Part 4

There was, as well as I can recollect, but one opinion expressed on the subject; and I believe it was the opinion of all, that that would be the last night with most of us. We dreaded an attack during the night; for this Indian, just as he left, said "I am afraid some of the mischievious boys will do some mischief before morning." After remaining in this state of suspense for more than an hour, expecting every moment that the savages would come rushing upon us; but every thing becoming quiet, we laid down upon our blankets to rest: but rested very little during this dismal night. Dreadful as was the night, the morning was more fearful. Just as the sun had risen upon us, and our hopes began to rise; and just as we were about to eat the morsel of bread left us by our friends who had been marched off the day before, that we might be ready at a moments warning to leave, should the British send sleighs for us, we heard a noise in the passage, and before we had time to think, the door of our room was forced open by an Indian, who entered with tomahawk in hand, ready to commence his bloody work. He was quickly followed by others. Their first object was plunder. They had no sooner entered the door of our room, than they began, in the most cruel manner, to strip the blankets and clothes off the wounded as they lay upon the floor. Fortunately for me, I was at the opposite side of the room from the door at which the Indians entered, near a door leading into the front room of the house; and finding there was no time to lose, I immediately passed out into the front room, where I met one of the most savage looking Indians I ever beheld. His very appearance was enough to terrify the stoutest heart. His face painted as black as charcoal could make it, plainly indictive of his deadly design; a bunch of long feathers fastened on his head, almost as large as a half bushel; a large tomahawk, the instrument of death, in his right hand; a scalping knife fastened to his belt. He instanly seized me by the collar, and led me out at the front door. At first I manifested some unwillingness to go with him. He then spoke very earnestly in his own language, and at the same time pulled me along forcibly, as if to remove me from the scene of death within. He led me through the front gate, and down the river about one hundred yards to the other houses, in which were Captains _Hart_, _Hickman_, and others. After leading me through the front gate, he left me. Just at this time, Captain Hart came out of his room, barefooted, with nothing on but shirt and drawers. In this condition he stood in the snow for some length of time pleading for his life. I here met with the chief who had been in our room in the evening. Captain _Hart_ understanding the designs of Proctor and Elliott, and knowing that the only possible chance for life, under the circumstances, was to make some arrangement with the Indians. For this purpose he sought an interview with this one, as he seemed to be a leader, and very intelligent. They met in the front yard, near the gate, about the time I came in.

I stood by and heard the conversation. Captain Hart's first remark, if I mistake not, was, that he was an acquaintance of Colonel Elliott's, and that he (Elliott) had promised to send his own sleigh for him. The Indian replied, "Elliott has deceived you--he does not intend to fulfill his promise." Well, said Capt. Hart, "if you will agree to take me, I will give you a horse, or a hundred dollars. You shall have it on our arrival at Malden." The Indian said, "_I cannot take you_." "Why?" asked Captain Hart. "You are too badly wounded," said the Indian. Captain Hart then asked the Indian, what they intended to do with them? "Boys," said the Indian, raising himself up into an attitude and air of consequence and insult, "_your are all to be killed_." Though involved in the same calamity myself, I could but notice the calmness and composure with which the brave officer received the sentence of death. The only reply which I heard him make was in the language of prayer to Almighty God to sustain him in this hour of trial. Feeling that the awful sentence included myself as well as all the rest, my heart seemed to sink within me, expecting every moment to receive the fatal blow. Just at this moment an Indian dragged Captain Hickman out of the house by one arm, and threw him down near where I stood, with his face on the snow. He was tomahawked, but not yet dead. He lay strangling in his blood. From this scene I turned away, and walking round the end of the house, towards the back yard, met an Indian at the corner of the house, who took hold of me and searched my pockets for money, but finding none, passed on. I then passed on round the house, leaving the main building on my right, and walking slowly that I might not appear to have any design, and that I might not attract the attention of the enemy. I thought, possibly, I might reach a small log building which I discovered not far from the house. As there was but one small entrance into it, and as it appeared dark within, it seemed to present the only possible refuge; and as there was no time to lose, and as life and death were depending, I determined to make the attempt to gain this place of retreat. But as I was within a few paces of my hiding place, an Indian coming from the opposite direction met me, and taking hold of me, asked me where I was wounded: I placed my hand upon my shoulder. He then felt of it, and finding that the wound was not bad, he took me back to the house where he had deposited his plunder; put a blanket around me, gave me a hat, then took me to the back door of the house in which the wounded lay, and gave me his gun and plunder in charge. In a moment every thing seemed to wear a different aspect. I now experienced one of those sudden transitions of mind impossible to be either conceived or expressed, except by those whose unhappy lot it has been, to be placed in like circumstances. Until now, despair had spread its gloomy mantle over me; but hope, that cheering companion, again visited my sinking heart, and I again saw a faint prospect that my life _might_ be spared. Thus situated, I had time to see what was passing around me. I had command of the way leading to Malden; and I saw but one road. I remained in this position about two hours, during which time I saw several pass--I suppose all who were able. Here I saw a striking example of the estimate a man places on life. I saw some of our own company--old acquaintances who were so badly wounded that they could scarcely be moved in their beds, understanding that those who could not travel on foot to Malden were all to be tomahawked, pass on their way to Malden, hobbling along on sticks. Poor fellows, they were soon overtaken by their merciless enemies and inhumanly butchered. A few moments after, being placed here by the Indian who claimed me, another Indian set fire to the house. The fire was built in the passage near the backdoor where I stood. After the fire had taken considerable hold of the house, an Indian came running down stairs with a keg of powder in his hand, with the head out. Just as he got to the foot of the stairs his foot slipped, and he come very near falling into the fire with the powder. Had the powder caught, both he and I would have perished.

The general opinion, I believe is, in reference to Captain Hart, that an Indian engaged to take him to Malden; and that another Indian, unwilling that he should go, shot him on the road. This may be true, but has always appeared to me improbable. From the position I occupied, having command of the way to Malden, I believe I saw all who passed in that direction, but saw nothing of Captain Hart. Upon the whole, I am induced to think that Captain Hart met his fate in the front yard where I left him.

I remained here until the roof of the house set on fire had fallen in. I heard no cry within, from which I infered that the wounded were killed before the house was burnt.

My Indian finally returned, bringing with him one of the United States' pack horses; and placing his bundle of plunder on him, gave me the bridle, making signs to march on towards Malden. I soon found the bodies of those poor hapless boys who had made the attempt, but were too badly wounded to travel, massacred, scalped, and stripped. When we reached the woods, we halted a short time by the fire. We then went on to Stony creek, where the British had encamped the night before the battle. Their wounded were still there, waiting to be conveyed to Malden.

Here the Indians made a large fire of rails, and gave the prisoners some bread. Our number was eight or ten. As we were eating, one of the Indians deliberately walked up to his prisoner, a fine looking young man, a son of Dr. Blythe of Lexington, and struck the tomahawk into his head. I was looking the young man in the face when he received the deadly blow; he closed his eyes, and sunk under the first stroke of the deadly weapon. After he had fallen, and received two or three strokes from the hand of the Indian, an old Frenchman took the weapon out of the hand of the savage and gave the dying man another stroke upon the head, which stilled him in death.*

*[Having marked the place where this old Frenchman lived, in order that I might the more readily find him, should I ever be permitted to visit the country again: and having taken particular notice of the house, I found no difficulty in ascertaining its location, and even the very habitation in which the old tory resided.

After the lapse of about eighteen months, from the time I was there a prisoner with the Indians, I was there again under _General McArthur_, who commanded a regiment of mounted volunteers--one battalion of which was from Kentucky, under the command of Major _Peter Dudley_.

Passing by this old man's house, in company with Benjamin Whitaker, our Lieutenant, we met this man in the street near his own house; I immediately recognized him as the individual who had so inhumanly assisted in the massacre of young Mr. Blythe, at Stony creek.

I mentioned the circumstance to Whitaker, and asked his advice in reference to the course best to be pursued; who instantly replied, "_let us take him_." I was glad of the opportunity, and forthwith approached him, and the first salutation, as near as I can recollect, was, "_Well sir, do you know any thing of me?_" His reply was, "No sir, I know nothing about you." "Well sir," said I, "I know you very well." He seemed at first to be somewhat surprised at my confident address, and looking on me very earnestly seemed to express some doubts on the subject. I, however, soon removed the old man's doubts, by remarking to him, "You are the man who was guilty of the cruel and inhuman act of assisting the savages in killing one of the prisoners at Stony creek, taken at Raisin, January 23, 1813. You are the very man, sir, and I saw you do it." These words come upon him, no doubt, very unexpectedly; and being seconded by the voice of conscience within, made him tremble. He discovered evident marks of fear, his countenance grew pale in an instant; and finding that his very fear had betrayed him, he did not deny it; but offered as an excuse that the Indians required it of him, and that he was afraid to refuse. This excuse, however, did not satisfy us. We considered, that as a citizen of Detroit, he had no business with the British army in time of battle. We, therefore, took him, without any further ceremony about it, and delivered him over to the proper authorities. He was confined in jail for eight or ten days, and then brought out for trial. I, of course, was the only evidence that appeared against him. He plead the same excuse he did when we first arrested him.

After nearly a whole day's managing in the matter, between the lawyers and the jury, and after alarming the old fellow nearly to death, they acquitted him.

I soon found that this circumstance had enraged the French population against me--particularly the old Catholic French. I, therefore, found it necessary, when going alone up town, to take my gun with me well loaded: this I considered a sufficient protection against any attack from that quarter.]

This greatly alarmed us. There appeared to be nothing in his case, that we could see, that made it necessary for him to die and not the rest of us. We now expected every moment to share the same barbarity. One of our company, a young man by the name of Jones, was so terified that he began to weep, and moved to the opposite side of the fire, thinking that those nearest the danger would be the first victims. We urged him to be still, and not to discover such marks of fear, or that he would certainly be killed. The Indian who had taken me, and claimed me as his, was at this time a few steps from us, adjusting his pack; I stepped up to him, and asked him if they were going to kill us all. He answered "_yes_." I went back to the fire and tried to eat, as well as I could, without an appetite. It was now about two o'clock, P. M., and having eaten but little for three days past, and that day had taken nothing until we arrived at Stony creek; but this awful cold-blooded butchery took away all desire for food. I soon saw that he did not understand my question, and I was then somewhat relieved. It has been said, and perhaps with due regard to truth, that many of the Indians engaged in this dreadful havoc, were under the influence of rum. They were supplied with it by the British, and when under its influence were more savage than savages.

We now took up our march towards Malden, leaving some of the Indians and their prisoners behind. Some of them I saw no more. They may have shared the same fate at the fire as the young man above. He was as able to travel as any of us, being only slightly wounded. He had no shoes--this may have been the reason why they did not take him on. We had gone but a short distance until we came to a number of Indians who were dancing the war dance around the fire. Here some of them had encamped on the night before the battle. As soon as we arrived, I saw that the Indians were drunk. Here my fears were again alarmed--being in the midst of a savage camp--dancing the war dance--the blood of scores fresh upon them--and under the influence of strong drink! Whilst my Indian kept sober I had some hopes of protection. It was not loner however until I saw him go into the dance and begin to drink. Now I almost yielded myself up to despair. As I stood holding his horse with a sad countenance, he came to me and gave me a roasted potato. He also made some expression of friendship, which once more tended to revive my drooping hopes.

The Indians having finished their dance, we proceeded towards Malden, and at night we encamped in the woods upon the snow. We took supper upon a piece cut from the side of a hog, boiled with the hair on, without bread and without salt. It rained during the night, and our situation was anything but agreeable; yet I felt thankful that it was no worse.

Many strange reflections rolled across my mind during the evening. The scenes of the day--such as I had never before witnessed--would occasionally force themselves upon my mind, the tendency of which was to spread a gloom upon every thing around me, and to heighten my fears. We were in a dense forest, removed from the sight of any habitation of man, the snow about eighteen inches deep, the rain making it still more insupportable.

I kept my eyes upon the Indians, particularly the one to whom I belonged, watching every motion, every step, and expression of his countenance. As the shades of night began to close upon our gloomy retreat, it seemed to shed a double horror upon the scene. The sad and heart-chilling thought would, in spite of all the efforts I could make to frown it back, intrude itself upon me, that I had been saved from the massacre only to meet a more horrid fate--that the fire they had kindled was perhaps to serve the double purpose of cooking their supper and roasting me to death. Whenever any of the company would take his tomahawk in his hand, the thought would instantly spring up, now I am gone.

This, take it altogether, was among the most trying scenes through which I passed during my imprisonment; not that I was actually in more danger, but taking all the circumstances together--the place, the time, and being separated from my friends in suffering, and being thrown alone, and for the first time to be secluded from all but a few savages whose hands were yet stained with the blood of my countrymen, and not knowing the moment my own might be shed--produced emotions extremely distressing and trying.

After we had eaten, the Indians began to make preparations for lodging, by scraping away the snow and placing bark down upon which to spread their blankets; they suspended a blanket, by means of a few poles, so as to keep the rain out of our faces. After engaging themselves in conversation for some sime, which they seemed to enjoy exceedingly, and which was occasionally accompanied with loud exultations, the proposition was made to retire for the night. My feelings now became indescribable. Strange as it may appear, I was apprehensive that after I fell asleep they would take that opportunity to despatch me; a death of this kind appeared to me the most dreadful of all others. With these feelings, by their direction I lay down, and knowing that they were careful to save all articles of clothing, I tied up my head in my pocket handkerchief, hoping that this might be some protection, believing that they would not tomahawk me without removing it, which I supposed they could not do without awaking me. Thus I lay me down by the side, and under the same blanket, with the Indian who claimed me, with fearful apprehensions that I should never again see the light of the sun. But notwithstanding the cold, the snow and rain, and my perilous condition, such had been the excitement of the day that I was completely overcome, and very soon fell into a sound sleep, and slept sweetly until morning. The light of the morning was hailed with expressions of gratitude to a kind and merciful Providence which had shielded me through such a night. With the return of the day I had a return of hope that I should yet be spared.

Early next morning we started on through the snow, mud and water. We had but little to eat, and no opportunity to warm; my clothing was scant, and not sufficient to protect me against the weather. We fell in with several small companies of Indians, some on foot and others on horseback, none offering any violence or showing any hostility, but all appearing anxious to look at me and make inquiries. Occasionally we heard a gun on the right or left; but when we got into the vicinity of Malden the firing was almost incessant--it seemed that the whole face of the country was covered with Indians, rejoicing over a vanquished enemy. I again began to feel that my condition was exceedingly perilous, and that I was only spared from the tomahawk at Raisin, to be led to the slaughter at Malden. Though I did not at this time fear so much from the Indian that claimed me as his, yet I had much to fear from the enraged and drunken savages which were to be seen in every direction.

A short time before night, as we were passing an old house, a squaw came out crying, and commenced beating me with all her strength. She smote me on my wounded shoulder, and raised my temper. For a short time I cared but little whether I lived or died, I thought if this was to be my treatment whenever I met a squaw, that I might as well give up at once and die. This was, however, my first and last whipping from a female Indian. That night we lodged at the house of a Frenchman, whose family was very kind. We went forward again next morning, and that day we reached the home of this Indian.

But on our way, having to pass the vicinity of Detroit, the Indians called at the house of the old Frenchman who had stained his hands in the blood of young Mr. Blythe, at Stony creek--(I have since learned that this was the name of the young man.) They held a long conversation which I could not understand, because they conversed in Indian. The Frenchman seemed to enter heartily into the spirit of rejoicing. They smoked together, and passed other Indian compliments, all of which I noticed particularly; and not only that, but marked the place, and promised myself that if opportunity should offer, to pay him for it.

From this point we left the main road, leaving Detroit to our right; we soon passed through a large Indian camp; just as we were entering, a company came in who had been at the battle at Raisin, bringing in their wounded in sleighs; the one which I saw appeared to be very badly wounded, and contrary to all Indian custom, or dignity of Indian character, was heard to groan. But notwithstanding his extreme pain, he cast a most savage look at me as the sleigh passed.

In passing this camp many Indians came to the door of their tents to look, particularly the young squaws. Under all the circumstances, passing through just as they were, returning from the bloody scene of Raisin, and also bringing in some badly, perhaps mortally, wounded, I had fearful apprehensions--I knew not what moment an enraged savage would take my life.

After leaving this camp--at which we made no stay--I felt greatly relieved, believing there was some hope that we might pass safely on to our place of destination. As well as I recollect, we passed but very few Indians after this; but about sunset, when within a short distance of our Indian home, in passing over a pond on the ice, which at that time was covered with snow, the horse slipped and fell, but after some difficulty we succeeded in getting him on his feet again, and soon reached the vicinity of camp, which was announced to me by the Indian commencing the war-whoop at the top of his voice, which was responded to by a number of voices as loud and terrible as his own. All seemed to understand it--it was the sound of victory. As soon as we approached near enough to be recognized, every Indian, male and female, were out--all eyes directed towards us--and every man and boy shouted to the extent of their ability.

My feelings by this time--having recently witnessed so many scenes of blood, and having passed through so many hair-breadth escapes myself--had become almost deadened; but upon the approach of this camp, amid the shouts of savages, and not knowing for what purpose I should be brought there, unless to be a victim of sport for them, I _felt_, and this is all that I can say--for to express _what_ I felt, I find to be impossible.