, with spy-glass in hand, was on the
beach, eagerly looking to see if indeed his wife was not there, and was
about turning away with a heavy heart, when she leaped from her bark
exclaiming, “Not dead yet!” Her two daughters were sent to Montreal to
be educated, and returned home highly accomplished and very beautiful
women. One of them afterwards married an officer.
Abigail was about seven years old when her parents left Mackinaw to
return to Detroit, on their way to St. Louis. The troops had left
Detroit but a short time when the town was burned to ashes, in 1805.
The little party reached Fort Wayne, where they rested for a week, at
which time Col. Hunt’s eldest daughter, not quite fifteen, was married
to the surgeon of the post, Dr. Edwards. She was left behind when the
family resumed their journey, and they proceeded in a flat-bottomed
boat, called an “ark,” which could only be used in descending with
the current. Col. Hunt had one of these boats partitioned off into
rooms, making a parlor, bed-rooms, and kitchen; bedsteads were put
up, and each apartment arranged in the same order as in a house. This
was a slow mode of travelling, but extremely comfortable, and little
apprehension was felt at that time of the Indians, although they
frequently surrounded the boat, begging for bread and some of their
“father’s milk” (whiskey). At Vincennes, the voyagers were hospitably
received at the house of Gen. W. H. Harrison, but their stay was short,
and they proceeded to St. Louis. Gen. Wilkinson was there at that time,
and ordered Col. Hunt to take command of the garrison at the mouth of
the Missouri, eighteen miles above St. Louis. This was about the time
of Burr’s conspiracy, and a court martial was immediately held to try
a Major Bruff, who was suspected of being one of his adherents. He was
acquitted. Then arrived at the garrison Lewis and Clark, from their
exploring expedition; and the peculiar appearance of their dress, made
of deerskins, the outer garment fringed and worked with porcupine
quills, something between a military undress frock coat and Indian
shirt, with their leggins and moccasins, three-cornered cocked hats and
long beards, caused no small wonder among the younger members of the
family.
Gen. Pike was at this time a captain in Col. Hunt’s regiment, and was
selected by the government to explore the Upper Mississippi. He left
his wife and little daughter under the protection of Col. Hunt, on his
departure in the following year. His absence was prolonged nearly two
years, during which time his friend was removed from this world. Col.
Hunt died after a protracted illness, in 1809. The dispensation was a
heart-breaking one to the devoted wife. She did not, could not, shed
a tear, but would sigh continually, and sometimes exclaim, “Oh! that
I could weep--what a relief it would be!” Ere long she was unable to
swallow solid food, and even liquids without difficulty. Some friends
thought visiting the grave would have the effect of making her weep,
but it threw her into spasms, after which no further effort was made,
and she gradually sank, until she died in six months after the death
of her husband.
Mrs. Hunt’s eldest son, twenty-two years of age, was then just
established in business as a merchant in Detroit. When he heard of
his father’s death, he prepared immediately to meet the family at St.
Louis, and on the journey tidings reached him that his mother also was
no more. This double bereavement, with the responsibility of a large
family depending upon his care, was too heavy a burden for his anxious
mind. He became ill of a fever, which reduced him so much, that on
arriving at St. Louis he could scarcely reach the house of a friend
where the family were awaiting his arrival. For the first time in her
life, his little sister felt a dreary sense of desolation--a knowledge
that she was homeless, and an orphan. No tender mother now called her
child to her in the evening to say her prayers; no longer were the
children assembled together on the Sabbath afternoon to be instructed
from the Bible and catechism. This feeling of loneliness added to the
poignancy of grief for her departed parents; the first of the sorrows
by which that young, gentle, loving heart was to be tried--the first
experience of the universal lot of humanity. The young mourner was led,
in that time of suffering, to turn to the Bible for consolation, and
was consoled in the promise there found, “I will be a father to the
fatherless.”
As soon as her brother had recovered his strength, the family commenced
their journey, their destination being Waltham, Massachusetts, where
their maternal grandfather, Mr. Samuel Wellington, resided. When they
reached Vincennes, they were again received into the family of Gen.
Harrison, and stayed two weeks to recruit. The mode of conveyance at
that time was in an open barge, with an awning stretched over it.
The crew were soldiers for a part of the way, afterwards Frenchmen,
“voyageurs,” as they were called. Tents were pitched every night, and
the evening was spent in preparing food for the following day. The
party was often supplied with game by the Indians, who frequently
spread their blankets around their fires to sleep for the night; yet
though the savages were friendly, the children could not divest
themselves of fear which often drove away sleep at night, to be made
up by sleeping all the next day in the boat. The next stopping place
was Fort Wayne, where the eldest sister, Mrs. Edwards, had been left
six years before. The meeting was an affecting one. The travellers
did not remain long, as Mr. Hunt’s business demanded his presence in
Detroit. One of the brothers, John E. Hunt, was left with Dr. Edwards,
and the youngest but one of the sisters (now married to Mr. Wendell,
of Detroit); and as soon as Mr. Hunt had arranged his business, the
rest resumed their journey, another brother, Thomas, being left in
Detroit in his brother’s store as clerk. Afterwards, in 1812, he was
commissioned in the army as captain.
After a tedious journey of months, the travellers arrived at their
grand-father’s in Waltham. Abby was sent to a boarding school in Salem,
under the charge of Mrs. Cranch, and there remained until some time in
1811. Col. Henry J. Hunt of Detroit, who was then married to Miss Ann
Mackintosh of Moy, Canada, then came, in company with his wife, to take
his sister, and she returned with them to Detroit.
The following year, war was declared with Great Britain. The first
intimation had of it in Detroit was seeing the ferryboat hauled up,
and the ferryman taken prisoner and sent to Malden. This caused a
dreadful sensation in the town, especially in the house of Col. Hunt,
his wife being deprived of the privilege of communication with her
father’s family, and plunged into deep distress on that account. There
were many other families in the same situation; and brothers seemed
arrayed against each other. The only Protestant church near enough to
be attended every Sunday, was at Sandwich, nearly opposite Detroit,
and the Hunt family had always crossed the river on Saturday, spending
Sunday at Mr. Mackintosh’s in order to attend the Episcopal service. It
was the first Protestant church Miss Hunt had ever attended, and she
was there baptised and received the communion. The privation of such
privileges was deeply felt by her.
Before long, intelligence was brought of the approach and the arrival
of Gen. Hull’s army at the Maumee on the 30th of June. The troops had
collected at Dayton to the number of about two thousand drafted men
and volunteers from Ohio; the regular force comprising about three
hundred soldiers. They had cut their way through the wilderness and
endured many hardships. The 4th regiment, commanded by Col. James
Miller, had acquired a good reputation in the battle of Tippecanoe
under Gen. Harrison on the 6th of November, 1811. None of the officers
had distinguished themselves more than Capt. Snelling. He was one of
the gallant band that made a successful charge, and drove the enemy
into the swamp, putting an end to the conflict. An incident of this
battle gave occasion for the exercise of his benevolence. At dawn of
day a lad fourteen years old, was seen bending over the lifeless body
of his father, which lay weltering in blood, and proved to be that of
Capt. Spencer of the militia. The lad had been seen fighting by his
father’s side during the engagement, and even after his death, at one
moment weeping for his parent, the next loading his rifle and firing
upon the enemy. Capt. Snelling was much interested in the boy, took
charge of him, and afterwards petitioned for a cadet’s warrant, which
he received, and sent him to West Point. From that institution he
graduated at the termination of four years with honor, and while there
sent every month half his pay to his widowed mother, then in Kentucky.
He received a commission in the army and many years afterwards died,
having the rank of major.
Before leaving the Maumee, Gen. Hull sent a vessel to Detroit, in
which were placed his sick and most of his goods, sending with it his
instructions and army roll. The British at Malden having information of
the declaration of war, captured the vessel and unsuspecting crew, and
from them received the first intelligence of the war. Capt. Gooding, of
the 4th regiment, and his wife were on board. She related afterwards an
exploit of her’s while at Malden, which showed the tenderness of female
nature combined with manly perseverance and courage. The prisoners were
confined below deck, and very much crowded, as it was a small vessel;
the weather was very warm, they were fed with salt meat, without sugar,
tea or coffee, and many fell sick. When Mrs. Gooding was told by the
Captain of their situation, she set her wits to work to contrive how
to relieve them. She knew they were soon to be sent in the same vessel
to Montreal, and no time was to be lost. She obtained leave from one
in authority to visit a family up the river with whom she had formerly
been acquainted, and walked on a mile or more alone, without exactly
knowing what she was about to do, when she observed a large house on
a farm which seemed blessed with abundance. She entered, introduced
herself to the lady of the house, and told her, in a very pathetic
narrative, who she was, the situation of the sick prisoners, and her
desire to awaken sympathy in the hearts of those who had it in their
power to relieve them. The lady hesitated a moment and then said, “What
can I do in this matter? If I listen to the dictates of my own heart,
I could easily fill you a basket with coffee, tea and sugar, rice,
etc., but I dare not send it.” “Listen to the dictates of that heart,”
cried Mrs. Gooding, “I myself will carry the basket, and if you have
fresh meat for soup I can conceal it in the bushes until I can convey
it to the vessel.” The lady immediately had a lamb killed; Mrs. Gooding
herself hid it; managed to carry the basket on board that afternoon,
and in the evening, before nine o’clock, the four quarters of lamb.
Gen. Hull arrived with his army at Detroit early in July. Dr. Edwards
joined the army at Dayton, as Major of one of the regiments, and had
John E. Hunt with him, so that amidst the din of war their young
sister was rejoiced to see them again. In a few days Capt. Snelling
was introduced to Miss Hunt, as one of the heroes of Tippecanoe, by
Maj. Edwards; and soon after the young officer asked the brother’s
permission to address her. In due time they were engaged.
On the 12th July, Gen. Hull crossed the river to Sandwich, and
established his forces there, with a view to the attack on Malden. Many
of the officers urged him immediately to storm that place, which was
twelve miles below his encampment, and then very weakly garrisoned,
as was made known to the officers by deserters who came thence after
they heard Gen. Hull had crossed. Captain Snelling said, “Give me
permission, and with my company and those who will volunteer, I will
make the attempt.” Colonels Cass and Miller, by an attack on the
advanced party, on La Riviere Canard, showed that the men were able
and willing to push their conquest if the chance were given; but they
were suddenly recalled, and the enterprize was abandoned. On the 7th
of August Gen. Hull returned to Detroit, much to the disappointment
of the whole army, who now had lost all confidence in him, since he
had lost, by refusing to listen to his eager officers, the opportunity
of obtaining possession of the key to the Canadian provinces, when it
might have been taken with scarce the firing of a gun.