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.*
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, Ifelt, and this is all that I can say—for to expresswhatI felt, I find to be impossible.
Here we found the home of his wife, and her father and mother, who all seemed glad to see us. The old squaw took me by the hand and led me into the hut, and gave me something to eat, which was in place. I now began to feel that I had friends in this family, and considered myself pretty safe. We spent about two weeks at this place, a few miles west of Detroit. A day or two before we left this encampment the Indians determined on having a spree. They went to Detroit and traded for a keg of rum. They had not been at home long until most of the men were drunk. I now again felt myself in danger, for one of them attempted to take my life; I escaped because he was drunk and could not get to me. That night the squaws hid me out in the woods behind a log in the snow. They made me a bed of hay, and covered me with their blankets. When I awaked in the morning the frolic was all over. The Indians were lying about round the fires like hounds after a hard chase; the whiskey was dying in them, and they were sleepy and sick. The Indians now made ready to go out to their hunting ground; and after a few days' preparation we started. As well as I am able to judge, we travelled a west course. We were upon the road about two weeks; our sufferings were great from the intense cold, and from hunger; we had nothing to eat but what the hunters could kill by the way. I rendered what assistance I could in catching raccoons and porcupines, for these were our principal living whilst on the road. I suppose we travelled one hundred and fifty miles before we reached our destination. We now began to fare a little better, though we sometimes still suffered with hunger—it was either afeastor afaminewith us. The Indians would eat up all the provisions with as much despatch as possible, and let every day provide for itself. Thus we spent our time for several weeks.
Here I will give an account of a very aged man who I saw on our way out to this place. There were many families on the way at the same time—not only their wives and children, but their young men. This caused me to think that they did not expect any more war during the winter season. It seemed that when their actual services were not necessary, they were then left to shift for themselves. This was in perfect character with all the doings of the British during this war. We had been travelling near a week, and our hunters were so fortunate as now to kill a deer. We encamped at the foot of a hill, so as to be screened by it from the keen northern blasts, and have the benefit of the sun. During our stay at this camp, the old Chief killed another deer, which, with raccoons and porcupines, afforded us plenty of food. The Indians made an offering of the oil, and part of the flesh of the deer, to theGreat Spirit, by burning it. This I took to be their thank offering for their success in finding a supply of provisions. Before they left the encampment they burned some tobacco; the design of this I did not so well understand. Soon after we began to march, I saw the marks of a cane in the snow, and as the Indians do not use them, I supposed we were overtaking some prisoners. The second day after I saw the cane tracks, we came up with a company of Indians, and here I saw the old Indian who had the cane. The moment I saw him my attention was arrested by his very grave and ancient appearance. His head was whitened over with, I have no doubt, the frosts of more than one hundred winters, and still he travelled, and kept pace with the horses and young men, from morning till evening. This was the most aged Indian which I saw during my sojourn with them. Their old men are much more vigorous and free from infirmity than ours. They walk erect, and command great respect from all the younger—their counsel is heard with profound attention and respect.
During the month of March the Indians sent to their town for corn. We fared better now, but the corn did not last long; so we were soon thrown back upon what game we could kill in the forests.
From what I could learn, the Indians had adopted me into their family, in the room of a young man who had fallen in battle. Soon after we reached this, the place of our winter quarters, the father-in-law of my Indian dressed me up in Indian costume, made me a bow and arrows, and started me out with his boys to learn to shoot. I was then in the twenty first year of my age. This was our exercise during the cold weather, and afforded me much amusement, as I had none with whom I could converse. We had many a hunt through the woods with our bows and arrows, but I could not learn to use them to much purpose. Sometimes I was permitted to have a gun, and go on a hunting expedition, but was always unsuccessful—I could kill no game. I once saw the Indians proceed to kill a bear which had holed himself up for the winter. The scratches upon the bark was the sign. They then surrounded the tree, and all being ready, they gave a loud yell; the bear appeared, we all fired instantly, and among hands the bear came tumbling down. Soon after this, our old Chief killed a very large bear—one of uncommon size even in that country, where they were large and plenty. He brought home a part of it, and on the next day sent out three of his sons, an old man who lived in the family, and myself, to bring in the remainder. The snow was deep, and we had to travel three or four miles to the place. We took our loads and started to camp. The old Indian mentioned above had on snow shoes in order to walk without sinking; the toe of one of his shoes caught in a small snag which threw him face foremost into the snow, and being heavily laden with bear meat, the strap to which it was suspended came over his arms, and made it very difficult for him to rise. Without thinking where I was, and the danger I was in, I laughed at the old man struggling under the heavy pressure of his bear meat. Fortunately he did not perceive me; one of the young men shook his head at me, giving me to understand that I was risking my life. I discovered that he was also amused, but was afraid to manifest it. Our hut was now well supplied with meat, the finest that the country could furnish. I flattered myself that we should not want soon again; but to my utter astonishment, our old squaw, my Indian's mother-in-law, sat up the whole night and cooked every ounce of it! And worse yet—to my great discouragement, the neighbors were called in next morning, bringing wooden dishes along with them, and after many ceremonies, the whole was divided between the company, who eat what they could and packed off the balance.
There were times when we were very scarce of provisions. On one occasion, I remember, we had for dinner a small piece of bear meat, which, I suppose, had been sent in by some of the neighbors. Our old mother cooked and placed it in a wooden bowl, which was all the china we had. Our dog was looking on with interest, being nearly starved; and when the old lady turned her back, he sprang in upon the meat and started with it in his mouth. The old squaw, with great presence of mind, seized him by the throat to prevent him from swallowing it. She succeeded, and replacing it in the bowl, we eat it, and were glad to get it. The Indian women are doomed to a hard life. They do the drudgery. In removing from one camp to another, they pack the goods and children—the men carrying only their guns. I have seen the women wade into the water to their waists in cold freezing weather.
Among the Indians, I saw several persons who had lost the tip of their nose. This was strange, especially among the females. But since, when I was in Detroit, I learned that this was a mode of punishing adultery and fornication among some tribes. I am unable to vouch for the correctness of this statement.
I will here give the reader the history of a corn dance which took place sometime this winter. Our squaws had brought in some corn from the towns. The neighbors were called together, neither to eat, nor drink, but to dance. Considerable preparations were made. Every thing was removed from near the large fire that was burning in the centre. The company consisted of grown persons only. One was chosen to make music, which he did by singing and rattling a gourd with shot, or beans in it. They danced round the fire in single file, the men in front. The women, whilst dancing, keep their feet close together, and perform the exercise by jumping. The men sling their arms most violently and awkardly, and stamp their feet so as to make the earth sound. They kept up this exercise until a late hour in the night. All seemed to partake of the joy, which they considered to be of a sacred character. It was a thanksgiving for a supply of corn, and the near approach of spring. This dance was finished by a young Indian, selected for the purpose, who performed the closing exercise with great animation. They now all quietly returned to their homes without taking any kind of refreshment.
I soon become satisfied that man in a state of nature labored under many and serious disadvantages, particularly in the art of preparing their food. Though modern refinement has no doubt carried this matter too far, we may with safety venture to say that man in an uncultivated state falls as far below what is fit and proper for human health and comfort as refinement has gone beyond.
The very best they can do is to make their corn into a kind of small homony, which they do by the very hardest method, that of pounding it in a mortar—and this labor is performed by the women—after which it is boiled something like half an hour, when it is eaten without salt or any thing else with it. But frequently it is prepared without this process, by boiling the corn just as it comes from the ear until a little softened. They seem perfectly satisfied with this alone, once or twice a day without any thing else, for they scarcely ever eat meat and corn at the same time. But they eat most enormous quantities, without any apparent rule as to time or quantity. I have known them to eat several times heartily in the course of a few hours; and perhaps the next day hunt all day without eating any thing at all. I think it probable that it would hardly have taken all that we saw and experienced to have satisfied even Volney himself, that the civilized is greatly to be prefered to the savage life.
At this camp I also witnessed the mode of cleansing their bodies. They bent hickory poles in the form of wagon bows, and covered them over with blankets. They then took with them a bowl of water and a large hot stone. Two went in together; they poured the water upon the hot rock, and remained within fifteen or twenty minutes, sometimes singing and rattling the old shot gourd. They would then come forth covered with sweat, and sometimes plunge themselves instantly into the river which was at hand.
Perhaps it would be proper here to notice the mode of worship of the Indians. I speak only of the outer form: I know but little of the object of their worship as I did not understand their language. There appears to be some similarity between them and the Jews. Their sacrifices and fasts are frequent. Their fasts are promptly and faithfully attended to. Only one member, however, of the family fasts at a time, which he does for several days together, eating nothing until the afternoon. They treat their females at the birth of their children in a way to remind one of the Jewish custom. See Lev. 12 chap. At such times—let the season be as it may—the woman is compelled to camp out in the woods by herself, and there remain for a certain number of days. And when she is allowed to return to the camp of the family, she must cook in a separate vessel for so many days longer.
Our old man was very fervent in his devotions, especially in his prayers. I never saw anything like idolatry among them.
They are particularly careful to entertain strangers. They are also very hospitable among themselves—they will divide the last morsel with each other. Indians travelling, find homes wherever they find wigwams. If there is only provision enough for one, the stranger gets it, and gets it freely. When any are fortunate in hunting, and it is known to them that others want provisions, they send them a part of theirs without waiting for them to send for it.
You have been presented with the manner in which we spent our time during the cold weather, until sugar-making came on; and now we found work enough. We removed to a beautiful grove of sugar trees, and near the centre of it we pitched our camp, which is the Indian mode. We soon made a quantity of sugar, and some of a fine quality. We used molasses and sugar with our venison and bear meat; and sometimes we made our meals upon sugar and bear's oil, which was better living than the reader might suppose without being acquainted with the dish.
The Indians are sometimes very filthy in their diet. They will kill a deer and take out the entrails, rip them up, turn out the contents, shake them a few times in the snow, throw them for a few moments upon the fire, and devour them like hungry dogs. When they kill a deer with young, the young are considered as a choice dish. They roast them whole. They will eat every animal, and at every part of it, from the bear to the polecat.
Shortly after the breaking of the ice, the old father, one son, and myself, left camp for an otter hunt. We ascended the river, placing traps where we discovered that otters had passed up and down the banks. This we did during the first day, leaving them until our return. We encamped during the first night on the bank of the river. We had nothing to eat. We spent the whole of the second day in hunting, without any success; it was a cold rainy day, and we lay down the second night without a mouthful to eat. On the morning of the third day the old man left the camp very early, and about twelve o'clock returned, bringing with him two pheasants; they were put into the pot immediately. I feared my portion would be small, as the Indians, when hungry, eat most enormously; but another pheasant was heard near the camp, which the Indian succeeded in killing. It was soon in the pot, and fearing lest the Indians should eat up theirs and then want mine, I did not wait until it was properly cooked before I went to work upon it. We soon devoured the three pheasants without either bread or salt. After this fine dinner we returned to camp again. We examined our traps but found no game.
The spring of the year now came—the ice and snow began fast to disappear—and I now began to think more of home than I had done during the cold season. When the sun began to shine warm, and the birds to sing around me, I would often retire from the camp where I could think of home, and weep, without being discovered. During the time spent in these lonely retreats, which I sought often for the purpose of reflection,Shelbyville, Kentucky, the place of my home, would rise up before my mind with all its inhabitants and endearments. I would think of friends and youthful associates—of the green over which I had played when a boy a school—and of the church to which I gave my hand as a seeker of religion a few months before I left; and of my aged parents, who I knew needed my assistance. These reflections crowding upon me at once, together with the difficulty and danger of making an escape, would at times almost overwhelm me with sorrow and despair. But the kindness and sympathy manifested toward me by the Indians, and particularly by the wife of the man who took me a prisoner, took off a part of the burthen. This poor heathen woman, who knew nothing of civilization, and the softening influences of the Gospel, nevertheless showed that the tenderness and affection which the Gospel requires were deeply imprinted upon her heart. I had another source of comfort: I found among the Indians a piece of a newspaper printed atLexington, Kentucky, which I suppose had wrapped up the clothes of some of Captain Hart's men, and thus fell into the hands of the Indians at Raisin. This I read over and over, again and again. I would frequently try to learn the Indians the letters and their sounds; this to them was a very pleasing employment.
The Indians now began to prepare to return to Detroit. This was very encouraging to me, for I now began again to indulge a hope that one day I should yet be free, and reach my friends at home. All hands turned out to making bark canoes. We made two for each large family. In these canoes we ascended the river upon which we had for some time been encamped, until we came to the very head spring—I had no means of ascertaining the name of this river—we then took up our canoes and carried them three or four miles, to the head waters of a river that empties into lake Erie between the rivers Raisin and Detroit. The ridge over which we carried our canoes divides the waters of lake Michigan and lake Erie. After entering this stream we advanced finely, finding fish in great abundance. I now began to feel quite cheerful, and things put on a different aspect. This was one of the most beautiful little rivers I ever beheld—I could see the fish at the bottom where the water was ten feet in depth—its beauty was much heightened by passing through several small lakes, the waters of which always enlarged—perhaps increased its waters one half. These lakes were bordered round by various kinds of shrubbery bending over the water. It was now, as near as I could guess, about the first of May, and the scenes were indeed beautiful to one who had been freezing and starving in a northern winter, almost naked—and now turning, as he fondly hoped, his face homeward. I became more and more anxious to escape, as the prospect opened before me. I had several times formed in my mind plans by which I thought I might escape, but being young and unacquainted with the woods, and knowing that I must be a distance from any of our forts, I was afraid to attempt it; but now, as I believed I was not far from Fort Meigs, I determined to make the attempt. For this purpose I gathered up my bow and arrows, which had laid in the bottom of the canoe for some time, and which I did not intend to use any more, but I wanted them as an excuse to get out and take such a start, without being suspected, as would enable me to make good my escape. We encamped on this river several days; waiting, I suppose, for orders from the British. During this time I prepared myself for the escape, but unfortunately for my design, the camp was on the wrong side of the river, and I could not take a canoe without being discovered, the camp being immediately on the bank of the stream. In a few days we continued our journey. About this time I saw the first bread since I had been taken prisoner. Some of the Indians had been to the settlement and obtained about half a gallon of flour; they prepared it in their homely way, but I thought it the best bread that I had ever tasted.
On our way down the river, as we came to the road leading from river Raisin to Detroit, we fell in with some Indians who had been at Dudley's defeat. There was a young man with them, a prisoner; the Indians told me by signs to talk with him. When I approached and spoke to him, he seemed astonished, for he had taken me for an Indian; but when he discovered my being an American he was greatly rejoiced. He asked many questions about the Indians, and if I thought that they would sell him. I told him I thought they would not, as I had been their prisoner since the battle at Raisin, and they had not offered to dispose of me. I farther told him I thought his hopes of getting away soon, if ever, gloomy. He gave me a most horrible account of the defeat of Colonel Dudley, and the slaughter and massacre of his men—and expressed fears that General Harrison would be taken. This was bitter news to me. While we were talking, the Indians stood around and seemed to catch at every word, and watch every expression of our faces—showing the greatest anxiety to know what we said. They would laugh, and look at each other and speak a word or two. It seemed to afford them pleasure to hear us converse. But the time having arrived for us to proceed on our journey, we parted—his company was going by land, and ours by water, to Malden. If I heard the name of the young man I have forgotten it. He was genteel and intelligent. He informed me that he was a Surgeon. I never saw him again, and think it probable that he was killed by the Indians—I am inclined to this opinion because the Indians, we understood, brought in and offered for sale, that spring, all which they did not intend to kill. I think if he had been brought in I should have seen him. Some, it is highly probable, were put to death in the room of those of their friends who had fallen in battle.
We encamped at night, after we saw the young man named above, on an island not far from Malden. The next day we arrived, and the Indians took me down into the town, where I passed for an Indian. It was very unpleasant to me to hear such swearing and profanity— I soon left, and returned to the camp. In a few days we went up the river to the neighborhood of Detroit, and pitched our tent near the spring wells on the bank of Detroit river. Soon after our arrival arrangements were made with the British Commissary to draw rations of bread, and sometimes fish. They had the number of the family put down in writing, which the Indians were to present before they could draw the supply. The old Indian, having by some means ascertained that I could write, fell upon a stratagem to increase the quantity of bread. He furnished me with a slip of paper, and proposed that we should alter the number of our family, and make it larger; I did so, and made it about double. I went up with the note myself the first time, to see how it would take. The Indians gave me a horse and bag, and sent a young man of another family with me as a guard, the distance being several miles. The young man obtained his bread sooner than I did, and left me alone. I, after so long a time, got my bread and started; as I passed through the streets of Detroit, a lady spoke to me from an upper window, and said: "Are you not a prisoner, sir?" "I am, madam." "Why do you not leave the horse in the street and go to the fort then?" I told her I was afraid; but did not say I lacked confidence in the British. I feared they would not protect me, but deliver me up if the Indians should demand me.
I went on toward home, and when I got in sight I discovered that they had become uneasy, for the most of them were looking out towards Detroit. When they saw me they raised a great yell, and received me and my bag of bread with great joy.
Some time shortly after this the old man dressed himself up in the finest kind of Indian style, for he was a Chief. He greased his face, and then pounded and rubbed charcoal on it until he was as black as a negro. He then painted my face red, and we started together to town, he walking in front. As we passed along the streets the people were very free in making their remarks upon us. "There goes a mulato," said one, &c., &c. I seemed to pay but little attention to what was said, but followed my old Indian about from place to place.
In a few days they sent me over toSandwich, to exchange skins for boiled cider. I succeeded; and they drank it hot, that it might produce the greater effect; their only design seeming to be to produce intoxication. They are liberal with every thing they possess but rum. I once saw an Indian give another a dram, and being afraid that he would take too much, he first measured it in his own mouth, and then put it into a tin cup for his friend to drink.
Whilst we were here I saw Indians take medicine. I did not ascertain what kind of medicine it was, only it was something which they gathered from the woods. They boiled it down until it became thick and black. They dug a hole in the ground—furnished themselves with a kettle of warm water and a piece of inner bark—after they took two or three portions of this stuff, they laid down flat upon the ground, with their mouths over this hole, and commenced vomiting. They would then drink large draughts of warm water, thrust the piece of bark down their throats and vomit again. This course they would sometimes pursue for hours together, until one would think that they were almost dead; but they would leave off this vomiting business and go about as though nothing had disturbed them. I heard nothing of any sickness before this medicinal course was commenced, from which I inferred that they took medicine in the spring season whether sick or well.
Not far from our encampment was the grave of an Indian who had been buried several weeks. An old squaw raised an alarm, saying that he had been heard to make a noise. The Indians ran with all haste to the grave—I went too to see what was to be done—but although they listened with their ears upon the ground, and then stamped with their feet, and scratched in the earth, the Indian lay still and dead in his grave.
I learned from the preparations in camp that the squaws were soon to go out to the Indian towns and raise corn, and that I was to go with them. I resolved that I would not go, if my escape should cost me my life. I began immediately to think and plan some method of escape; but every way appeared to be hedged up; there were Indian camps in every direction; there was some faint prospect of success down the river. I also thought of risking myself in the hands of the British, but, as I before said, I could not trust them; and it was well for me that I did not, as I afterwards, to my sore affliction, found them haughty and very inhuman to American prisoners. I wish this censure to rest only upon the British officers, as many of the soldiers would have treated us kindly if it had been in their power.
Just at this crisis, however, an half Indian, who spoke English, came to our camp. I took this opportunity of communicating to the Indians my desire of being sold to the inhabitants of Detroit, who were purchasing prisoners from the Indians, Here I run a great risk—I knew not that they would not instantly kill me for making such a request. No sooner had the half Indian told my wishes, than every eye was fixed upon me; some seemed astonished, and others angry, because I would think of leaving after having been adopted into the family. They soon made signs that I might go, and the old man began to look out for a purchaser. Some of them treated me cooly from that time until I left. A Frenchman came to our camp, and offered a young horse for me—we went several miles down the river to see the horse—the Indian and Frenchman talked a long time—the Frenchman showed several other horses—the Indian did not fancy any of them, and there was no trade. I felt disappointed, being very anxious to be swapped off. On the next day another Frenchman came to camp riding a snug little pony, with mane and tail roached and trimmed. This horse took the old man's eye, and they soon closed the bargain. The long desired hour had come at last. I felt that I was again free from the hand of the wild savage. I packed up the few tattered rags of clothing which were mine, and prepared to leave; but after all, savages as they were, I was sorry when I bid them a final farewell. The wife of the man who took me prisoner had always been kind—she aided greatly to lessen my sufferings—she had often fed me, and when under the rigors of a northern winter, in the wilderness, had thrown a blanket upon my shivering frame at night; she had restrained the young men from imposing upon me, as they would do by taking my food, and my place at the fire. After Mr. J. B. Cecott, the man who bought me, and I left the camp, the Indians stood and looked after us as long as they could see us. Mr. Cecott took me to his own house, gave me a suit of clothes, and introduced me to his family. Now I felt that home was much nearer, being again among a civilized people who could speak the English language.
And here let me pause a moment to remark—as I am about to leave the Indians, never I hope to spend another winter with them under the same circumstances—that the few months of captivity with this people, were, taken altogether, the most cheerless and solitary of any part of my life of which I have any recollection. Though many years have rolled by since the events transpired, the impression they made upon my mind is almost as fresh as ever.
Several things contributed to render the scene more gloomy. I lost the day of the month, and also the day of the week; every day seemed alike. No person can have an idea, unless they are placed in the same predicament, how it changes the face of things to lose all those divisions of time that we have been accustomed to observe from our childhood. But this was not all; to render the hours more tedious and solitary, there was not one, of all the families that belonged to our company, that could either speak English, or understand one word of it. And thus, day after day, and week after week, passed over without uttering a solitary word, unless sometimes, when a little distance from camp, I would say a word or two just to hear the sound of my own voice; and it would seem so strange to me, that it would almost startle me. And, in addition to all this, I was almost eaten up by vermin; sometimes almost starved; and shut out from all civilized society; almost literally buried in the snows of Michigan; and in order to prevent actual starvation, the Indians were compelled to remove from place to place, where it was supposed the hunting would be better. This subjected us to greater inconvenience, and often to great suffering from cold, having to clear away the snow, which was very deep.
But the uncertainty, and the improbability, of being released, being constantly upon me, and there appeared not the least gleam of hope until it was announced, by the preparations I saw making in the spring, to go to Detroit.
I have nothing to say against the Indian character—but many things in favor of it—but much against their manner of life. They are a brave, generous, hospitable, kind, and among themselves, an honest people; and when they intend to save the life of a prisoner they will do it, if it should be at the risk of their own. But after all this is said, no one can form any adequate idea of what a manmustsuffer, who spends a winter with them in the snows of Michigan.
But now, that I was released by the friendly hand of a stranger, Mr. Cecott, whom I shall recollect with feelings of gratitude so long as I can recollect anything—I felt more than I shall ever be able to express. Hope, which had almost perished, now began to revive, and the sight of home and friends once more began to be thought of as a matter not altogether impracticable—and that I should set my foot again upon the happy soil of Kentucky.
But disappointment was at the door. Mr. Cecott informed me in a few days that he would be compelled to give me up to the British as a prisoner of war. I gave him my note for the horse which he gave for me, which I paid him about eighteen months afterwards, when I went out to war again, under General McArthur. I think the horse was valued at thirty six dollars—you see what I was worth in money. A number of prisoners were sold at Detroit from time to time, and many of the citizens showed great liberality and humanity in purchasing them. It should be spoken and recorded to their praise, that some of the citizens spent nearly every thing which they possessed in buying prisoners who had fallen into savage hands, and in furnishing them with clothing and provision.
When I was delivered to the British as a prisoner of war, I was placed in the guardhouse, where we remained all summer. During our confinement we suffered from hunger, and what provisions we had were not good. We had the floor for a bed, and a log for our pillow, all the time. There were six or eight in the fort that had been purchased before I was—they had were taken prisoners at Dudley's defeat.
This was a long tedious summer to me, for we had no employment whatever, but were compelled to lay about the fort from the end of one month to another. A gentleman in Detroit proposed to the officer in command, to be surety for my appearance, if he would permit me to go into the town and work at my trade, but he refused to let me go upon any terms whatever.
At times, during the summer, the streets of Detroit were filled with Indians; and many of them came to see us. In the month of July, we saw them have a young woman prisoner, whom we supposed they had taken from the frontiers of Ohio. We could never learn what disposition they made of her. A company of the Indians from the northwest encamped for several days near the walls of the fort, immediately previous to their going to war. This gave us an opportunity of ascertaining their mode of preparation for war. Among other things, they eat the flesh of dogs.
During our imprisonment here, we were brought to behold a very shocking sight. We saw, in the hands of the Indians, a number of scalps fastened in hoops made for the purpose and hung out before the fire to dry. They had been but recently taken off: and more horrible yet, the most of them were the scalps of females! We remained for sometime upon the fort battery observing their situation and employment before they saw us. When they beheld us, and knew that we were prisoners, they raised the war-whoop instantly in token of victory. They showed the tomahawk, and pointed to the scalps, to tell that they had murdered the persons with the tomahawk. They held up the scalp of a female and showed signs of savage cruelty and barbarity, which I had never seen exhibited before. These things were done in open day, in the presence of the British officers; and those refined gentlemen, who feel that they occupy a place of elevation and superior rank in society, could look upon these shocking mockeries of humanity with the hard heartedness of the savages themselves.
Many of the British soldiers were kind to us in our imprisonment; they would steal us out by night, when the officers were away carousing, that we might get some recreation and refreshment. The officers were haughty and overbearing, doing nothing for our comfort. The joy that I felt in being released from the Indians, soon died amid my rough fare in the British prison. During the summer we were almost entirely naked; and were only saved from becoming completely so by the generosity of Mr. Hunt of Detroit, who gave us each a suit of summer clothes; which was all the clothing that we got until after we arrived at Quebec, sometime in December. About the first of August, nearly all the soldiers and Indians disappeared from Detroit. We were at a loss to account for this, but supposed they had gone to make an attack upon some of the forts, or frontier parts of the Northwestern Army. It was not a great while until the secret was out. They came home cursing Major Croghan, (they had made an unsuccessfull attack upon Lower Sandusky,) and saying that he loaded his guns with nails, slugs, and with any thing and every thing that came to hand. The faces of some of them were completely peppered with small shot. They lost a number of their best men in this battle. It is said thatCaptain James Hunter, sometimes known by the name of "old Sandusky"—whom Congress since presented with a sword as a token of national respect—suspecting that the British and Indians would undertake to storm the fort, right or wrong, swung up a long heavy log, which, in case of extreme emergency, he intended to use as adead fallby cutting loose the ropes which held it upon the walls of the fort. This Sandusky engagement appears to have been a hot business all around.
The well known battle upon the lake, in which Perry was successful, was fought during our confinement in this fort. We heard the report of the guns plainly, and it produced much excitement among all. Every eye was turned toward Malden, and we eagerly caught every word that came from that direction.
A few days afterward they told us that the British had taken Perry and all his fleet. The soldiers laughed at us, and told us that the Yankees knew nothing about fighting on the water—that they could whip us two to one. We had to bear this as well as we could, until we saw great preparations making every where to remove the arms, ammunition, &c., which were sent up the river. We now suspected that they had misinformed us of the result of the battle. When we asked, they told us one thing and then another, until one of the soldiers privately told us the whole tale—that Perry had actually captured the British fleet—and that the Yankees were coming upon us in great numbers, and were just at hand. We now turned the tables upon them—it was our time to be merry.
Every day increased the hurry and confusion; boats and small vessels were ascending the river Detroit, bearing off arms, provisions, and every species of property, belonging to the British. It was a time of joy to the citizens of Detroit, generally, to see the Indians and British leaving so rapidly: and we were looking almost hourly to behold the Kentuckians appear in sight. We were, however, hurried up the river, as there was no opportunity to escape. The Indians were always kept in the rear during a retreat, and stood between the British and danger. If I had kept the day of the month, I could tell where Harrison, Shelby, and Johnson, were at the time when we left Detroit. Not knowing the position of the American army, it was fruitless to hazard an effort to escape.
Our British masters crowded us into a vessel which was loaded with arms and ammunition, without provisions or any arrangements for our comfort on the way. As we ascended the lake, we ran aground near the mouth of the river Thames, and were detained two days; during which time we were compelled to unload and reload the vessel. All this time we had nothing to eat but what we could pick up, like dogs, from the offal of the ship. Here I was tempted, and worse yet, yielded to the temptation, to steal something to eat, and risk consequences. The British officer had some beef hung out on the stern of the vessel, I took some of it, and we eat it. The meat was tainted; yet it was sweet to us, not because it was stolen, but because we were starving.
After we had succeeded in getting the vessel over the sandbar, the wind was unfavorable, and the British officer determined to abandon her, and (after getting her up near Dalton's she was burned to prevent the Americans from making any spoils,) here we were put on shore, and walked, hungry and faint, fifteen miles to Dalton's, where we were guarded closely. This was only the beginning of hard times. We discovered the determination of the British to send us down through Canada, and consequently began to lose all hope of seeing the American army. A guard of British and Indians was prepared to take us on. A cart load of provision was started with us, but we never saw it after the morning on which we left Dalton's. Why this provision was started, and not suffered to proceed, we never could even guess. The officer was very rigorous, and would not suffer us to stop and procure any refreshment, but drove us onward like cattle going to market. The second night after we leftDalton's, we encamped in the woods. They now kept a close watch over us—and we were as eagerly looking for an opportunity to escape. Had we forseen the sufferings that were ahead, we should, at least some us, have made the attempt to escape at every hazard. As stated above, our provisions were left behind, and we were under the dominion of an unfeeling wretch, who would but very seldom even suffer us to go into a house to ask for a morsel of bread. He would march us hard all day, and at night put us into a barn or stable to sleep. We often travelled in the rain, and then laid down without fire in our wet clothes to try and rest. This journey of about five hundred miles by land, and four hundred by water, we travelled, in that cold and rainy country, with our thin gingham clothes, given to us by Mr. Hunt of Detroit: some of us were without shoes and coats; and we lived upon potatoes and turnips just as we could pick them up as we passed by farms.
This part of the journey, from Dalton's to Burlington Heights, was, perhaps, the most painful of any; not being permitted whilst at Detroit to take much exercise, and being forced on almost beyond our strength, rendered it painful beyond expression. And that was not all: the officer of the guard, being a churlish and tyranical man by nature, failed not to make use of the little brief power committed to him for the occasion, to make our sufferings the more insupportable. It seemed to afford him a pleasure to "add affliction to our bonds." On some occasions, after travelling hard all day in the rain, and having no other lodging but a barn or stable, we had some difficulty in getting fire enough, or getting admittance to it, sufficient to dry our clothes. On this part of the journey, in addition to suffering from the cold rains, and from being compelled to lie down in our wet clothes, we were almost literally starved. On leaving the vessel on the Thames, I found a canister which had been emptied of the shot; this I took with me, which served to cook our potatoes, turnips, and peas, when we could get them, and when our cruel commander would give us time for it; but to add still more to our inconvenience, one of the Indian guard, on returning from Burlington Heights, stole even that from me. This was done by stratagem, (and, by-the-by, the Indians are not slow at it.) As some of them had to return from that place, and were preparing for the journey, one of the party come to me and asked the loan of my cooking vessel. I very readily loaned it to him, not suspecting any design; but finding him rather tardy, I made application for it: he gave me to understand that he was not done with it; and being compelled to march immediately, I had to leave it behind. We sometimes had pickeled pork, which I generally eat raw. The people in that country raised peas, which they mowed and put away vines and all together for their cattle. We would, when lodging in barns and stables, make beds of these, and shell out and eat the peas, and also take some along with us to eat by the way.
I shall not attempt to notice all the particulars of this painful march, from the Thames to York, and from York to Kingston. It was almost an uninterrupted scene of suffering from the beginning to the end. The officer of the guard seemed unwilling to show any kindness himself, or that any one else should show us any. The remembrance of these things, though twenty six years have rolled between, produces a kind of horror in my soul even at this hour. Here is the way that a company of ragged, naked, and starved, Kentucky boys were driven through the country to be gazed upon and laughed at by the inhabitants of the villages and towns through which we passed.
When we reached York, we were closely confined in jail until another guard was appointed to take us on to Kingston. This was one of the most filthy prisons that I ever saw. Here they had a difficulty in obtaining a new guard: the one which brought us to this place from the river Thames consisted chiefly of Indians, and as they were not willing to proceed any farther, the officer had to look for some of the most vigilant soldiers to take their place. We found all along that they were not willing to risk us with a guard of British soldiers until we arrived at this point, when they supposed there would be less danger of an escape.
We tarried several days at York, and then took the road to Kingston; and the farther we went the worse the travelling became, the weather colder, and our clothing more ragged, &c.
I must not omit to mention a widow lady who resided between York and Kingston. She took all the prisoners into her house, treated them kindly, supplied all their wants, and in every respect showed a kind and feeling heart. If I ever knew her name, I have forgotten it: I should like to record it here.
When we came to Kingston we were again put in a filthy jail. It was now about the first of November, and we were allowed very little fire, and our clothing so thin, that we had to shiver it out the best way we could. Our spirits remained unsubdued, and we felt cordially to despise that tyranny which heaped suffering upon us. We rejoiced that it was in defence of dear liberty that these afflictions had fallen upon us; and we hoped by some means soon to enjoy our liberty again.
The British troops at this place were in regular drilling. The infantry and artillery were daily employed in firing at targets. My attention was specially drawn to their manner of shooting at a target, made of an empty barrel placed out in the lake. This was done that they might, with the greater certainty, fire upon a vessel as it approached the town. We supposed that they were in expectation of an attack from the Yankee fleet upon lake Ontario. From Kingston we started to Montreal in open boats; if possible this was yet worse than travelling by land, for we could take no exercise to keep ourselves warm. The rains that fell upon us now, appeared as cold as during any part of winter in Kentucky, and we were still in our thin clothing. The boat was scarcely large enough to contain the seventeen prisoners, and the guard; and not high enough for us to stand up; so we had to sit down on the bottom of the boat, and endure the cold from morning until night. I think we slept but once in a house between Kingston and Montreal, and that was the upper room of an unfinished court house, where we had a small stove, and where we dried our few rags of clothing. At length we came in sight of Montreal; they landed us above the town that they might march us through the city, to be seen as a rare curiosity. Word had reached the town before us, that a number of Kentucky prisoners were to pass through that day; and it appeared that the whole city had collected into that street to see the great sight. The windows and doors were full of ladies, manifesting great eagerness to see Kentuckians. The reader may perhaps imagine my feelings at this time, for I shall not attempt to describe them.
We were now taken to jail as usual, where we were furnished with a good room, and for the first time since we left Detroit our situation was somewhat comfortable. I think we remained here near two weeks. Our old rags of clothes, which were given us by the British soldiers, proved rather an annoyance to us, as the jail was warm and the vermin began to multiply in great numbers. We had no change of raiment, consequently we had no washing done; thus we spent the time at Montreal.
As before remarked, the vermin became very annoying—and having no possible chance of avoiding them, I fell upon the plan of turning my clothes every morning, so as to keep them travelling.
In order to form an adequate idea of these tormenters of the human family, you must be shut up in a hot, filthy prison, with a number of prisoners clothed in filthy rags, and yourself as bad as any of them, with thousands and millions of these bosom friends crawling over you. If that would not make an impression, I don't know what would.
A right regular built Yankee, who had been but recently taken upon the lines not far from Montreal, was brought into the prison a few days previous to our leaving for Quebec. He was discovered, shortly after his arrival, to pick one of those troublers of our peace from his white shirt, and very deliberately lay him down on a bench, after which, taking a small chip between his finger and thumb, succeeded in dispatching him. This manouvre afforded some sport for some of us who had learned, by things we had suffered, not to take it quite so tedious. He was told that he would soon learn to kill them without a chip.
At this place we were told by the British that we were eating Yankee beef—that most of their supplies came from the States. As it is not my business, I will forbear censuring; and will content myself with barely stating facts. These things occur very frequently all along the line between Canada and the United States in time of war; and men who profess great patriotism are sometimes found to be engaged in it. Such patriotism as this would scarcely be found in Kentucky.
We left for Quebec in a steam boat, the first built on the St. Lawrence, and arrived there in about twenty four hours. The jail here was less comfortable than the one at Montreal. We were literally in rags, and remained so for many weeks; we had an agent whose duty it was to see that we were provided for, but if my memory serves me, he did not so much as visit the prison for nearly three weeks, and then we were treated by him like so many slaves.
After so long a time, Gardner, the agent, furnished each of us with a suit of coarse clothing. By this time the weather had become excessively cold, and we were removed to the barracks until a prison could be prepared for us upon cape Diamond, where we principally spent the time whilst we remained at Quebec.
After we removed to cape Diamond our number was greatly increased. Only seventeen Kentuckians came down together from Detroit; but there were many others taken at different times and places; some sailors, but mostly they were regular soldiers. These had been confined in other parts of the jail, and now, when collected together, we numbered say ninety, all put into one house together. Here we had a small yard where we could take some exercise; this was a great privilege to men who had been so long in close confinement. We were closely locked up at night, and generally under a strict guard. The windows were strongly grated, and we had only light from one side. Our provisions were scanty and bad; I suffered more from hunger in Quebec than during any time of my long imprisonment. It was not because they had no provisions, but because they chose to starve us. When we were in Montreal they tauntingly told us that we were eating Yankee beef—giving us to understand that they were furnished with provisions from the United States. This scantiness of supply continued through the winter, and we were under the necessity of enduring our sufferings as we could. We were told that British prisoners in the United States fared worse than we did. Our wood was birch, and it served a double purpose; for we burned the wood, and made tea of the bark—this was all the tea or coffee which we drank in the city of Quebec.
The agent allowed us to draw each a few dollars in money; with this we bought articles from those who visited our prison. We were not very economical with our money; it lasted but a short time.
Some of the prisoners were always forming plans of escape, but could never mature them. At one time we were well nigh an elopement, but one proved a traitor, and informed the British officer of the design. The traitor had been in the regular service, and was taken a prisoner somewhere between Canada and the United States. Some offers were made to him, and he meanly enlisted as a British soldier, and divulged every thing which he supposed would make our condition more miserable. He told of the contemplated escape, and who were the most active as the leaders. On the next day the keeper of the prison came up, and upon examination finding that the account was true, and ascertaining who had cut the holes, he sent the poor fellows to the dungeon, where they were doomed to remain for two weeks upon half rations. After this pennance they were permitted to return to their former place. This broke up all designs of escape, as we were closely watched during the remainder of our stay.
After the fellow above named enlisted, strong efforts were made to induce others to follow his example. In order to this, they sent one of the officers who had command of the guard that brought us from York to Kingston, supposing that because we were acquainted with him, he would therefore have more influence with us. He was, however, the last man that should have been sent; we knew him to be sure, but we knew him to be a hard hearted tyrant, who had starved and drove us nearly to death. We were displeased at seeing him come into the prison, and no sooner had he made known his errand, than we gave him to understand flatly and plainly that deserters were not to be found among us. We expressed our detestation at the conduct of the one who had turned tory and traitor, and told him if there was no other way of a release from prison, that we would greatly prefer to lie in the fort until we were starved and perished to death. We moreover gave him to understand that we would not be insulted in that manner, and that he would do well to leave the fort—and some of the boys went so far as to take their tin pans, and beating upon them with their spoons, actually drummed him out of the prison. By this experiment they were fully satisfied that it was a most fruitless business to try to induce us to leave our happy government and join theirs. It was often reported that we would be sent to Dartmoor prison, in England, and there kept as hostages, until the differences between the two governments should be adjusted. We sometimes thought perhaps it might be so, but we scarcely believed anything which they told us; their object no doubt was to alarm, with the fear of crossing the Atlantic, that they might the more easily pursuade us to desert. Although this thing bore a very gloomy aspect, and was often a subject of serious conversation among us, yet we were determined, and strengthened each other in the purpose, not to desert, but to endure the worst, and be true to our country.
About this time we learned that Tecumseh, the great Indian warrior, had fallen in the battle at Moravian town. His family was at this time in Quebec; they, in company with some other Indians, came to see us, and manifested great curiosity in taking a good look at Kentuckians—considered by some the rarest beings upon the earth.
Often numbers of people came to the prison to see us—one man, after looking at us for a length of time, manifested great disappointment, and said, "Why, they look just like other people." It seemed from this that an idea prevailed that we were wild men, or an order of beings that scarcely belonged to this earth.
During the time that we remained here Colonel Lewis and Major Madison visited us. Of the latter, the Vice President of the United States lately said in the Senate, that he was a man "of rare patriotism—the most beloved of all the public men of his State—the best among the best—'the bravest of the brave'—who died with never fading laurels upon his brow." They were accompanied by one or two British officers. After they had duly examined into our situation, Colonel Lewis encouraged us to bear our privations and sufferings in the spirit of true soldiers— saying "that it belonged to the soil of Kentucky to be firm." While this exhortation of the Colonel was received by us with great approbation, it evidently was received with indignation by the British officers. This made no manner of difference with Colonel Lewis, who proceeded to make such remarks, and gave us such advice, as he believed were for our comfort. I thought that the British were inclined to press their rigid military rules upon Kentuckians with more rigor than upon others. They rarely spoke to us, and when they did it was in a manner so haughty that we only felt the more indignant and hostile toward them. We would not conform to those terms of respect which they exacted from their own soldiers. Our feelings, and callings in life had been so very different from those of British soldiers, that we felt as if we lived in, and breathed, a different air.
Toward the latter part of the winter we were, after much entreaty from Lewis and Madison, permitted to write to our friends. Our letters were carefully read by the officers, and every word rigidly examined. I now wrote to my friends, and this was the first certain information that they received of my having survived the battles and dangers which we had passed through, although I had now been away from home about eighteen months. Notices had been in the public prints, written by Hunt, of Detroit, that prisoners had been carried on towards Quebec—but he had no further knowledge of us, or what would be our fate.
Perhaps it was better that we were not permitted to give a history of our sufferings: it would only have more deeply afflicted our friends, and added nothing to our relief.
I wish here to record, that the news of our unsuccessful attempt to escape reached, by some means, the ears of Colonel Lewis and Major Madison, and they being desirous to obtain the particulars, requested that two of our number might be allowed to visit their quarters, which were not far off. Their request was granted, and William McMillan and myself were selected to visit them. We were conducted by a guard, and very closely watched and listened to. We told them of our attempt and defeat. They gave it as their opinion that we could not make a successful escape during the winter season, and that we ought not to attempt it. They told us of the great difficulty we would meet in travelling through the snow in that country, also in crossing the river St. Lawrence, even if we could, undiscovered, pass the guards. However, in case we should make the attempt, they gave us some directions touching the route that we should take if we succeeded in clearing the sentinels and crossing the river.
While writing this, I am reminded of an attempt made by some prisoners to escape about the time that we came to Quebec. They cut the bars out of the prison windows of the second story of the house, and let themselves down by means of their blankets. They were successful in passing the sentinels, and crossing the river, and prospered all the way until they came near the American lines. Now, thinking that they were out of the reach of danger, they halted to take rest and refreshment, and feeling like birds let out of a cage, they felt that they might safely have a little spree; but just as they were in the midst of their frolic, the British pursuers came suddenly upon them, and took them all by surprise. They were not prepared to defend themselves, and had no opportunity to fly; therefore they had quietly to go back to Quebec, and to prison, where they suffered the deep mortification of a failure, and the renewed weight of British oppression.
Some time before we heard the good news of a general exchange of prisoners, I had a violent attack of billious fever. I laid several days in the prison before I suffered the old turnkey to know my situation. When it was communicated to him, he sent an old man to bleed me and to give me some physic, which gave me no relief; I was therefore removed about a mile from town, to the hospital, where they bled and physiced me enough. I do not recollect how long I remained at the hospital, but I remember that I was there when it was announced that all prisoners were to be exchanged, and that all who were able to go were to be sent away immediately. This was better to me than all the medicine in Canada. The hope of seeing my country and my home, rushed in upon my mind with refreshing power. I told the Doctor that I could not stay any longer in the hospital—that I must start if I died on the way. At first he opposed my going; seeing my resolution, at length he consented. The idea of being kept behind was like death to me sure enough. For some days before this news reached us I had been slowly recovering, but was yet barely able to walk when I left the hospital to return to the prison, where I found the boys making preparations to leave for the United States. We were to ascend the St. Lawrence in a vessel belonging to the British. It was in the month of May when we left this gloomy prison, where we had spent a miserable winter and spring. The recollection of these times are horrible to my mind until this hour. I am sorry that I ever fell into British hands. It appears that the British officers were perfectly destitute of human feelings, so far as we were concerned. I have no means of knowing generally their characters, and I surely have no wish to defame them generally; I speak only of those into whose hands I fell, and from whom I received such little kindness.
May had not brought warm weather in that country; heaps of drifted snow were to be seen in the mountains north of Quebec; and the northwestern winds were keen and chilling, especially to me in my feeble state. After we boarded our little vessel, we remained several days, I know not what for, in an uncomfortable situation; with but little fire, and exposed to the incessantly blowing winds. This increased again the disease under which I had been laboring, so that I now had chill and fever every day. I was barely able to walk, and more than one thousand miles from home, without money, clothes, or friends that were able to help; yet my spirit did not quail for a moment,—I hoped somehow to get through. At length we were put into another vessel, and set sail up the St. Lawrence. Thus we continued until we came to the mouth of the river Sorrell, which connects lake Champlain with the St. Lawrence. We ascended this river for a considerable distance in the same vessel, when we were placed in open boats and carried across the line. It was said, with what truth I pretend not to say, that some of the British soldiers who guarded us made a good use of this opportunity and deserted, and left a land of oppression for a land of liberty and plenty.
We were set on the shore fourteen miles below Plattsburg, and then left to take care of ourselves, having neither money nor food, and almost naked, and some of us sick. We however, used to trials, went forward to Plattsburg—which I reached with the utmost difficulty, shaking one part of the day, and burning with fever the other. We had all been so long in confinement that we travelled slowly, and this enabled me to keep up until we arrived at a large encampment of the American army, a short distance above Plattsburg on the lake.