OHIO STATEWIDE FILES OH-FOOTSTEPS Mailing List *********************************************************************** USGENWEB NOTICE: These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced in any format for profit or presentation by other organization or persons. Persons or organizations desiring to use this material, must obtain the written consent of the contributor, or the legal representative of the submitter, and contact the listed USGenWeb archivist with proof of this consent. The submitter has given permission to the USGenWeb Archives to store the file permanently for free access. http://www.usgwarchives.net/ *********************************************************************** OH-FOOTSTEPS-D Digest Volume 99 : Issue 866 Today's Topics: #1 Abbott's History of Ohio Chapter 2 ["Maggie Stewart" that contains in the body of the message the command unsubscribe and no other text. No subject line is necessary, but if your software requires one, just use unsubscribe in the subject, too. ______________________________ ------------------------------ X-Message: #1 Date: Fri, 31 Dec 1999 14:06:55 -0500 From: "Maggie Stewart" > To: OH-FOOTSTEPS-L@rootsweb.com Message-ID: <0cef01bf53c2$34641bc0$0300a8c0@local.net > Subject: Abbott's History of Ohio Chapter 26 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Transcribed by Kay L. Mason kkmason@shianet.org Chapter XXVI Doom of the Captives Mess-ha-wa, with his prisoner companions, rode, with great rapidity, for an hour or two, when they reached an Indian village on the Upper Sandusky. Here they stopped and waited the arrival of Chick-a-tom-mo with his band. He soon appeared, accompanied by his warriors, and followed the discontented Mingo. The poor chief, feeling that his own life was at stake, gazed upon his lost captive with an expression of the most bitter disappointment and sadness. At length, however, he approached Johnston, shook him kindly by the hand, bade him adieu, and with an exceedingly discounsolate air left the village. At Sandusky there was a French trader by the name of Duchonquet. He had resided there for several years, on perfectly friendly terms with the Indians, engaged in the fur trade. He was a kind hearted man, became deeply interested in Johnston, who was a frank, ingenuous, fine looking young man, and, as we have said, in all the vigor and promise of but eighteen years of age. Knowing well the character of the Indians, Mr. Duchonquet had many fears that he should not be able to accomplish anything effectual in the prisoner's behalf. He, however, assured Johnston that he would leave no efforts untried to rescue him. That evening, he sought an interview with the chief, Chick-a-tom-mo, who seemed to be regarded as a superior chief, to whose authority all the other chiefs were subordinate. M. Duchonquet offered a very large reward for the ransom of the prisoner. The chief replied: "Your offer is liberal and ample. But no consideration whatever can induce us to surrender our captive until we have exhibited him in all our principal villages." When this answer was reported to Johnston, it filled him with despair. M. Duchonquet shared his emotions, and trembled for the fate of his friend. The Shawanese had still in reserve some of the goods which they had purloined from the boats. With these they purchased another keg of rum, and prepared for another carouse. Johnston entreated M. Duchonquet to try the Indians again, when perhaps their hearts would be mellowed with drink. He complied. But the refusal was still premptory. Johnston, in a state of great anxiety, wished him to inquire what Shawanese village they intended first to take him to, and what was to be his fate when he arrived there. The chief replied that he was to be taken to all their villages on the Maumee, but declined giving away any answer as to the fate which awaited him. Johnston was now in utter despair. He had often heard that every white prisoner taken to the Maumee villages fell a sacrifice to the vengeance of the savages. He had also heard that the Indians carefully concealed from their prisoners the dreadful doom to which they were destined, lest they should make more desparate efforts to escape, or even commit suicide. But suddenly affairs took a very strange turn. The Wyandot trader, flushed from his recent success, hastily obtained a fresh supply of rum, and hurredly entered Sandusky with several horses laden with kegs of that fatal beverage, which had such resistless charms for the Indian. In three days he stripped them of everything - of every skin, fur and article of value which the boats had afforded. They were left destitute, ragged, hungry, and in abject poverty. They had sent forward glowing accounts of their great achievements, and of the wealth and grandeur with which they were returning to their native villages. The pride of the Indian warriors was humiliated at the thought of presenting themselves, after all their boastings, before their friends in such a beggarly condition. They therefore, in deliberate council, decided to return to the banks of the Ohio, hoping to replenish their exhausted stores by the capture of more boats. Chick-a-tom-mo therefore sought an interview with M. Duchonquet, and very tranquilly told him that, since the scalp of their prisoner could be more easily transported than his person, they had decided to burn him that evening; but that from their love for M. Duchonquet, if he would pay a large ransom for the captive, they would forgo their anticipated entertainment, and surrender him. This was not an empty threat. They undoubtedly intended to execute it. Still the cunning chief probably thought that a very large ransom would be more valuable to them than the pleasure of witnessing his dying agonies and possessing his scalp. Duchonquet eagerly accepted the offer. He counted out six hundred ornamental jewels called brooches, which the Indians valued as a fashionable lady values diamonds, and offered them for the captive. He was immediately surrendered to the French trader. And these strange savages actually took a very affectionate leave of the captive whom they had been so eager to torture and to burn. Johnston was greatly elated. But the next day his anxieties were renewed. He was in the heart of the Indian country, entirely at the mercy of Indian caprice. There was no power whatever to protect him. The Indian band under Chick-a-tom-mo, which had set out for the Ohio, suddenly reappeared. For some unexplained reason they seem to have abandoned their trip, and for several days they remainded loitering around Sandusky. Apprehensive that they might again claim him, he armed himself with a pistol and knife, resolving not to be taken alive. His fears, however, proved groundless. After a few days they again disappeared, and he saw them no more. The very evening of their departure a Delaware Indian came into the village. He brought the intelligence that Flinn had been burned at the stake in one of the Shawanese towns a few days before. He had assisted in the entertainment of torturing the victim, and seemed to take pleasure in reciting all the cruel details. For some time Flinn had cherished the hope that he might be adopted, and there was ground for the hope, for the tribe was much pleased with his bold, frank and fearless character. But some wild chiefs, reported cannibals, came from far back in the interior on a visit to the Shawanese. They were very eager to share in the amusement of torturing and burning a white captain. As a measure of hospitality the Shawanese consented. The unhappy man was fastened to a stake, and the awful torture commenced amidst the wildest scene of tumult, whoops and yells. Men, women and children all took an excited part. It was with them the grandest of gala days. The chain which bound him to the stake was about a yard in length, allowing him in his agonly to move that distance to and fro. He exhibited the most extraordinary fortitude. Not a groan did he allow to escape him. For several hours the awful scene was protracted, the savage tormentors being careful not to touch any vital point. At length a brawny savage with the blow of a tomahawk ended his sufferings. This report was soon after fully confirmed by a Canadian trader who was present at the time and witnessed the awful spectacle. He made almost frantic endeavors to save the captive. He offered several kegs of rum as a ransom. He offered six hundred silver brooches. All was in vain. As he reported to Flinn his utter failure, to poor man exclaimed: "Then all I have to say is, 'may God have mercy on my soul.'" The Delaware said that the cannibals ate a portion of Flinn's flesh; that he tasted of it and it was sweeter than bear's meat. A few days after this Johnston received tidings from poor Styles. He was taken to one of the towns on the Maumee near the scene of Flinn's execution. It will be remembered that he was in the hands of the crabbed master who seemed to take pleasure in tormenting him. Skyles was first subjected to the cruel ordeal of running the gauntlet. A stout Indian boy cut a heavy switch from a thorn tree, and trimmed it so as to leave near the end one sharp thorn about an inch and a-half in length. As Skyles rushed along between the hostile lines, the boy struck a blow which drove the thorn up to the head in his naked back. The switch was wrested from the boy's grasp, and carried to the end of the course clinging to the quivering nerves of the sufferer. After this Skyles was employed as the menial slave of his crabbed master. He carried water and gathered wood for his scolding wife. Gradually he so worked himself into her good graces that she compelled her churlish husband to treat him with less cruelly. One evening the squaw came into the wigwam and confidentially informed Skyles that his death had been decided upon, and that it was to take place by burning at the stake the next day. He feigned to receive the tidings with indifference, and assumed to fall asleep. The conversation he overheard between the woman and her daughter, a child of fifteen, satisfied him that her report was correct. The squaw said that Skyle was a good man and very useful, and that it was too bad that he should be thus sacrificed. But the girl was merciless. She declared that the white people were all devils, and that every one of them ought to be put to death. And she expressed eagerly the delight she should experience in witnessing Skyles' dying agonies. At length they ceased talking, and both fell soundly asleep. Skyles cautiously arose, took the old Indian's rifle, powder-horn, shot-bag and corn-pouch, and, stepping out, directed his course, through a solitary war, to the Maumee River. In his excitement, he without delay plunged in and swam to the opposite shore. His powder thus became wet and his rifle consequently useless. He threw them away. The night was dark. He was in a stated of extreme agitation. He was flying not merely from death, but from death in its most appalling form. It was far better to be torn to pieces by wild beasts, or to freeze in a wintry storm, or to perish by lingering starvation, than to grapple with the kind of terrors at the Indians' burning stake. He knew that before the dawn more than a hundred fleet-footed warriors would be in pursuit of him, and that, with almost miraculous accuracy they would follow his trail. On and on he rushed, aiming for the Ohio River, and, supposing he had placed miles between him and his pursuers, when he came again upon the Scioto, not more than a hundred yards from the spot where he had crossed the stream. In his bewilderment, he had been running in a circle, which had occupied him six hours. It was a terrible discovery. As he stood a moment, almost paralyzed with consternation, he heard the tinkling of a horse-bell near by. A horse was grazing in the rich grass of the meadow. He caught the horse, mounted it, and again commenced his flight towards the river, though he was aware that the horse's tracks would prove an unerring guide to his pursuers. But the forest was very dense; there was much fallen timber; it became often necessary for him to change his course; he had no means of ascertaining the points of the compass. Again he became bewildered and lost. He also found that he could press through the tangled forest on foot faster than he could on horseback. He abandoned his horse and again set out on foot. At length the day began to dawn. He was in the midst of a vast wilderness, hungry and exhausted. He had no means of obtaining food, and was entirely unacquainted with those signs by which an experienced woodsman could grope his way through the pathless wilds. Fearful of pursuit, and knowing that he was in the midst of a dense Indian population, who were ever roving the woods in search of game, he deemed it prudent to find some hiding-place, where he could conceal himself until darkness came again. At night he recommenced his journey, though with the utmost caution. He had not gone far before he came upon a solitary Indian wigwam, probably the encampment of some family out upon a hunting expedition. The inmates were all asleep. But the wolfish dogs of the Indians, ever on the alert, caught sound on his footsteps and commenced a furious barking. Scarcely had he escaped from this danger ere he came upon a larger encampment, composing quite a village. The dogs again commenced their furious barking, and he feared that his detection was inevitable. Thus he wandered in terror and peril for several days. At last he was in a condition of actual starvation. He therefore came to the desparate resolve to enter the first Indian village he approached, and throw himself upon the hospitality of the people. So soon as he struck a trail, he followed it resolutely. About four o'clock in the afternoon he came upon an Indian village. His heart misgave him. He decided to conceal himself until dark. He thought that he might perhaps then find some cornfield or some refuse food by which he could save himself from starvation. But no food could be found. He came across some embers of a decaying fire, and blacked his face and hands with the charcoal. He then, wrapping his blanket around him, in the usual Indian fashion, and imitating the straggling gait of an Indian hunter, entered the village. It was early in the evening, the lanes of the village were quite deserted, most of the warriors, as he afterwards learned, being absent. He passed onr or two squaws, who paid no attention to him. He was literally starving, and food he must have. While slowly trudging through the village, he saw a light in a distant wigwam, which somewhat resembled a trader's booth. Cautiously approaching, he found, to his great joy, that he was correct in his supposition. A white man stood behind the counter, selling various articles to a number of squaws who were standing around. Skyles tremblingly entered the shop, and, in bad English, assuming to be an Indian, called for rum. The trader, who instantly detected him to be a white man in disguise, without manifesting any surprise, replied that he had no rum in the wigwam, but that if he would wait a few minutes he would go and get some. The man leaped over the counter and went out. Skyles followed him and recounted his story, casting himself upon his mercy. The trader was greatly troubled. To betray his guest would be infamous. To assist in concealing an escaping prisoner, would expose him to the same dreadful doom which awaited the captive. And under the circumstances it seemed impossible that Skyles could elude pursuit. The trader informed the starving, tremblin prisoner, that a band of Shawanese, that very morning had appeared in the village, in eager search for him; they were still in the neighborhood, having followed his trail; that they had expressed themselves as amused by his zig-ziag course, and that they would undoubtedly return the next day. If Skyles should remain in the village his detection would be certain. If he endeavored to escape by again entering the forest, it was hardly possible that he could elude the vigilance of the many bands who were on the chase. They were both in a state of very great perplexity. The trader, upon reflection, told him that he must immediately leave the village; that eager eyes would soon be fixed upon him. He pointed out a thick hazel grove, where he thought he might perhaps be concealed, in security, for a short time. He promised soon to join him there with some food, and that they would then endeavor to plan some mode of escape. Skyles, by a circuitous route, repaired to the thicket. The trader soon joined him there with food, and informed him, that he saw but one possible mode of escape. "You can not," said he, "remain here without being caught. And you can not escape your pursuers so as to reach the white settlements through the wood. But this morning, a boat, laden with furs, and commanded by an English captain, left here to paddle down the Maumee to Lake Erie. You can possibly overtake that boat. The captain will certainly take you on board, and you may escape." Fortunately the warriors were all absent. Skyles was an experienced boatman. The trader had a light skiff with two oars. Skyles immediately jumped on board, soon reached the current, and rapidly descended the stream. The darkness of night enveloped the scene. There was but little danger of discovery before the day should dawn. Skyles plied his utmost energies, at the oars, during the long hours of the night. More than his life depended upon his speed. The peril of his situation was so dreadful that he was in the greatest agitation. Every rustling of the bushes alarmed him. Every cry of the owl caused him to start. At length, just as the first dawning of the morning was beginning to appear, he caught sight of the boat, the ark of his salvation, drifting slowly down the stream by the force of the current alone. He was soon within hailing distance and called aloud for the boat to stop. But strangely enough the crew were all soundly asleep, even the helmsman. The barge was flat-bottomed, spacious and capable of bearing a heavy burden. Skyles rowed along-side and leaped on board. The drowsng helmsman rubbed his eyes, and looking around, somewhat bewildered said, "I had almost fallen asleep." The captain was called. He emerged from a sort of cabin, with a woolen night cap upon his head, and rather nervously inquired who the stranger was, and why he had paid them so early a visit. Skyles was afraid, at first, fully to reveal himself, lest the captain should deem it too hazardous to afford him refuge. The Indians regarded the English as their allies against the Americans. It would be deemed, by them, an unpardonable offense for an Englishman to rescue an American prisoner. Skyles told the captain that he was a land speculator; that he had been surveying lands upon the Auglaize; but alarmed by the increasing animosity of the Indians against the whites he had thought it prudent to leave the country. The captain cooly rejoined, as though it was a matter of very little moment: 'I heard that a white man was burned a few days ago in one of the Maumee villages, and that another had avoided the same fate only by running into the woods. But it is supposed that he cannot escape. He will either perish miserably of starvation in the woods, or be retaken. Numerous parties are after him, and by his zig-zag course he has proved himself to be a very poor woodman." After a moment's pause Skyles replied: "Captain, I am that wretched fugitive, and I cast myself upon your mercy for protection." The English captain was a very sigular man, of imperturbable spirit. He manifested not the slightest emotion of sympatny or of alarm, and without any hesitation received the fugitive to the protection of his boat. They descended the Maumee to Lake Erie without any adventure, and reached Detroit in safety. Here, greatly to his surprise, he discovered, without being discovered himself, Chickatommo, Masshawa, and their accompanying band. These Indians, after having sold Johnston, instead of returning to the Ohio as was their first intention, repaired to Detroit. Skyles very carefully avoided them, and concealed himself in the house of a trader. The next day a party of Shawanese arrived in pursuit of him. They had with their usual sagacity traced him to the river, and down the river to the lake. For several days they paraded the streets, complaining bitterly of the loss of their prisoner. At length, to Skyles' great relief, they departed. He then took passage to Montreal, and after all his perils and sufferings reached his home in safety. It will be remembered that there was one young lady, Miss Flemming, who was taken captive, and who, in the division, was surrendered to the Cherokees. She was a peculiar girl, who had lived a wild life, and was naturally of very buoyant spirits. She did not at first lay her captivity at all to heart. While her captors lingered on the banks of the Ohio, she tried to ingratiate herself into their favor by fun and frolic. Soon after Johnston's liberation, while he was still residing with his friend, M. Duchonquet, at Sandusky, the band of Cherokees, with their prisoner. suddenly appeared in the village. All their booty disappeared. They were ragged and emaciate, and in all respects in a forlorn condition. Poor Miss Flemming was sadly changed. All the lightness of heart had vanished. Her eyes were swollen with weeping; her dress was tattered, and her cheeks pallid and drunken. Johnston's sympathies were deeply aroused. He addressed her tenderly, and inquired into the treatment she had received, which had caused so great a change. She could make no reply, but wringing her hands, wept convulsively. She had been assigned to a particular master. He, seeing her tears, brutally ordered her to leave the village, and accompany him to Lower Sandusky. Her master carried his victim off with him, and all knew that her ultimate fate was to furnish the Cherokees with a gala day by being tortured and burned at the stake. Johnston and Duchonquet followed, hoping in some way to effect her liberation. There were a few French and English traders at the trading post, and Lower Sandusky was thronged with Indians from the various tribes. Here Johnston first heard the glad tidings of the escape of Skyles. The traders all took a great interest in the fate of Miss Flemming, and united their energies to do everything in their power for her liberation. The Cherokees had pitched their camp a little outside of the village. There was at that place a white man named Whittaker, who had been adopted by the Indians. He had been taken captive years before, when a child, in Virginia. All his friends were killed. He had lost all recollection of his parentage, and had become so thoroughly naturalized among the Indians that he had no desire to leave them. The tradesmen secured his interest in behalf of Miss Flemming, and taking him with them, went in a body to the Cherokee camp. Miss Flemming's father had formerly kept a sort of tavern and trading-house near Pittsburgh, which was much frequented by Indian hunters. Whittaker, accompanying his Indian friends, had often visited the tavern. Thus he had seen Miss Flemming in her own home. This naturally increased his desire to befriend her. As soon as Miss Flemming saw Whittaker she recognized him, and rushing forward, seized his hand, and bursting into tears implored him to save her from the dreadful fate of death by torture which she knew was impending. With his whole heart he engaged in her service; but the Cherokees were inflexible; they would listen to none of his appeals. He then took a boat and went to Detroit to seek the intervention of an influential and powerful Indian chief who went by the name of King Crane, and who was his personal friend. To interest the king more deeply in his behalf, he assured him that Miss Flemming was his sister. With characteristic gravity, the king listened to his story, and acknowledged the reasonableness of his interferring to rescue so near a relative from the stake. He at once repaired to Sandusky, and walked out to the Cherokee camp to plead for the captive. The pride of the Indians was now aroused, and they declared that nothing whatsoever should induce them to give her up. Very bitter altercations, with many angry threats, ensued. One of the Cherokee chiefs in his rage said to King Crane: "It is disgraceful for a chief like you to place yourself on a level with the white people, and plead for them, when you know they regard you as no better than dirt." This insult exasperated the king. Hurling back volleys of vituperation he drew off to concert with his followers measures of redress. Whittaker successfully added fuel to his towering passion, and encouraged the king in his resolve to rescue the white girl. The Cherokees heard these threats, and in their alarm resolved immediately to put their victim to death. As soon as night came they stripped her of her clothing, painted her body black, bound her firmly to the stake, and gathered the faggots around her, and left her to the misery of the night, intending with the early dawn to enjoy their cruel revel. The sagacious King Crane anticipated this movement. He armed a band of his most determined young men, and at midnight commenced a silent march upon the Cherokee encampment. The Cherokees were asleep. The poor captive was found in her condition of unutterable woe. She was moaning in a state of almost utter insensibility. Speedily they clothed her, and surrounded her with their protecting arms. Then the king, with a whoop, summoned the Cherokee chiefs before him, he informed them that he had rescued the white girl; that she was now his by the right of conquest; that if they disputed it, and wished to fight, his young men were ready for them. The Cherokees were outnumbered, and dared not provoke a conflict. They saw that remonstrances would be of no avail. They, however, urged that he had the day before offered to pay a large ransom for her; and they hoped that he would now fulfil that offer. He had made the proposal, acting in cooperation with the traders, who had offered to pay six hundred silver brooches for her release. The king replied, with much dignity: "The white girl is now in my possession. I should serve you right if I should refuse you a single brooch. But I distain to receive anything at your hands without paying an ample equivalent. I will therefore give you the six hundred brooches." This arrangement was eminently wise. The savage nature of the Cherokees was so aroused by their humiliation and their loss, that there was great danger that some lurking Indian would take revenge by piercing her bosom with a bullet before she could be removed. Having accepted the ransom, Indian honor was pledged to respect the arrangement. Still, among the Indians as among white men, there were vagabond individuals who had no sense of honor whatever. Miss Flemming was therefore disguised as an Indian squaw, and was placed under the care of two trusty Indians to be conveyed to Pittsburgh, where she arrived in safety. Still the Cherokees were in a very disconcerted state. They had been robbed of one of their greatest entertainments. They knew that they had been compelled to accept a ransom. They declared that they would not leave Sandusky until they had killed some white man in revenge for the loss of their prisoner. Every white man was now in equal peril. Johnston and Duchonquet in particular found in necessary to keep themselves carefully concealed for several days. After a short time the Cherokees retired, vowing vengeance upon the white men whenever they should meet one. They were seen no more. Johnston soon left Lower Sandusky, and embarked in a boat laden with furs for Detroit. Here he remained a few days, and then took passage for Montreal. Thence by the way of Fort Stanwix he reached New York. There he had an interview with President Washington, who in some way had heard of his perils, his adventures, and his wonderful escape. Washington sent for him and made minute inquiries respecting the strength of the Indian tribes, the number and position of the British garrisons, and the character of the alliance which Johnston was again restored to the bosom of his family. He appeared among them as one risen from the dead. Subsequently the fate of the prominent Indians to whom we have alluded became known. Chickatommo was killed at the renowned battle of the Thames, where General Wayne gained so decisive a victory over the combined Indian hosts. Messhawa as in the same battle, but escaped unharmed. He fought bravely at Tippecanoe and at the River Raisin, and finally disappeared at the battle of the Thames, where it is supposed that he was killed. King Crane lived to a good old age, much respected for his just and manly character. He was an active warrior in the great victory which the Indians obtained over the whites at the defeat of St. Clair, and shared in the rout which General Wayne subsequently inflicted upon the Indian warriors. After this he became reconciled to the Americans, and fought under the banners of General Harrison at the battle of the Thames. Whittaker remained devoted to the Indians by whom he had been adopted. Received among them almost in infancy, he was in character, manners, and almost in aspect, thoroughly an Indian. He fought ever on their side. Escaping all the perils of battle, he died, it is not known when or where. Tom Lewis, a full-blooded Indian with an English name, who, it will be remembered, had humanely interposed to save Johnston from being robbed of his shirt in the cold and freezing wind, fought against the Americana in all the battles of the Northwestern Territory until the final peace in the year 1796. He then was sent as one of the Indian deputation to Washington. There he met his former captive Johnston again, in the year 1797. He rose to high rank among his tribe, and finally perished, as many eminent Americans have done, of intemperance, that bane alike of the white man and the red man. -------------------------------- End of OH-FOOTSTEPS-D Digest V99 Issue #866 *******************************************