Chapter II: Part 2

_25th._ Arrived in camp this morning, clothing from Kentucky. The ladies who sent this clothing deserve the highest encomiums. If it had not been for their unexampled exertions, we must have suffered beyond conception. May they long live under the auspicious protection of a free government, and may kind heaven reward their unparalleled benevolence!

Another Frenchman came to camp, confirming what was stated by the others. We now began to recruit after our laborious march, and after being deprived of a sufficiency of provisions. Although we have been without flour ever since we came here, yet we have been better supplied with provisions than we have been since we embarked in the service. We have here in possession many large fields of corn, probably three hundred acres. We have erected a great many pounding machines, to prepare it for our use. This place has a solemn appearance. The inhabitants have fled, and the Indians or British have burned their houses, leaving some of the chimneys standing. By every appearance, this has been a respectable settlement. Four miles below our encampment, are the remains of the old British garrison.

_17th._ A Frenchman came yesterday from the river Raisin; he said two companies of British had just arrived from Canada, and the Indians were collecting, and intended to burn Frenchtown in a few days. By the repeated solicitations of the French, and being counselled by some of the field-officers, the General has been induced to order out a detachment of five hundred and seventy men, destined to the river Raisin; it was said, contrary to the instructions of Gen. Harrison. The detachment started[F] early with three days’ provisions, and proceeded on twenty miles near to Presqu’ Isle, a French village on the south side of the Maumee River. The sight of this village filled each heart with emotions of cheerfulness and joy; for we had been nearly five months in the wilderness, exposed to every inconvenience, and excluded from everything that had the appearance of a civilized country. When the inhabitants of the village discovered us, they met us with a white flag, and expressed particular friendship for us. They informed us the British and Indians had left Frenchtown a few days ago, and had gone to Brownstown. About three hours after dark, a reinforcement of one hundred and ten men overtook us, commanded by Col. Allen. Some time in the latter part of the night an express came from the river Raisin, informing Col. Lewis there were four hundred Indians and two companies of British there, and that Colonel Elliott was to start the next morning from Malden with a reinforcement.

_18th._ We started early, in order to get there before Col. Elliott; after travelling fifteen miles, mostly on the ice, we received information of the enemy being there waiting for us; we were then within three miles of Frenchtown; we proceeded on with no other view than _to conquer or die_. When we advanced in sight of the town, and were about a quarter of a mile from it, the British saluted us by the firing of a piece of cannon; they fired it three times, but no injury was sustained. During this time we formed the line of battle, and, raising a shout,[G] advanced on them briskly; they soon commenced the firing of their small arms, but this did not deter us from a charge; we advanced close and let loose on them; they gave way, and we soon had possession of the village without the loss of a man! Three were slightly wounded. Twelve of their warriors were slain and scalped, and one prisoner taken before they got to the woods. In retreating, they kept up some firing. We pursued them half a mile to the woods, which were very brushy and suited to their mode of fighting. As we advanced, they were fixing themselves behind logs, trees, &c. to the best advantage; our troops rushed on them resolutely, and gave them Indian play, took the advantage of trees, &c. and kept them retreating a mile and a half in the woods. During this time a heavy fire was kept up on both sides; at length, after a battle of three hours and five minutes, we were obliged to stop the pursuit on account of the approach of night, and retire to the village; we collected our wounded and carried them to the village, leaving our dead on the ground. In this action the Kentuckians displayed great bravery, after being much fatigued with marching on the ice; cowardice was entirely discountenanced; each was anxious to excel his fellow-soldiers in avenging his injured country; those only fell in the rear who were most fatigued. Our loss in this action was eleven killed and fifty wounded.[H] Although the enemy had the advantage of the village in the first attack, and of the woods in the second, their loss, by the best information, far exceeded ours. A Frenchman stated they had fifty-four killed and a hundred and forty wounded, part of whom were carried to his house, on Sand Creek, a few miles from the village. An express and the Indian prisoner were sent immediately to the Rapids. Some dispute arose between the Indians and some of the French on Sand Creek; the Indians killed an old man and his wife; in consequence of this the French were enraged, and resolved to get revenge. They applied to us for assistance, but it was thought improper to leave the village, though some of them had assisted us and fought in the front of the battle.

_19th._ A party was sent out to the battle-ground to bring in the dead, which were found scalped and stripped except one. In going over the battle-ground, great signs were seen (by the blood and where they had been dragged through the snow) of a considerable loss on the part of the enemy. Two of the wounded died. The British left a considerable quantity of provisions and some store goods, which answered us a valuable purpose. The wounded could have been as well accommodated here with every necessary as in any part of Kentucky. Apples, cider, sugar, butter, and whiskey appeared to be plenty. The river Raisin runs an east course through a level country, interspersed with well-improved farms, and is seventy or eighty yards wide; the banks are low. Frenchtown is situated on the north side of this river, not more than three miles from the place it empties into Lake Erie. There is a row of dwelling-houses, about twenty in number, principally frame, near the bank, surrounded with a fence made in the form of picketing, with split timber, from four to five feet high; this was not designed as a fortification, but to secure their yards and gardens.

_21st._ A reinforcement of two hundred and thirty men arrived in the afternoon; also Gen. Winchester, Col. Wells, Major M‘Clanahan, Capt. Hart, surgeons Irvin and Montgomery, and some other gentlemen, who came to eat apples and drink cider, having been deprived of every kind of spirits nearly two months. The officers having viewed and laid off a piece of ground for a camp and breastworks, resolved that it was too late to remove and erect fortifications that evening; farther, as they resolved to remove early next day, it was not thought worth while, though materials were at hand, to fortify the right wing, which therefore encamped in the open field,[I] and Col. Wells, their commander, set out for the Rapids late in the evening. A Frenchman arrived here late in the evening from Malden, and stated that a large number of Indians and British were coming on the ice with artillery to attack us; he judged their number to be three thousand; this was not believed by some of our leading men, who were regaling themselves with whiskey and loaf sugar; but the generality of the troops put great confidence in the Frenchman’s report, and expected some fatal disaster to befall us; principally because Gen. Winchester had taken up his head-quarters nearly half a mile from any part of the encampment, and because the right wing was exposed. Ensign Harrow was sent with a party of men, some time after night, by the orders of Col. Lewis, to bring in all the men, either officers or privates, that he might find out of their quarters. After finding some and giving them their orders, he went to a brick house, about a mile up the river, and entered a room; finding it not occupied, he immediately went above stairs and saw two men, whom he took to be British officers, talking with the landlord. The landlord asked him to walk down into a stove room, and handing his bottle, asked him to drink, and informed him “there was no danger, for the British had not a force sufficient to whip us.” So Harrow returned about 1 o’clock and reported to Col. Lewis what he had seen. Col. Lewis treated the report with coolness, thinking the persons seen were only some gentlemen from town; just at daybreak the reveille began to beat, as usual; this gave joy to the troops, who had passed the night under the apprehensions of being attacked before day. The reveille had not been beating more than two minutes before the sentinels fired three guns in quick succession; this alarmed our troops, who quickly formed and were ready for the enemy before they were near enough to do execution. The British immediately discharged their artillery, loaded with balls, bombs, and grape-shot, which did little injury; they then attempted to make a charge on those in the pickets, but were repulsed with great loss. Those on the right being less secure for the want of fortification, were overpowered by a superior force, and were ordered to retreat to a more advantageous piece of ground. They got in disorder and could not be formed.[J] The Indians pursued them from all quarters, and surrounded, killed, and took the most of them. The enemy again charged on the left with redoubled vigor, but were again forced to retire. Our men lay close behind the picketing, through which they had portholes, and every one having a rest took sight, that his ammunition might not be spent in vain. After a long and bloody contest, the enemy finding they could not, either by stratagem or force, drive us from our fortification, retired to the woods, leaving their dead on the ground, except a party that kept two pieces of cannon in play on our right. A sleigh was seen three or four hundred yards from our lines going towards the right, supposed to be laden with ammunition to supply the cannon. Four or five men rose up and fired at once, and killed the man and wounded the horse. Some Indians who were hid behind houses continued to annoy us with scattering balls. At this time bread from the commissary’s house was handed round among our troops, who sat composedly eating and watching the enemy at the same time. Being thus refreshed, we discovered a white flag advancing toward us; it was generally supposed to be for a cessation of arms that our enemies might carry off their dead, which were numerous, although they had been bearing away both dead and wounded during the action; but how were we surprised and mortified when we heard that Gen. Winchester, with Col. Lewis, had been taken prisoners by the Indians in attempting to rally the right wing, and that Gen. Winchester had surrendered us prisoners of war to Col. Proctor! Major Madison, then the highest in command, did not agree to this until Col. Proctor had promised[K] that the prisoners should be protected from the Indians, the wounded taken care of, the dead collected and buried, and private property respected. It was then with extreme reluctance our troops accepted this proposition; there was scarcely a person that could refrain from shedding tears! Some plead with the officers not to surrender, saying they would rather die on the field! We had only five killed, and twenty-five or thirty wounded, inside of the pickets. The British asked, when they came in, what we had done with our dead, as they saw but few on the ground. A barn being set on fire to drive the Indians from behind it, they concluded that, to conceal our dead, we had thrown them into these flames.

One of the houses that the wounded were in, was much shattered by the cannon balls, though only a few struck as low as a man’s head. The bombs flew over. Some bursted fifty feet above the ice, some fell on the ice, and some fell over the river. Notwithstanding all their exertions, their six cannon (which were all said to be six-pounders) did but little damage.

In this battle, officers and privates exhibited the utmost firmness and bravery. Whilst the men were at their posts firing on the enemy, the officers were passing along the lines supplying them with cartridges. Major Graves, in passing around the line, was wounded in the knee. He sat down in a tent, bound up his wound, and cried: “BOYS, I AM WOUNDED; NEVER MIND ME, BUT FIGHT ON!”

The British collected their troops, and marched in front of the village. We marched out and grounded our arms, in heat and bitterness of spirit. The British and Indians took possession of them. But all the swords, dirks, tomahawks, and knives were given up with promise that they should be restored again. [This promise was broken.]

All the prisoners, except those that were badly wounded, Dr. Todd, Dr. Bowers, and a few attendants, were marched towards Malden. The British said, as they had a great many of their wounded to take to Malden that evening, it would be out of their power to take ours before morning, but they would leave a sufficient guard, so that they should not be interrupted by the Indians. You will presently see with what aggravating circumstances the breach of this promise was attended.

Brother Allen Darnall having been badly wounded in the right shoulder on the 18th, and I being appointed to attend on the wounded, I continued with them.

Before the British and prisoners marched, the Indians ransacked the camp, and got all the plunder that was remaining--namely, tents, kettles, buckets, pans, &c.; then coming amongst the wounded, greatly insulted them, and took some of their plunder. After they went out I bolted the door. They came again and broke it open with their tomahawks. I immediately applied to a British officer, and told him the Indians were interrupting the wounded. He turned round, and called to another officer to send the guard. The Indians at that time had plundered the commissary’s house (which was near the house in which the wounded were) of everything they wanted, and piled rails against it and set them on fire: I, with the assistance of two British officers, put it out. One of the British officers (Maj. Rundels) inquired where the ammunition was. I told him, if there was any, it was above stairs. We went up, but could find none. There was a large quantity of wheat on the loft; he said it was a pity it was there, for the Indians would burn the house. I apprehended by that, the town was to be burned, and began to lament our wretched condition. After we went down stairs, Rundels asked me how many we had killed and wounded on the 18th. I told him, but he very haughtily disputed it. I had the return in my pocket. He read it, but made no reply.

Those that remained of us being hungry, I applied to one of the British in the evening for some flour, as there were a good many barrels in the commissary’s house, which I considered to belong to them. He told me to take as much as I wanted. I asked him if there was a guard left? He said there was no necessity for any, for the Indians were going to their camp, and there were interpreters left who would walk from house to house and see that we should not be interrupted. He kept walking about and looking towards the road. He told me I had better keep in the house, for the Indians would as soon shoot me as not, although he had just told me we should not be interrupted! I suspected he was looking for Gen. Harrison. Oh! if we had seen General Harrison coming with his troops, the wounded would have leaped for joy! but I did not expect him.

As they did not leave the _promised guard_, I lost all confidence in them, and expected we would be all massacred before morning. I being the only person in this house not wounded, with the assistance of some of the wounded, I prepared something for about thirty to eat. The Indians kept searching about town till after dark. One came in the house who could talk English, and said he commanded a company after the retreating party, and that most of that party were slain. He said the men gave up their guns, plead for quarters, and offered them money if they would not kill them; but his boys, as he called them, would tomahawk them without distinction. He said the plan that was fixed on by the Indians and British, before the battle commenced, was that the British were to attack in front to induce us to charge on them; 500 Indians were placed on the right hand and 500 on the left, to flank round and take possession of the town; but he said we were too cunning for them; we would not move out of the pickets.

We passed this night under the most serious apprehensions of being massacred by the tomahawk or consumed in the flames. I frequently went out during the night to see if the house was set on fire. At length the long wished-for morn arrived, and filled each heart with a cheerful hope of being delivered from the cruelty of those merciless savages. We were making every preparation to be ready for the promised sleighs; but, alas! instead of the sleighs, about an hour by sun a great number of savages, painted with various colors, came yelling in the most hideous manner! These bloodthirsty, terrific savages (sent here by their more cruel and perfidious allies, the British) rushed into the houses where the desponding wounded lay, and insolently stripped them of their blankets and all their best clothes, and ordered them out of the houses! I ran out of the house to inform the interpreters[L] what the Indians were doing. At the door, an Indian took my hat and put it on his own head. I then discovered the Indians had been at the other house first, and had used the wounded in like manner. As I turned to go back into the house, an Indian, taking hold of me, made signs for me to stand by the corner of the house. I made signs to him I wanted to go in and get my hat; for I desired to see what they had done with the wounded. The Indians sent in a boy who brought out a hat and threw it down to me, and I could not get in the house. Three Indians came up to me and pulled off my coat. My feeble powers cannot describe the dismal scenes here exhibited. I saw my fellow-soldiers, naked and wounded, crawling out of the houses to avoid being consumed in the flames. Some that had not been able to turn themselves on their beds for four days, through fear of being burned to death, arose and walked out and about through the yard. Some cried for help, but there were none to help them. “Ah!” exclaimed numbers, in the anguish of their spirit, “what shall we do?” A number, unable to get out, miserably perished in the unrelenting flames of the houses, kindled by the more unrelenting savages. Now the scenes of cruelty and murder we had been anticipating with dread, during last night, fully commenced. The savages rushed on the wounded, and, in their barbarous manner, shot, and tomahawked, and scalped them; and cruelly mangled their naked bodies while they lay agonizing and weltering in their blood. A number were taken towards Malden, but being unable to march with speed, were inhumanly massacred. The road was, for miles, strewed with the mangled bodies, and all of them were left like those slain in battle, on the 22d, for birds and beasts to tear in pieces and devour. The Indians plundered the town of everything valuable, and set the best houses on fire. The Indian who claimed me, gave me a coat, and when he had got as much plunder as he could carry, he ordered me, by signs, to march, which I did, with extreme reluctance, in company with three of the wounded and six or seven Indians. In travelling about a quarter of a mile, two of the wounded lagged behind about twenty yards. The Indians, turning round, shot one and scalped him. They shot at the other and missed him; he, running up to them, begged that they would not shoot him. He said he would keep up, and give them money. But these murderers were not moved with his doleful cries. They shot him down; and, rushing on him in a crowd, scalped him. In like manner my brother Allen perished. He marched with difficulty after the wounded, about two or three hundred yards, and was there barbarously murdered. My feelings at the sight and recollection of these inhuman butcheries cannot be described. In addition to these deep sorrows for the mournful fate of my companions, and the cruel death of a dear brother, I expected every moment, for a considerable time, that the same kind of cruelty and death would be my portion. The Indians that guarded me and one of the wounded, observing our consternation, one that could talk English said, “We will not shoot you.” This a little revived our hopes, that were almost gone;[M] and he, having cut a piece, hide and all, of a dead cow, started. It is their common practice to kill a cow or hog, and take a piece, and leave the rest. In travelling two miles, we came to a house where there were two British officers; the Indian made a halt, and I asked one of the officers what the Indian was going to do with me; he said he was going to take me to Amherstburg (or Malden). I judged these villains had instructed the Indians to do what they had done. A few miles farther, we came to the Indian encampment, where there were a great many hallooing and yelling in a hideous manner. I thought this my place of destiny. The Indian took off my pack, broiled a piece of meat and gave me part; this I ate merely in obedience to him. Then we started and arrived at Amherstburg, eighteen miles from Frenchtown. The other prisoners had just arrived. The British were firing their salute. The Indian took me into a house not far from the fort; it was probably their council house; it would have held 500. It was inhabited by a large number of squaws, children, and dogs. They welcomed me by giving me some bread, meat and hominy to eat. After this an Indian asked me if I had a squaw; I told him not; he immediately turned round and talked to the squaws in Indian, while I sat in a pensive mood observing their motions. I discovered the squaws were pleased, by their tittering and grinning; one, I observed, had a great desire to express her joy by showing her teeth; but the length of time she had lived in this world had put it out of her power. I suspected, from their manœuvres, I would have to undergo a disagreeable adoption (as other prisoners had done)--and, what was a task still more unpleasant, to be united in the conjugal band to one of these swarthy, disgustful animals. The Indian asked me a few questions--where we had come from--how far it was--when we started--and if there were any more coming. In reply to these questions, I gave him but little satisfaction. After this they spread blankets down, and made signs for me to go to bed. I did, and soon fell asleep, as I was much fatigued and had not slept much for four nights past. Early next morning, the Indian collected his family and all his property, and started: I knew not where he was going; he gave me a knapsack and gun to carry. Now I despaired of getting with the other prisoners, unless I could desert from the Indians! I expected I would be taken to an Indian town, there to undergo a disagreeable adoption, or to be burned to death with firebrands. As he took me near Fort Malden, I took as good a view of it as I could while I passed it. It stands about thirty yards from the river bank. I judged it to be seventy or eighty yards square; the wall appeared to be built of timber and clay. The side, from the river, was not walled, but had double pickets, and entrenched round, about four feet deep; and in the entrenchment was the second row of pickets. As we went on through the edge of town (Amherstburg) I asked an Englishman where the other prisoners were? He said they were in town, in a wood-yard; the Indian hurried me along and would not let me talk to the Englishman. The Indian had a little horse, packed with his plunder, which I resolved to take, if possible, and ride into town that night.

He took me to his place of residence, about three miles from Malden. I was anxious for the approach of night, so that I might make my escape. While I was consoling myself with the anticipation of seeing my fellow sufferers at Malden, night made its approach. Some time after dark the Indian spread blankets down, and made signs for me to lie down, and put my coat, shoes, and socks, under his own head. I wanted him to leave my socks on, for my feet would get cold; he made signs to warm them by the fire. Thus I was sadly disappointed.

Next day he examined all his plunder. He had a very good suit of clothes, besides several other coats, socks, shoes, &c.; among these were Wesley’s Sermons and a great many papers, which he gave me to read. I found several old letters, but nothing of value. He discovered I wanted to shave, and got his razor, shaving-box, and a piece of glass, and made signs for me to shave. After this, I lay down on some blankets and fell asleep. He came and awoke me, and gave me a twist of tobacco, which I received as a token of friendship. In a short time after, he started to Malden, and made signs for me to stay there till he would come back. He returned in the evening with a blanket, tied full of loaves of bread, just out of the oven, besides some meat. The Indians always gave me a plenty to eat; and served me before any of the family, with more politeness than I expected to find amongst them. He had drawn some money. I asked him to let me look at it. I found it to be pieces of cards with the number of livres written on them.

The third night at length arrived; and he made my bed as usual; and took my coat and shoes, but accidentally left my socks on. I lay down with the determination to leave him before morning. I slept very well for awhile. When I awoke, the house was dark. I thought this as good an opportunity of deserting as I could get, but with considerable timidity I made the attempt. I crawled to the door very easily, and raised the blanket that hung up at the door; just as I was going out he coughed, and I stopped until I thought he was asleep, and then started, without shoes or coat, to Amherstburg. When I got there, I examined several yards and gardens to see if there was any fire. After going through many streets, I turned my course towards the river, and accidentally came to the house where the prisoners were. The sentinel, who was standing at the door, let me in without much ceremony. Providence smiled on this attempt to extricate myself from the Indians. Thus, through mercy, I escaped from the savages, and was delivered from the doleful apprehensions of being sacrificed in some barbarous and cruel manner, to gratify their bloodthirsty souls. I got in between two of my comrades who were lying next to the door. My feet were almost frozen before morning.

During my captivity with the Indians, the other prisoners were treated very inhumanly. The first night, they were put in a wood-yard; the rain commenced early in the night, and put out all their fires. In this manner they passed a tedious night, wet, and benumbed with cold. From this place they were taken to a cold warehouse, still deprived of fire, with their clothes and blankets frozen, and nothing to eat but a little bread. In this wretched condition they continued two days and three nights!

_26th._ The Indians came early in the morning to search for me, but they were not admitted into the house. The guard said it would be well for me to keep as much concealed as possible, for if the Indian I had left could get me he would kill me. He came to the door, and made motions to show how he would scalp me. I disguised myself by changing my clothes and tying up my head, so that he did not know me.

The prisoners being destined to Fort George, were divided in two divisions, the first to keep a day’s march before the second, in order, probably, to be better supplied with provisions on the way.

I being attached to the first division, the Indians examined the lines very closely for me, but not possessing discernment sufficient to know me, I fortunately escaped.

Malden, or Amherstburg, is situated on the east side of Detroit River, near its junction with Lake Erie, and contains about one hundred houses, mostly frame; in lat. 42° 22′ N., long. 8° 3′ W. from Philadelphia.

We set out from this town, and marched seventeen miles to Sandwich, a small town on the east side of Detroit River, and one mile below Detroit; it contains perhaps about three hundred inhabitants. We were divided in small companies, and put into different houses, where we had the happiness once more to see fire.

_27th._ We drew a ration of bread and fresh beef, but no salt, and had no way of cooking the beef. We commenced our march at 1 o’clock, and marched ten miles, part of the way on Lake St. Clair. In the evening we were conducted to cold barns, and there shut up till morning, deprived of fire.

_28th._ We recommenced our march early, as cold a morning as ever I experienced, and continued twenty-four miles on Lake St. Clair; at night we were conducted to a cold barn on the beach; we lay without fire, except a few who could not get in, who had the happiness of encamping in the woods.

_29th._ We again resumed our march, and continued on the lake fifteen miles to the mouth of La Tranche River, called by some the River Thames; during this time we had to run to keep ourselves from freezing; we continued up the river five miles, and stopped while the guard went in to warm and to get their dinner. Having drawn no provisions since we left Sandwich, some of the prisoners were driven to the necessity of picking up frozen potatoes and apple peelings that had been thrown out in the yard. One of the prisoners, being unable to keep pace with the rest, was left on the lake, but was accidentally overtaken by a sleigh and brought on. After being in a stove room some time, he was led out to march, trembling with cold. One of the guard observed, “he was a man of no spirit to freeze such a day as this.” So barbarous were their dispositions and treatment, that I concluded we should die of cold and hunger. We marched ten miles farther to Captain Dolson’s, where we were conducted into a large still-house. A number lodged below among the still-tubs by the fire; the rest on the loft, where they were annoyed with the smoke. Some time in the night they brought us a little bread and meat.

_30th._ We drew two days’ provisions, and cooked it.

_31st._ It snowed all day; notwithstanding, we marched twenty-four miles and were shut up in a barn wet and cold. Going to a barn to lodge so cold an evening was like approaching a formidable enemy, for we expected to perish with cold in the dreary dwelling. Many got their feet frostbitten. We tried in vain to keep our shoes from freezing by putting them under our heads.

_February 1._ We continued our march twenty-two miles in a thinly settled country, and passed through the Moravian nation of Indians; in the evening we encamped in the woods.

_2d._ We marched twenty-two miles, suffering greatly both with hunger and cold. In the evening we arrived at Delaware township, a small settlement on the River La Tranche. We were divided into small companies, and were permitted to lodge in houses by fires.

_3d._ We had been two days without provisions. Here we drew rations for three days. Capt. Dolson left us to-day; the prisoners must forever detest his baseness and cruelty. We resumed our march in the evening and continued five miles, notwithstanding the snow was two feet deep, and it was then snowing. We were better treated by our new guard.

_4th._ We marched twenty-six miles to the head waters of the River Thames, to Oxford township, a settlement of ten or twelve miles in length.

_5th._ We marched two miles, and were detained for a supply of provisions.[N] After being supplied we continued our march in the evening three miles farther, and where we lodged were treated very civilly by the inhabitants.

_6th._ After marching twenty-four miles, principally through a wilderness, we arrived at Burford township.[P]

_7th._ In marching thirty miles to a little village near the head of Lake Ontario, we passed through the Mohawk Nation of Indians on Grand River, who are much whiter than any we have seen; their mode of dress is not different from other Indian nations, and they have the same savage appearance; we were informed that there are six nations on this river who hold a large body of the best land.

_8th._ We drew our rations and proceeded on sixteen miles. In going down towards Lake Ontario, we descended a precipice upwards of two hundred feet into a level country; this precipice extends across Niagara River, and occasions those remarkable falls.

_9th._ We marched eighteen miles through a well-settled country.

_10th._ We marched sixteen miles to Newark, lately called Niagara West; it contains about five hundred inhabitants; many of the buildings are handsome, composed of brick and stone; it has several churches, an academy, six taverns, and about twenty stores; it is situated on the west side of Niagara River, in lat. 43° 15′ N., long. 4° west; Fort George stands at the upper end of the town.

We continued here no longer than was necessary to make arrangements to cross the river. A British officer took down our names, and the regiment and company we belonged to, and said “we must not take up arms against Great Britain and her allies until legally exchanged.” Thus we were parolled; they hoisted a flag and took us across Niagara River,[Q] which is about one-quarter of a mile wide to Fort Niagara, which is situated at the junction of Niagara River and Lake Ontario, in New York State; it is strongly fortified, and well supplied with artillery.

A FEW REMARKS RESPECTING UPPER CANADA AND ITS INHABITANTS.

From Malden to Sandwich, and a considerable distance up St. Clair, resembles a level plain thickly interspersed with farms and houses; many places look like little villages. The houses are principally frame, and have an ancient appearance. Besides being well supplied with grain from their farms, they receive considerable benefit from their orchards.

The River La Tranche is a considerable navigable stream, and runs a westerly course into Lake St. Clair; the land near it is rich and fertile; the timber is oak, ash, hickory, walnut, sugar-tree, &c. It is thickly settled as far as Moraviantown; but, from the river on the north side, is an extensive wilderness of poor swampy land. From Moraviantown to Grand River is a wilderness of poor piney land, except Delaware, Oxford, and Burford townships, which are tolerable settlements. From Grand River to Fort George, is a rich, well-settled country, particularly along Lake Ontario. The inhabitants are composed of English, French, Dutch, and a great many emigrants from the United States. The whole has been estimated at eighty thousand; besides these, there are unknown numbers of Indians. The Canadians are generally a well-looking people, remarkably fair, but not well informed. They do not set a great value on education, and it is not encouraged by the government. Although their laws appear to be moderate, yet neither the freedom of speech nor the freedom of the press is encouraged. The officers are haughty and tyrannical in the execution of their orders. I learned that a majority[R] of the inhabitants were in favor of the United States government, and many had concealed themselves to avoid taking up arms.

The British forces consist of regulars, flankers, militia, _Negroes_, and Indians. Agreeably to an act of their assembly in 1812, their flankers are riflemen, volunteered or drafted for the term of six months, and longer if not then relieved. The militia cannot be called into service for more than twenty days, unless their country is invaded. I heard of two companies of _Negroes_, runaways from Kentucky, and other States, who are commanded by white men. A great many of the Indians are stationed near the lines, who can be called to arms at a minute’s warning.

_11th._ After regaling ourselves on the plenty of food and drink afforded us in the land of liberty, we set our faces homewards. One mile from Niagara Fort, we came to Salt Battery; it was composed of barrels of salt and dirt. From this they could play upon Fort George. We proceeded up the river eight miles to Lewistown, which is on the east bank of Niagara River, opposite Queenstown, and contains only a few houses; eight miles farther, we came to Grand Niagara, a small village on the east bank of Niagara River just above the falls, and nearly opposite Chippeway. Above the falls, in the middle of the river, is an island about three hundred yards long, the lower end of which is just at the perpendicular edge of the fall. On both sides of this island, all the waters of the rivers and lakes to the north-west, fall down a precipice of one hundred and thirty-seven feet perpendicular, and fall near as much more in a rapid of nine miles below. Before the water comes to the fall, as it passes the island, it seems in swiftness to outfly an arrow.

_12th._ We arrived at Black Rock, nineteen miles above the falls. Here is a considerable village, a navy yard, and three batteries well furnished with cannon. It took its name from its rocky situation. From this we continued on two miles and a half to Buffalo, the capital of Buffalo county, New York State. It is situated at the foot of Lake Erie, opposite to Fort Erie.

We continued at Buffalo one day, on account of the badness of the weather, and then continued our march thirty-two miles on the lake, and then marched through a well-settled country to Erie, the county town of Erie county, in Pennsylvania. It is ninety miles from Buffalo, and is situated on the south-east shore of Lake Erie. We proceeded on by the way of Waterford and Meadville, one hundred and twenty miles, to Pittsburgh, and from Pittsburgh to Kentucky, by water.

Language fails to express the emotions I felt on arriving safely at home, to enjoy the caresses and society of dear friends, after having endured so much fatigue, and having been so often exposed to imminent danger; and having so frequently expected death, attended with _all the horrors of Indian cruelty_.

NARRATIVE

OF

MR. TIMOTHY MALLARY.

During the battle on the 22d January, 1813, at Frenchtown, on the River Raisin, between the combined forces of British, Canadians, and Indians, and the American forces, I received a wound from a piece of plank, which had been split off by a cannon ball. It struck me on the side, and unfortunately broke three of my ribs. The battle having terminated in favor of the combined forces, and I not being able to travel with those American prisoners who were to march immediately for Malden, I remained on the ground until the next morning, with the rest of my wounded countrymen, who had received a solemn promise from the British commander, that they should be taken to Malden in sleighs.

This sacred promise was not regarded! It was sacrificed on the altar of savage barbarity! to the god of murder and cruelty! Instead of sleighs, Indians were sent prepared to murder these unfortunate victims! who, after they had executed in part their purpose on the ground where we lay, ordered several other prisoners and myself to march for Malden. We had not proceeded far before they tomahawked four of this number, amongst whom was Captain Hart, of Lexington. He had hired an Indian to take him to Malden. I saw part of this hire paid to the Indian.

After having taken him some distance, another Indian demanded him, saying that he was his prisoner; the hireling would not give him up; the claimant, finding that he could not get him alive, shot him in the left side with a pistol. Capt. Hart still remained on his horse; the claimant then ran up, struck him with a tomahawk, pulled him off his horse, scalped him, and left him lying there.

We proceeded on until we came within three miles of Brownstown, where we encamped for the night. The next day we proceeded on to their encampment, seven or eight miles from Detroit, on the River Rouge, which appeared to be head-quarters. They were furnished at this place with bark wig-wams; here was a large number of squaws and children, I suppose two thousand.

They here stripped off my clothes, and dressed me after the Indian manner. They shaved off my hair, except a small quantity on the top of my head, which they left for the purpose of rendering the task of scalping more easy. They bored my ears, which they supplied plentifully with ear-rings, frequently by hanging one in another, like the links of a chain. They wanted to bore my nose, but I objected, and they did not insist. They frequently painted my face one-half black and the other red, and frequently with red and black streaks.

Shortly after our arrival at these encampments, I was adopted into a Pottowatomie family that had lost a son in the battle at the River Raisin.

I was presented to this family by an Indian whose name was _Ke-wi-ex-kim_. He introduced me to my father and mother, brothers and sisters, and instructed me to call them by these respective appellations. My father’s name was _Asa Chipsaw_, after whom they call me; they asked me if I had a squaw; I answered in the negative, at which they appeared well pleased, and brought me a squaw, urging me to marry her. I refused, and told them when I got well I would accede to the proposals; this they took as a great offence. After having made themselves acquainted with the situation of my wound, they made a tea of sassafras and cherry-tree barks, which was the only drink I was permitted to take for fifteen days.

They frequently took me to Detroit, for the purpose of helping them to pack provisions from thence to their encampment. But they would not suffer me to talk to the inhabitants of that place. Fifteen loaves of bread, weighing three pounds each, ten pounds of pork or beef, and a peck of corn, was what they drew for six days. This would not last more than half that time; the remaining part they lived upon fragments of dog or horse meat. They appeared indifferent whether they had killed the animal that day themselves, or whether it had died by some accidental cause seven or eight days prior to their eating it.

They appointed me cook. I then had to undergo much fatigue in getting wood, &c., for they lent no assistance. Their customary way of cooking is to boil the meat and make soup, which they immediately devour without salt.

They have drunken frolics, whenever they can get any kind of spirits to drink. When these frolics take place the squaws hid me, to prevent them from murdering me. Once I was hid in some brush and deprived of food for four days, during which time there was a continual uproar in the camp, as though they had been killing each other.

The squaws, who frequently visited me, and to whom I as often applied for something to eat, informed me that there could be nothing had until the men got sober, who would then either kill provisions, or draw from Detroit. On the fourth day, when I had given up to perish, they brought me a piece of a dog cooked without salt, and although you may feel squeamish when I mention it, yet it was to me the sweetest morsel that I ever recollect to have eaten.

During my stay with them I saw them take a number of scalps to Malden, for which they said they received from four to six dollars each, either in whiskey or store goods. They said they got thirty-seven scalps at the battle of the 18th, and upwards of four hundred at that of the 22d January. I replied, that there were only ten scalped on the 18th. They said “Yankee d--d lie;” and they further stated, that they had only two killed on the 18th. I replied, Indian d--d lie, for I saw myself twelve dead on the field. I asked them how many British and Indians were at the River Raisin, on the 22d January; they replied, that there were two thousand five hundred Indians, and one thousand British.

They would frequently make motions imitating the Americans when they were scalping them, by turning, twisting, mourning, &c.; this was done to aggravate me.

They once gave me a jug of whiskey, requesting me to drink. I drank what satisfied me, and offered them the jug again--they insisted on me to drink more; I put the jug to my head, but did not drink; they discovered the cheat, and cried out “Yankee no good man, d--d lie;” they then made me drink until they could hear it gurgle in my throat.

About three weeks before the battle at the Rapids, the squaws and boys were employed in dressing deer-skins, which were to equip the warriors for their march thither. During this time, the warriors were collecting and dancing the war-dance. They informed me that they were going to Quo-by-ghaw, which I learned from the French, was the Rapids. I further learned that the British had promised them the possession of Fort Meigs, as well as the disposal of Gen. Harrison. They then calculated on Fort Meigs as their chief place of deposit, from which they could make incursions into the State of Ohio, kill a vast number of the inhabitants, and satisfy themselves with plunder. They calculated on having a three days’ frolic in the burning of Gen. Harrison.

Two weeks before their march for Fort Meigs, Tecumseh was with them. He was busily employed rallying those who were indifferent about going to the battle, and encouraging those who had volunteered; amongst other persuasive arguments to volunteer, he made use of these, viz.: that Fort Meigs was badly constructed and illy defended; asserting that they could take it without the loss of a man. But, if this could not be effected, he would then lead them on to Fort Wayne, which would certainly fall an easy prey to them. He then left them, and went to the Wabash to brings his warriors, who were stationed at that place.

Previous to the march of the Indians, they took bark of swamp willow, and tobacco, mixed them together, and pulverized them. They then formed a circle round a fire which had been prepared for that purpose, and one rose and delivered a speech, I understood, relative to the war. At the conclusion of the speech, they passed this powder around the circle, each individual taking a pinch as it passed; each then snuffed a part of this portion, and threw the remaining part in the fire. After this had been performed with the greatest solemnity, one took the snuff which yet remained in the vessel, and threw it in the fire. They then took up their packs, raised the scalp halloo, waved their tomahawks over their heads, and marched for battle.

There were three thousand who drew four days’ rations at Detroit. When they left us, they told us to be good boys, and stay there till they came back, and they would bring some more Yankees, who should cook, and do all the hard work, and we might go with them hunting.

They left us in care of the squaws and a few old men.

We had no other way by which to get free from this unpleasant situation, but deserting them; for they had been offered one hundred dollars each, for four of us, by the citizens of Detroit, but refused it. These four were Major Graves, Samuel Ganoe, John Davenport, and myself.

Thinking this as favorable an opportunity as we could get, I requested Samuel Ganoe to set off with me; he readily consented, and we set off just at dark, and ran to Detroit, which was eight miles, and got to the house of Mr. H., who concealed us in his cellar. He had a hole dug in the bottom of his cellar six or eight feet deep, for the purpose of keeping potatoes; and in this we were put, and he laid planks over it, and threw dirt on the planks, which caused it to bear so nice a semblance to the other part of the cellar, that the Indians could not distinguish it from the common bottom. This dismal dungeon was our abode for half a day, during which time the Indians came, and searched carefully for us, but in vain. After they were gone, Mr. H. asked a British officer if he would take the care of us. He replied in the affirmative, and then sent us immediately to the fort at Detroit, where we were kept two days, the Indians still searching for us. On the second night about midnight, we were sent to Sandwich, and kept there two days with but little to eat, and then sent to Malden. We found the force at Malden to consist of sixty Canadian French, besides eighty who had received wounds at the River Raisin, and who would no doubt remain invalids for life. We also found stationed at Malden, James Girty, who, I was informed, was brother to the infamous Simon Girty; his business was to receive scalps from the Indians; his pay for this service was three dollars per week. I saw here about half a bushel of scalps in a kettle! the number I cannot guess at.

After every exertion to take Fort Meigs had failed, the British returned to Malden, cursing Harrison for a rabbit, which they swore had burrowed, and which they could not take in that situation.

From Malden we were taken across to Cleveland, on the 16th day of May, 1813.

The following prisoners were with the Indians at the time I was a prisoner, viz.: Major Graves, Jarret Dougherty, Thomas Jones, Joseph Foddre, and John Fightmaster; the latter of whom had deserted from us, was brought back, and made to ride the wooden horse. He then deserted to the Indians, swearing--he had rather stay with them than ride Winchester’s _English mare_ again.

I heard of three other prisoners, but do not remember their names; two of whom were about twenty miles from Detroit, and the other near Malden.

From Cleveland nothing worth relating occurred until I arrived at home, in Bourbon county, Kentucky; where I found my friends all in good health, my father excepted, who had gone to face the same enemy from whom I had just made my escape.

NARRATIVE

OF

MR. JOHN DAVENPORT.