It was my privilege, in the summer of 1896, to share in the exercises
which marked the Centennial of the delivery of Fort Niagara by Great
Britain to the United States. As I stood in that old stronghold on the
bank above the blue lake, strolled across the ancient parade ground, or
passed from one historic building to another, I found myself constantly
forgetting the actual day and hour, and slipping back a century or two.
There was a great crowd at Fort Niagara on this August day; thousands of
people--citizens, officials, soldiers and pleasure-seekers; but with
them came and went, to my retrospective vision, many more thousands yet:
missionary priests, French adventurers, traders, soldiers of the
scarlet, and of the buff and blue. I saw Butler's Rangers in their green
suits; and I saw a horde of savages, now begging for rations from the
King's stores, now coming in from their forays, famished but exultant,
displaying the scalps they had taken, or leading their ragged and
woebegone captives. It was upon these captives, whose romantic
misfortunes make a long and dramatic chapter in the history of Fort
Niagara, that my regard was prone to center. Their stories have nowhere
been told, so far as I am aware, as a part of the history of the place;
many of them never can be told; but of others some details may be
recorded.
Throughout the whole period of the Revolutionary War, Fort Niagara was a
garrisoned British post, of varying strength. It was the supply depot
for all arms and provisions which were destined for the upper posts of
Detroit and Michillimackinac; it was the rendezvous of the Senecas, who
worked the Government for all the blankets and guns, trinkets and
provisions which they could get; it was the headquarters of Col. Guy
Johnson, Indian Superintendent; and it was the resting-place and base of
operations of They-en-dan-e-gey-ah--in English, Joseph Brant; of Butler
and his rangers, and of numerous other less famous but more cruel
Indians, British and Tory leaders. No American troops reached Fort
Niagara to attack it. Only once was it even threatened. Yet throughout
the whole period of the war parties sallied forth from Fort Niagara to
plunder, capture or kill the rebel settlers wherever they could be
reached.
Sixty years ago Judge Samuel De Veaux wrote of this phase of the history
of Fort Niagara:
This old fort is as much noted for enormity and crime, as for any
good ever derived from it by the nation in occupation.... During
the American Revolution it was the headquarters of all that was
barbarous, unrelenting and cruel. There, were congregated the
leaders and chiefs of those bands of murderers and miscreants, that
carried death and destruction into the remote American settlements.
There, civilized Europe revelled with savage America; and ladies of
education and refinement mingled in the society of those whose
only distinction was to wield the bloody tomahawk and
scalping-knife. There, the squaws of the forest were raised to
eminence, and the most unholy unions between them and officers of
the highest rank, smiled upon and countenanced. There, in their
strong hold, like a nest of vultures, securely, for seven years,
they sallied forth and preyed upon the distant settlements of the
Mohawks and Susquehannahs. It was the depot of their plunder; there
they planned their forays, and there they returned to feast, until
the hour of action came again.[18]
This striking passage, which the worthy author did not substantiate by a
single fact, may stand as the present text. I have undertaken to trace
some of the flights of the birds of prey from this nest, and to bring
together the details relating to the captives who were brought hither.
From many sources I have traced out the narratives of thirty-two persons
who were brought to Fort Niagara captive by the Indians, during the
years 1778 to 1783. Among them is my boy hero Davy Ogden, whose
adventures I undertake to tell with some minuteness. Just how many
American prisoners were brought into Fort Niagara during this period I
am unable to say, though it is possible that from the official
correspondence of the time figures could be had on which a very close
estimate could be based. My examination of the subject warrants the
assertion that several hundred were brought in by the war parties under
Indian, British and Tory leaders. In this correspondence, very little of
which has ever been published, one may find such entries as the
following:
Guy Johnson wrote from Fort Niagara, June 30, 1781:
In my last letter of the 24th inst. I had just time to enclose a
copy of Lieut. Nelles's letter with an account of his success,
since which he arrived at this place with more particular
information by which I find that he killed thirteen and took seven
(the Indians not having reckoned two of the persons whom they left
unscalped)....
Again:
I have the honor to transmit to Your Excellency a general letter
containing the state of the garrison and of my Department to the
1st inst., and a return, at the foot, of the war parties that have
been on service this year, ... by which it will appear that they
have killed and taken during the season already 150 persons,
including those last brought in....
Again he reports, August 30, 1781:
The party with Capt. Caldwell and some of the Indians with Capt.
Lottridge are returning, having destroyed several settlements in
Ulster County, and about 100 of the Indians are gone against other
parts of the frontiers, and I have some large parties under good
leaders still on service as well as scouts towards Fort Pitt....
Not only are there many returns of this sort, but also tabulated
statements, giving the number of prisoners sent down from Fort Niagara
to Montreal on given dates, with their names, ages, names of their
captors, and the places where they were taken. There were many shipments
during the summer of '83, and the latest return of this sort which I
have found in the archives is dated August 1st of that year, when eleven
prisoners were sent from the fort to Montreal. It was probably not far
from this time that the last American prisoner of the Revolution was
released from Fort Niagara. But let the reader beware of forming hasty
conclusions as to the cruelty or brutality of the British at Fort
Niagara. In the first place, remember that harshness or kindness in the
treatment of the helpless depends in good degree--and always has
depended--upon the temperament and mood of the individual custodian.
There were those in command at Fort Niagara who appear to have been
capable of almost any iniquity. Others gave frequent and conspicuous
proofs of their humanity. Remember, secondly, that the prisoners
primarily belonged to the Indians who captured them. The Indian custom
of adoption--the taking into the family circle of a prisoner in place of
a son or husband who had been killed by the enemy--was an Iroquois
custom, dating back much further than their acquaintance with the
English. Many of the Americans who were detained in this fashion by
their Indian captors, probably never were given over to the British.
Some, as we know, like Mary Jemison, the White Woman of the Genesee,
adopted the Indian mode of life and refused to leave it. Others died in
captivity, some escaped. Horatio Jones and Jasper Parrish were first
prisoners, then utilized as interpreters, but remained among the
Indians.[19] And in many cases, especially of women and children, we
know that they were got away from the Indians by the British officers at
Fort Niagara, only after considerable trouble and expense. In these
cases the British were the real benefactors of the Americans, and the
kindness in the act cannot always be put aside on the mere ground of
military exchange, prisoner for prisoner. Gen. Haldimand is quoted to
the effect that he "does not intend to enter into an exchange of
prisoners, but he will not add to the distresses attending the present
war, by detaining helpless women and children from their families."[20]
I have spoken of Mrs. Campbell, who was held some months at Kanadasaga.
The letter just cited further illustrates the point I would make:
A former application had been made in behalf of Col. Campbell to
procure the exchange of his family for that of Col. Butler, and the
officer commanding the upper posts collected Mr. Campbell's and the
family of a Mr. Moore, and procured their release from the Indians
upon the above mentioned condition with infinite trouble and a very
heavy expense. They are now at Fort Niagara where the best care
that circumstances will admit of, is taken of them, and I am to
acquaint you that Mrs. Campbell & any other women or children that
shall be specified shall be safely conducted to Fort Schuyler, or
to any other place that shall be thought most convenient, provided
Mrs. Butler & her family consisting of a like number shall in the
same manner have safe conduct to my advance post upon Lake
Champlain in order that she may cross the lake before the ice
breaks up.
The official correspondence carried on during the years 1779 to '83,
between Gen. Haldimand and the commanding officers at Fort Niagara shows
in more than one instance that American prisoners were a burden and a
trouble at that post. Sometimes, as in the case of Mrs. Campbell, who
was finally exchanged for Mrs. Butler and her children, they were
detained as hostages. More often, they were received from the Indians in
exchange for presents, the British being obliged to humor the Indians
and thus retain their invaluable services. Thus, under date of Oct. 2,
1779, we find Col. Bolton writing from Fort Niagara to Gen. Haldimand:
"I should be glad to know what to do with the prisoners sent here by
Capt. Lernault. Some of them I forwarded to Carleton Island, and Maj.
Nairne has applied for leave to send them to Montreal. I have also many
here belonging to the Indians, who have not as yet agreed to deliver
them up."[21]
I could multiply at great length these citations from the official
correspondence, but enough has been given to show that the wholesale
condemnation of the British, into whose hands American prisoners fell,
is not warranted by the facts. But there is no plainer fact in it all
than that the British organized and aided the Indian raids, and were,
therefore, joint culprits in general.
And this brings us to the subject of scalps. For many years Fort Niagara
was called a scalp-market. The statement is frequent in early writers
that the British officers offered about eight dollars for every
American's scalp, and that it was this offer, more than anything else,
which fired the Indians to their most horrible deeds. Many scalps were
brought into Fort Niagara, but I have failed, as yet, to find any
report, or figure, or allusion, in the British archives pointing to the
payment of anything whatever. Further search may discover something to
settle this not unimportant matter; for we may readily believe that if
such payments were made the matter would be passed over as unobtrusively
as possible, especially in the reports to the Ministry. The facts appear
to be that warriors who brought scalps into Fort Niagara gave them to
the Superintendent of Indian Affairs, or his deputy, and then received
presents from him. Probably these presents were proportioned to the
success on the warpath.
These facts and reflections are offered to assist the reader's ready
understanding and imagination in following in detail the adventures of
one out of the many prisoners whose paths we have glanced at; for of all
these unfortunate patriots who were thus brought to the "vultures' nest"
none has laid hold of my interest and my imagination more strongly than
has David Ogden. He was born in a troublous time, and the hazards of
border life were his sole heritage, save alone a sturdy intrepidity of
character which chiefly commends him to me as the typical hero of all
the heroic souls, men, women, and children, who came through great
bereavements and hardships, into old Fort Niagara as prisoners of war.
Davy was born at Fishkill, Dutchess Co., New York, in 1764. His parents
made one remove after another, in the restless American fashion, for
some years taking such chances of betterment as new settlements
afforded; first at Waterford, Saratoga Co.; then in the wilderness on
the head-waters of the Susquehanna near the present village of
Huntsville; then up the river to the settlement known in those days as
Newtown Martin, now Middlefield; and later, for safety, to Cherry
Valley. Here David's mother and her four boys were at the time of the
famous massacre of November, 1778. When the alarm was given Mrs. Ogden
snatched a blanket, and with her little ones began a flight through the
woods towards the Mohawk. With them also fled Col. Campbell, of the
patriot militia. Coming to a deserted cabin whose owner had fled, they
did not scruple to help themselves to a loaf of bread, which Col.
Campbell cut up with his sword. After another flight of some hours
through a storm of mingled snow and rain, they came to the house of one
Lyons, a Tory, who was absent, presumably because busied in the black
work at Cherry Valley. Mrs. Lyons, who seems to have shared her
husband's sentiments, refused the refugees anything to eat, but finally
let the mother and children spend the night on the floor. Col. Campbell
left the Ogdens here and pushed on alone towards Canajoharie; while Mrs.
Odgen and her hungry little ones went on by themselves through the snow.
That day they came to a more hospitable house, where the keen suffering
of that adventure ended; and some days later, on the Mohawk, the father
rejoined the family, he also having escaped the massacre at Cherry
Valley.
This incident may be reckoned the mere prelude of our Davy's adventures;
for the next spring, having reached the mature age of fourteen, he
volunteered in the service of his country, entered upon the regular life
of a soldier, and began to have adventures on his own account. The year
that followed was spent in arduous but not particularly romantic
service. He was marched from one point to another on the Mohawk and the
Hudson; saw Andre hanged at Tappan, and finally was sent to the frontier
again, where at Fort Stanwix,[22] in the spring of 1781, what we may
regard as the real adventures of Davy Ogden began.
A party of eleven wood-choppers were at work in the heavy timber about
two miles from the fort, and every day an armed guard was sent out from
the garrison to protect them. On March 2d, Corporal Samuel Betts and six
soldiers, Davy among them, were detailed on this service. I conceive of
my hero at this time as a sturdy, well-seasoned lad, to whom woodcraft
and pioneer soldiering had become second nature. I would like to see him
among city boys of his own age to-day. Most things that they know, and
think of, would be quite out of his range. But there is a common ground
on which all healthy, high-minded boys, of whatever time or station in
life, stand on a level. I do not know that he had ever been to school,
or that he could read, though I think his mother must have looked to
that. But I do know that he was well educated. He was innocent of the
bicycle, but I'll warrant he could skate. I know he could swim like an
otter--as I shall presently record--and when it came to running, he
would have been a champion of the cinder-path, to-day. He knew the ways
of poverty and of self-denial; knew the signs of the forest, of wild
animal and Indian; and best of all, I am sure he knew just why he was
carrying a heavy flint-lock in the ragged, hungry ranks of the American
"rebels." It must be admitted, I linger somewhat over my hero; but I
like the lad, and would have the reader come into sympathy with him. I
can see him now as he followed the corporal out of the fort that March
morning. He wore the three-cornered cocked-up hat of the prescribed
uniform, and his powder-horn was slung at his side. The whole guard
very likely wore snowshoes, for the snow lay three feet deep in the
woods, and a thaw had weakened the crust.
Late in the afternoon, soldiers and wood-choppers were startled by the
yells of Indians and Tories, who had gained a hill between them and the
fort. Brant had achieved another of his surprises, and there was no
escape from his party, which seemed to fill the woods. His evident
intent was to make captives and not to kill, though his men had orders
to shoot or tomahawk any who fired in self-defense. Two of Davy's
companions were wounded by the enemy. One of them, Timothy Runnels, was
shot in the mouth, "the ball coming through his cheek; and yet not a
tooth was disturbed, a pretty good evidence, in the opinion of his
comrades, that his mouth was wide open when the ball went in." It fared
more seriously with the other wounded soldier. This man, whose name was
Morfat, had his thigh broken by a bullet. The Indians rushed upon him as
he fell at Davy's side, tomahawked him, scalped him, stripped him and
left him naked upon the snow, thus visiting a special vengeance upon one
who was said to be a deserter from the British. It is further chronicled
that Morfat did not immediately die, but lived until he was found, hours
after, by a party from the fort, finally expiring as his comrades bore
him through the gate of Fort Stanwix.
Davy Ogden had seen this dreadful thing, but with no sign of fear or
sickness. He had already mastered that scorn of suffering and death
which always commended the brave to their Indian captors. He was ranged
up with the other prisoners, and Brant asked of each his name. When Davy
gave his, the great chief exclaimed:
"What, a son of Ogden the beaver-hunter, that old scouter? Ugh! I wish
it were he instead of you! But we will take care of his boy or he may
become a scouter too!"
Thus began David's captivity, as the prisoner, and perhaps receiving
some of the special regard, of Brant himself. There could have been
little doubt in Davy's mind, from the moment of his capture, that he was
to be carried to Fort Niagara; yet the first move of the party was
characteristic of Indian strategy; for instead of taking the trail
westward, they all marched off to the eastward, coming upon the Mohawk
some miles below Fort Stanwix. They forded the river twice, the icy
water coming above their waists. On emerging upon the road between Fort
Stanwix and Fort Herkimer, Brant halted his sixteen prisoners and caused
the buckles to be cut from their shoes. These he placed in a row in the
road, where the first passing American would be sure to see them. There
was something of a taunt in the act, and a good deal of humor; and we
may be sure that Joseph Brant, who was educated enough, and of great
nature enough, to enjoy a joke, had many a laugh on his way back to
Niagara as he thought of those thirty-two buckles in a row.
The prisoners tied up their shoes with deerskin strings, and trudged
along through the night until the gleam of fires ahead and a chorus of
yells turned their thoughts towards the stake and an ignominious
martyrdom. But their fate was easier to meet. In a volley of sixteen
distinct yells for the prisoners and one for the scalp, the party--said
to number 100 Indians and fifty Tories--entered the first camp, where
squaws were boiling huge kettles of samp--pounded corn--eaten without
salt. All fared equally well, and all slept on the ground in the snow,
Davy and his fellows being guarded by British soldiers.
The next day's march brought them to Oneida Castle, often the
headquarters of Brant in his expeditions. Here the Indians dug up from
the snow a store of unhusked corn, and shelled and pounded a quantity
for their long march. Here, too, Davy's three-cornered Revolutionary hat
was taken from him, and in its place was given him a raccoon skin. All
of the captives except the corporal were similarly treated and the
Indians showed them how to tie the head and tail together. On some the
legs stuck up and on others the legs hung down. I do not know how Davy
wore his--with a touch of taste and an air of gaiety, no doubt; and we
may be sure it made a better head-covering for a march of 250 miles at
that season than would the stiff hat he had lost. Corporal Betts alone
was permitted to keep his hat, as insignia of rank, and it is to be
hoped he got some comfort out of it.
It would take too long to give all the dismal details of Davy's dreary
tramp across the State. Other captivities which I have spoken of had
incidents of more dire misery and greater horror than befel the party
to which Ogden belonged; and this is one reason why I have chosen to
dwell upon his adventures, because my aim is, by a personal narrative,
to illustrate the average experience of the time.
There were hundreds of American prisoners brought to Fort Niagara during
the period we are studying, but it would be far from just to their
captors, and would throw our historical perspective out of focus, to
take the extreme cases as types for the whole.
Yet, put it mildly as we can, the experience persists in being serious.
At Oneida Castle Brant, evidently fearing pursuit, roused his party in
the middle of the night, and a forced march was begun through the heavy
timber and up and down the long hills to the westward. When the moon
went down they halted, but at the first streak of daylight they pushed
on, not waiting even to boil their samp. An occasional handful of
parched corn, pounded fine and taken with a swallow of water, was all
the food any of the party had that day.
The next encampment was on the Onondaga River, south of the lake; and
here occurred an incident as characteristic of Indian character as was
the row of shoe-buckles in the road. Some Indians found a small cannon,
which had probably been abandoned by one of the detachments sent out by
Sullivan on his retreat from the Genesee in '79. Brant, who had plenty
of powder, ordered his American prisoners to load and fire this gun a
number of times, the Indians meanwhile yelling in delight and the
Tories and British enjoying the chagrin of the helpless Americans. Then
the march was resumed; over the watershed to Cayuga Lake, which they
crossed on the ice near the outlet, a long train, each man far from his
fellow, for the ice was rotten and full of air-holes; then along the old
trail to Seneca River, which they forded; thence the route was west by
north, one camp being somewhere between the present villages of Waterloo
and Lyons. Brant on this expedition appears to have kept to the north of
Kanadasaga.[23] A day later they came to the outlet of Canandaigua Lake,
where the Indians, finding a human head which they said was the head of
a Yankee, had an improvised game of football with it, with taunts and
threats for the edification of their prisoners. The next day they
crossed the Genesee River, at or near the old Genesee Castle. And still,
as throughout all this march, unsalted, often uncooked, samp was their
only food.
On the march Davy and each of his fellows had worn about their necks a
rope of some fourteen or sixteen feet in length. In the daytime these
ropes were wound about their necks and tied. At night they were unwound,
each prisoner placed between two captors, and one end of the rope was
fastened to each of the double guard. Under the circumstances it is no
reflection upon our hero's courage that he had not made his escape.
West of the Genesee, and beyond the country which had been ravaged by
Sullivan, signs of Indian occupancy multiplied; but as yet there was no
other food than corn to be had for their ill-conditioned bodies. As they
filed along the trail, through the snow and mud of March, they met
another large party just setting out from Niagara on a foray for
prisoners and scalps. There were noisy greetings and many exultant
yells; and as the outbound savages passed the prisoners, they snatched
from each one's head the raccoon-skin cap; so that for the rest of the
journey Davy and his companions met the weather bare-headed--all save
Corporal Betts, to whom again was still spared the old three-cornered
hat. The incident bespeaks either the lack of control or the negligent
good nature of Brant, for fifteen raccoon-skins at Fort Niagara would
surely have been worth at least fifteen quarts of rum. Corporal Betts,
however, must have got little comfort out of his hat; for seeing him
look so soldierly in it, the whim seized upon Brant to compel the
unlucky corporal to review his woebegone troops.
"Drill your men," said the fun-loving chief, "and let us see if these
Yankees can go through the tactics of Baron Steuben."
And so poor Betts, but with a broken spirit, mustered his forlorn guard,
dressed them in a straight line, and put them through the manual
according to Steuben. I doubt if the history of Western New York can
show a stranger military function than this reluctant muster of patriot
prisoners under compulsion of a playful tiger of an Indian, jeered at
meanwhile by British soldiers from Fort Niagara. When these latter went
too far in their ridicule Brant stopped them. "The Yankees," he said
angrily, "do it a damned sight better than you can."
This affair took place, as nearly as I can make out, somewhere between
Batavia and Lockport; probably not far from the old Indian village of
Tonawanda.
Being now in the valley of the Tonawanda, Brant seems to have sent ahead
a runner to announce his approach; for the second or third day after
crossing the Genesee they were met by a party from the fort, bringing
pork and flour, whereupon there was a camp and a feast; with the not
strange result that many of them had to return to the astringent parched
corn as a corrective.
From this point on Davy and his friends were subjected to a new
experience; for, as they passed through the Indian villages, the old
women and children exercised their accustomed privilege of beating and
abusing the prisoners. On one occasion, as Davy was plodding along the
path, a squaw ran up to him, and, all unawares, hit him a terrific blow
on the side of the head, whereupon the boy came near getting into
trouble by making a vigorous effort to kick the lady. At another time,
as David marched near Brant, he saw a young Indian raise a pole,
intending to give the prisoner a whack over the head. Davy dodged, and
the blow fell on Brant's back. The chief, though undoubtedly hurt, paid
no attention to the Indian lad, but advised Davy to run, and Davy,
knowing perfectly well that to run away meant torture and death, wisely
ran towards the fort, which was but a few miles distant. A companion
named Hawkins, who had marched with him, ran by his side. And, as they
ran, they came upon still another village of the Senecas, from which two
young savages took after them. Believing that their pursuers would
tomahawk them, the boys let out a link or two of their speed, and coming
to a creek where logs made a bridge, Hawkins hid under the bridge, while
Davy ran behind a great buttonwood tree. The young Indians, however, had
seen them, and on coming up, one of them promptly went under the bridge,
and the other around the tree for Davy. This Indian held out his hand in
friendship, and said: "Brother, stop." And the boys, seeing that the
Indians had no tomahawks and could do them no harm, were reassured, and
they all went on together toward Fort Niagara.
Soon they met a detail of soldiers from the fort, who detained them
until the rest of the party came up, when Davy saw that some of his
friends had been so badly wounded by the assaults of these village
Indians that they were now being carried. As the party went on together,
the path was continually lined with Indians, whose camps were on the
open plains about the fort; and the clubbing and beating of the
prisoners became incessant. This was all a regular part of a triumphal
return to Fort Niagara of a party of British and Indians with American
prisoners, and was the mild preliminary of that dread ordeal known as
running the gauntlet.
When Davy, well to the front of the procession, had been marched some
distance farther through the wood, he looked out upon a clearing, across
which extended a long line of fallen trees, which lay piled with the
butts inward, so that the sharpened points of the forked branches all
pointed outwards, making a _chevaux-de-frise_ upon which one might
impale himself, but which could scarcely be scaled. Beyond this barrier,
as Davy looked, he saw, first, the wagon road which ran between this
_chevaux-de-frise_ and the palisades or pickets of the fort beyond.
Within the palisades he could see the outlines of the fortification, the
upper part of the old castle which still stands there, and other
buildings, and over all the red flag of Great Britain. But while he
noted these things, his chief regard must have fallen upon the great
crowd of Indians who were ranged along on either side of the road
between the outwork of fallen trees and the palisades--two close ranks
of painted savages in front, and behind them on either side a dense mass
of yelling, gesticulating bucks, squaws, old men and children, impatient
for the passing of the prisoners. Beyond, the British sentries, officers
and other inmates of the fort, awaited the sport, like spectators at a
play.
Davy knew the gravity and the chances of the situation. He knew the
Indian custom, which does not seem to have been at all interfered with
by the officers in command at Niagara,[24] which allowed the spectator
to assault or wound the prisoner who should run between the ranks, in
any way which his ingenuity could suggest, except with hatchets and
knives; these could be used only on prisoners whose faces were painted
black, by which sign wretches doomed to death were known; yet any
prisoner, even the black-painted ones, who lived through the gauntlet
and gained the gate of the fort, was safe from Indian judgment, and
could rest his case upon the mercies of the British.
I do not know whether or not Davy's heart stood still for a second, but
I am bound to say there was not a drop of craven blood in his veins. He
was not exactly in training, as we would say of a sprinter today--his
diet, the reader will remember, had been somewhat deficient. But if he
hesitated or trembled it was not for long. We can see him as he stands
between the soldiers from the fort--bareheaded, ragged, dirty; a blanket
pinned about his shoulders and still with the rope about his neck by
which he was secured at night. And now, as his guards look back to see
the others come up, Davy tightens the leather strap at his waist, takes
a deep breath, bends low, darts forward, and is half way down the line
before the waiting Indians know he is coming.
How he does run! And how the yells and execrations follow! There is a
flight of stones and clubs, but not one touches the boy. One huge
savage steps forward, to throw the runner backward--he clutches only the
blanket, which is left in his hands, and Davy runs freer than before.
The twenty rods of this race for life are passed, and as the boy dashes
upon the bridge by which the road into the fort crosses the outer ditch,
he is confronted by an evil-looking squaw, who aims a blow with her fist
square at his face. Davy knocks up her arm with such force that she
sprawls heavily to the ground, striking her head on one of the great
spikes that held the planking. And straight on runs Davy, not down the
road along the wall to the place set for prisoners, but through the
inner gate, under the guard-house; and so, panting and spent, out upon
the old parade-ground.
Thus came the boy-soldier of the Revolution, David Ogden, to Fort
Niagara, 118 years ago.
The sentries hailed him with laughter and jeers, and asked him what he
was doing there. "Go back," they said, "under the guard-house and down
the road outside the wall, to the bottom."
This was where Guy Johnson's house stood, and there the prisoners were
to report. But when Davy looked forth he concluded that discretion was
the better part of valor, for the angry Indians had closed upon his
fellows who followed, and were clubbing them, knocking them down and
kicking them; so that of the whole party taken prisoners near Fort
Stanwix, Davy Ogden was the only one who reached Fort Niagara without
serious harm. Turning back upon the parade ground he flatly refused to
go out again, whereupon the officer of the guard was called, who
questioned him, took pity on him, and sheltered him in his own quarters
for three days.
Now, if this were a mere story, we would expect, right here, a happy
turn in Davy's fortunes. As matter of fact, the most dismal days in
Davy's life were just to begin. He had hoped that the worst would be
detention at the fort, and a speedy shipment down the lake to Montreal,
for exchange. But after some days he was summoned to Guy Johnson's
house, where were many Indians, and here he was handed over to a squaw
to be her son, in place of one she had lost in the war. David was
powerless; and after what, many years later, he described as a powwow
had been held over him, he was led away by the squaw and her husband. A
British soldier, named Hank Haff, added to his grief by telling him that
he was adopted by the Indians and would have to live with them forever;
and, as he was led off across the plain, away from his friends and even
from communication with the British, who were at least of his own blood,
it was small consolation to know that his adopted father's name was
Skun-nun-do, that the hideous old hag, his mother, was Gunna-go-let,
that there was a daughter in the wigwam named Au-lee-zer-quot,
or that his own name was henceforth to be Chee-chee-le-coo, or
"Chipping-bird"--a good deal, I submit, for a soldier of the Revolution
to bear, even if he were only a boy.[25]
David lived with this fine family for over two years, being virtually
their slave, and always under circumstances which made escape
impossible. He dressed in Indian fashion, and learned their language,
their yells and signal whoops. During the first months of his adoption,
their wigwam was about four miles from the fort--presumably east or
southeast of it; and one of David's first duties was to go with
Gunna-go-let out on to the treeless plain overlooking Lake Ontario,
where the old squaw had found a prize in the shape of a horse which had
died of starvation. David helped her cut up the carcass and "tote" it
home--and he was glad to eat of the soup which she made of it. They were
always hungry. Skun-nun-do being a warrior, the burden of providing for
the family fell upon Gunna-go-let. Her principal recourse was to cut
faggots in the woods and carry them to the fort. Many a time did she and
Davy Ogden carry their loads of firewood on their backs up to the fort,
glad to receive in exchange cast-off meat, stale bread or rum. So much
of this work did Davy do during the two years that he was kept with
these Indians that his back became sore, then calloused.
When he had lived with Gunna-go-let three months, she packed up and
moved her wigwam to the carrying-place, now Lewiston. Here there was
cleared land, and some 200 huts or wigwams were pitched, while the
Indians planted, hoed and gathered a crop of corn. Davy was kept hard at
work in the field, or in carrying brooms, baskets and other things to
the fort for sale.
When he had been at the carrying-place about a year and a half, he saw a
large party of captives brought in from the settlements. Among them was
a young woman who had been at Fort Stanwix when Ogden was on duty there.
As she sat in the camp, Davy being present, she began to observe him
carefully. Although our hero was dressed as an Indian--Indian gaiters, a
short frock belted at the waist, and with his hair cut close to the
scalp over the whole head except a long tuft on the crown--yet this poor
girl saw his real condition and soon learned who he was. There was no
chance for confidences. What little they said had to be spoken freely,
without feeling, as if casually between strangers indifferent to each
other. She told David that she was gathering cowslip greens in a field,
when an Indian rushed upon her and carried her away. What she endured
while being brought to the Niagara I leave to the imagination. Davy saw
her carried away by her captors across the river into Canada; and thus
vanishes Hannah Armstrong, for I find no mention of her except in this
reminiscence of her drawn from Ogden's own lips.
About this time David was taken to the fort, old Gunna-go-let having
heard that the British would give her a present for the lad. Davy
trudged the nine miles from their hut to the fort with a good heart, for
to him the news meant a chance of exchange. At Guy Johnson's house he
and his mother sat expectant on the steps. Presently out came Capt.
Powell, who had married Jane Moore--who had herself been brought to the
fort a captive from Cherry Valley. This fine couple, from whom the lad
had some right to expect kindness, paraded up and down the "stoop" or
verandah of the house for a while, the wife hanging on her captain's arm
and both ignoring the boy. At length they paused, and Capt. Powell said:
"You are one of the squaw boys? Do you want to quit the Indians?"
"Yes," said Davy, heart in mouth.
"What for?" quizzed the captain.
"To be exchanged--to get back home, to my own country."
"Well," said Powell, "if you really want to get free from the Indians
come up and enlist in Butler's Rangers. Then we can ransom you from this
old squaw--will you do it?"
"No, I won't!" blazed Davy, fiercely.
Capt. Powell turned on his heel. "Go back with the Indians again and be
damned!" and with that he vanished into the house; and we have no means
of knowing whether Jane, his wife, had by this time become so "Tory"
that she made no protest; but it is pleasanter to think of her as
remembering her own captivity, and, still loyal at heart, as interceding
for the boy.[26] But that was the end of it for this time, and back
Davy went, with an angry squaw, to continue his ignoble servitude until
the next spring. Then word spread all through the region that the
prisoners must be brought into Fort Niagara, and this time Davy was not
disappointed, for with many others he was hurried on board the schooner
Seneca and carried to Oswego. Obviously the news of the preparations for
a peace had reached Niagara. Although the Treaty of Paris was not signed
until September 3d of that year (1783), yet the preliminary articles had
been agreed upon in January. The order from the British Ministry to
cease hostilities reached Sir Guy Carleton about the 1st of April, and a
week or so would suffice for its transmission to Niagara. Captives who
had been detained and claimed by the Indians continued to be brought in
during that summer, but we hear no more of returning war parties
arriving with new prisoners. The War of the Revolution was over, even at
remote Niagara, although for one pretext and another--and for some good
reasons--the British held on to Fort Niagara and kept up its garrison
for thirteen years more.
With the sailing of the Seneca the connection of Davy Ogden with Fort
Niagara ended; but no one who has followed his fortunes thus far can
wish to drop him, as it were, in the middle of Lake Ontario. That is
where Davy came near going, for a gale came up which not only made him
and the throng of others who were fastened below decks desperately sick,
but came near wrecking the schooner. She was compelled to put in at
Buck's Island, and after some days reached Oswego, then strongly
garrisoned. Here Davy stayed, still a prisoner, but living with the
British Indians, through the winter. In the spring, with a companion
named Danforth, who stole a loaf of bread for their sustenance, he made
his escape. He ran through the woods, twenty-four miles in four hours;
swam the Oswego River, and on reaching the far side, and fearing
pursuit, did not stop to dress, but ran on naked through the woods until
he and his companion hoped they had distanced their pursuers. A party
had been sent after them from the fort, but on reaching the point where
the boys had plunged into the river, gave up the chase. Ogden and
Danforth pressed on, around Oneida Lake--having an adventure with a bear
by the way, and another with rattlesnakes--and finally, following old
trails, reached Fort Herkimer, having finished their loaf of bread and
run seventy miles on the last day of their flight. Here Davy was among
friends. The officers promptly clothed him, gave him passports, and in a
few days he found his parents at Warrensburg, in Schoharie County.
When the War of 1812 broke out, David took his gun again. He fought at
the Battle of Queenston, where forty men in his own company were killed
or wounded. Two bullets passed through his clothes, but he was unharmed.
We can imagine the interest with which he viewed the Lewiston plateau
where he had lived with Gunna-go-let more than thirty years before.
After the war he returned East, and in 1840 was living in the town of
Franklin, Delaware Co., being then seventy-six years old. The story of
his adventures was gathered from his own lips, but I do not think it has
ever been told before as a part of the history of the Niagara frontier.
A Fort Niagara Centennial.