till sunset. Then the cows will go home, and we will follow them."
This they did; but, to their dismay, when they reached Granny Myers's
they found the house deserted. The old woman had been called down the
valley by some business, and did not return that night.
Tired and hungry, the children could go no farther, and after an almost
fruitless endeavor to get some milk from the cows, lay down to sleep
under an old bedstead that stood behind the house. During the night
their father and his party caused them additional terror. The shouts and
calls which had been designed to arouse the inmates of the house the
children mistook for the whoop of the Indians, and, unable to
distinguish friends from foes, crept close to each other, as far out of
sight as possible. When found the following morning, they were debating
what course for safety to take next.
The commandant at Fort Pitt entered warmly into the affairs of Mr.
Lytle, and readily furnished a detachment of soldiers to aid him and his
friends in the pursuit of the marauders. Circumstances having thrown
suspicion upon the Senecas, the party soon directed their search among
the villages of that tribe.
Their inquiries were prosecuted in various directions, and always with
great caution, for all the tribes of the Iroquois, or, as they pompously
called themselves, the Five Nations, being allies of Great Britain, were
inveterate in their hostility toward the Americans. Thus some time
elapsed before the father with his assistants reached the village of the
Big White Man.
Negotiations for the ransom of the captives were immediately begun and
in the case of Mrs. Lytle and the younger child easily carried into
effect. But no offers, no entreaties, no promises could procure the
release of little Eleanor, the adopted child of the tribe. No, the
chief said, she was his sister; he had taken her to supply the place of
his brother who was killed by the enemy; she was dear to him, and he
would not part with her.
Finding every effort to shake this resolution unavailing, the father was
compelled to take his sorrowful departure with the loved ones he had had
the good fortune to recover.
We will not attempt to depict the grief of parents thus compelled to
give up a darling child, leaving her in the hands of savages whom until
now they had had too much reason to regard as merciless. But there was
no alternative; so commending her to the care of their heavenly Father,
and cheered by the manifest tenderness with which she had thus far been
treated, they set out on their melancholy journey homeward, trusting
that some future effort for her recovery would be more effectual.
Having placed his family in safety in Pittsburgh, Mr. Lytle, still
assisted by the commandant and the Indian Agent, undertook an expedition
to the frontier to the residence of the British Agent, Colonel Johnson.
His account of the case warmly interested that benevolent officer, who
promised to spare no exertion in his behalf. This promise was
religiously fulfilled. As soon as the opening of spring permitted,
Colonel Johnson went in person to the village of the Big White Man, and
offered the chief many splendid presents of guns and horses; but he was
inexorable.
Time rolled on, and every year the hope of recovering the little captive
became more faint. She, in the meantime, continued to wind herself more
and more closely around the heart of her Indian brother. Nothing could
exceed the consideration and affection with which she was treated, not
only by him, but by his mother, the Old Queen. All their brooches and
wampum were employed in the decoration of her person. The chief seat and
the most delicate viands were invariably reserved for her, and no
efforts were spared to promote her happiness and banish from her mind
memories of her former home and kindred.
Thus, though she had beheld the departure of her parents and her dear
little brother with a feeling amounting almost to despair, and had for a
long while resisted every attempt at consolation, time at length, as it
ever does, brought its soothing balm, and she grew contented and happy.
From her activity and forcefulness, characteristics for which she was
remarkable to the end of her life, she was given the name, "The Ship
under Full Sail."
The only drawback to the happiness of the little prisoner, aside from
her longing for her own dear home, was the enmity of the wife of the Big
White Man. This woman, from the day of Eleanor's arrival at the village
and her adoption as a sister into the family, had conceived for the
child the greatest animosity, which she at first had the prudence to
conceal from her husband.
It was perhaps natural that a wife should give way to some feeling of
jealousy at seeing her place in the heart of her husband usurped by the
child of their enemy, the American. But these feelings were aggravated
by a bad and vindictive temper, as well as by the indifference with
which her husband listened to her complaints and murmurings.
As the woman had no children of her own to engage her attention, her
mind was the more easily engrossed and inflamed by her fancied wrongs,
and the devising of means for their redress. An apparent opportunity for
revenge was not long wanting.
During the absence of the Big White Man upon some war party or hunting
excursion, little Eleanor was taken ill with fever and ague. She was
nursed with the utmost tenderness by the Old Queen; and the wife of the
chief, to lull suspicion, was likewise unwearied in her attentions to
the little favorite.
One afternoon while the Old Queen was absent for a short time, her
daughter-in-law entered the lodge with a bowl of something she had
prepared, and, stooping down to the mat on which the child lay, said, in
an affectionate tone, "Drink, my sister. I have brought you that which
will drive this fever far from you."
On raising her head to reply, the little girl saw a pair of eyes
peeping through a crevice in the lodge, fixed upon her with a peculiar
and significant expression. With the quick perception due partly to
instinct and partly to her intercourse with the red people, she replied
faintly, "Set it down, my sister. When this fit of the fever has passed,
I will drink your medicine."
The squaw, too cautious to importune, busied herself about the lodge for
a short time; then withdrew to another near at hand. Meantime the bright
eyes continued to peer through the opening until they had watched the
object of their gaze fairly out of sight. Then a low voice, the voice of
a young friend and playfellow, spoke: "Do not drink that which your
brother's wife has brought you. She hates you, and is only waiting an
opportunity to rid herself of you. I have watched her all the morning,
and have seen her gathering the most deadly roots and herbs. I knew for
whom they were intended, and came hither to warn you."
"Take the bowl," said the little invalid, "and carry it to my mother's
lodge."
This was accordingly done. The contents of the bowl were found to
consist principally of a decoction of the root of the May-apple, the
most deadly poison known among the Indians.
It is not in the power of language to describe the indignation that
pervaded the little community when this discovery was made known. The
squaws ran to and fro, as is their custom when excited, each vying with
the other in heaping invectives upon the culprit. For the present,
however, no further punishment was inflicted upon her, and, the first
burst of rage over, she was treated with silent abhorrence.
The little patient was removed to the lodge of the Old Queen and
strictly guarded, while her enemy was left to wander in silence and
solitude about the fields and woods, until the return of her husband
should determine her punishment.
In a few days, the excursion being over, the Big White Man and his party
returned to the village. Contrary to the custom of savages, he did not,
in his first passion at learning the attempt on the life of his little
sister, take summary vengeance on the offender. Instead, he contented
himself with banishing the squaw from his lodge, never to return, and in
condemning her to hoe corn in a distant part of the large field or
inclosure which served the whole community for a garden.
Although thereafter she would still show her vindictiveness toward the
little girl by striking at her with her hoe, or by some other spiteful
action whenever, by chance, Eleanor and her companions wandered into
that vicinity, yet she was either too well watched or stood too much in
awe of her former husband to repeat the attempt upon his sister's life.
Four years had now elapsed since the capture of little Nelly. Her heart
was by nature warm and affectionate, and the unbounded tenderness of
those among whom she dwelt called forth in her a corresponding feeling.
She regarded the chief and his mother with love and reverence, and had
so completely acquired their language and customs as almost to have
forgotten her own.
So identified had she become with the tribe that the remembrance of her
home and family had nearly faded from her mind--all but the memory of
her mother, her mother, whom she had loved with a strength of affection
natural to her warm and ardent disposition, and to whom her heart still
clung with a fondness that no time or change could destroy.
The peace of 1783 between Great Britain and the United States was now
effected, in consequence of which there was a general pacification of
the Indian tribes, and fresh hopes were aroused in the bosoms of Mr. and
Mrs. Lytle.
They removed with their family to Fort Niagara, near which, on the
American side, was the Great Council Fire of the Senecas. Colonel
Johnson again readily undertook negotiations with the chief in their
behalf, and, in order to lose no chance of success, he again proceeded
in person to the village of the Big White Man.
His visit was most opportune. He arrived among the Senecas during the
Feast of the Green Corn. This observance, which corresponds so
strikingly with the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles that, together with
other customs, it has led many to believe the Indian nations the
descendants of the lost ten tribes of Israel, made it a season of
general joy and festivity. All occupations were suspended to give place
to social enjoyment in the open air or in arbors formed of the green
branches of the trees. Every one appeared in gala dress. That of the
little adopted child consisted of a petticoat of blue broadcloth,
bordered with gay-colored ribbons, and a sack or upper garment of black
silk, ornamented with three rows of silver brooches, the center ones
from the throat to the hem being large, while those from the shoulders
down were as small as a shilling piece and as closely set as possible.
Around her neck were innumerable strings of white and purple wampum--an
Indian ornament manufactured from the inner surface of the mussel shell.
Her hair was clubbed behind and loaded with beads of various colors,
while leggings of scarlet cloth and moccasins of deerskin embroidered
with porcupine quills completed her costume.
Colonel Johnson was received with all the consideration due his position
and the long friendship that existed between him and the tribe.
Observing that the hilarity of the festival had warmed and opened all
hearts, the Colonel took occasion in an interview with the chief to
expatiate upon the parental affection which had led the father and
mother of little Eleanor to give up friends and home and come hundreds
of miles, in the single hope of looking upon their child and embracing
her. The heart of the chief softened as he listened to this recital, and
he was induced to promise that he would attend the Grand Council soon to
be held at Fort Niagara, on the British side of the river, and bring his
little sister with him.
He exacted a promise from Colonel Johnson, however, that not only should
no effort be made to reclaim the child, but that even no proposition to
part with her should be made to him.
The time at length arrived when, her heart bounding with joy, little
Nelly was placed on horseback to accompany her Indian brother to the
Great Council of the Senecas. She had promised him that she would never
leave him without his permission, and he relied confidently on her word.
How anxiously the hearts of the parents beat with alternate hope and
fear as the chiefs and warriors arrived in successive bands to meet
their Father, the agent, at the Council Fire! The officers of the fort
had kindly given them quarters for the time being, and the ladies, whose
sympathies were strongly excited, had accompanied the mother to the
place of council and joined in her longing watch for the first
appearance of the band from the Allegheny River.
At length the Indians were discerned emerging from the forest on the
opposite or American side. Boats were sent by the commanding officer to
bring the chief and his party across. The father and mother, attended by
all the officers and ladies, stood upon the grassy bank awaiting their
approach. They had seen at a glance that the Indians had the little
captive with them.
As he was about to enter the boat, the chief said to some of his young
men, "Stand here with the horses and wait until I return."
He was told that the horses would be ferried across and taken care of.
"No," said he; "let them wait."
He held little Eleanor by the hand until the river was crossed, until
the boat touched the bank, until the child sprang forward into the arms
of the mother from whom she had so long been separated.
Witnessing that outburst of affection, the chief could resist no longer.
"She shall go," said he. "The mother must have her child again. I will
go back alone."
With one silent gesture of farewell he turned and stepped on board the
boat. No arguments or entreaties could induce him to remain at the
council. Reaching the other side of the Niagara, he mounted his horse,
and with his young men was soon lost in the depths of the forest.
After a few weeks' sojourn at Niagara, Mr. Lytle, dreading lest the
resolution of the Big White Man should be shaken, and he should once
more be deprived of his child, determined again to change his place of
abode. Accordingly, he took the first opportunity of crossing Lake Erie
with his family, and settled in the neighborhood of Detroit, where he
afterwards continued to reside.
Little Nelly saw her friend the chief no more. But she never forgot him.
To the day of her death she remembered with tenderness and gratitude her
brother the Big White Man, and her friends and playfellows among the
Senecas.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] Afterward the wife of John Kinzie.
[14] Although this is the name of her benefactor, preserved by our
mother, it seems evident that this chief was in fact Corn Planter, a
personage well known in the history of the times. There could hardly
have been two such prominent chiefs of the same name in one village.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully
as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other
inconsistencies.