University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.
THE CAPTIVES AND THEIR CAPTORS.

It is of course impossible for us to convey any thing more than
a general idea of the alarm and confusion which prevailed throughout
the village at the time our friends were taken prisoners.

Just imagine more than five hundred men, women, and children,
many of them suddenly awakened from a peaceful slumber, and
all, or nearly all, under the impression that the town was attacked
by an overwhelming force of the whites, and that a horrible massacre
was even now taking place—just imagine, we say, such a
number of both sexes, all ages, and sizes, rushing pell-mell from
their dwellings, and jostling one against the other, with whoops,
yells, and screams of terror resounding on all sides, mingled with
the yelping and barking of dogs, the report of fire arms, and the
howlings of the storm, and you will have as good a general conception
of the scene presented, as our humble pen is competent to
portray. So great and universal was the alarm this midnight arousing
occasioned, that it was more than half an hour before all could
be made to understand the true cause thereof; and then anger
gradually took the place of fear; and the loud invectives poured
upon the heads of our friends, proclaimed the general desire of the
nation to have the disgrace, which each felt had been brought
upon him by his cowardice during a false alarm, washed out in
the heart's blood of the poor prisoners. Alas for those who had
unintentionally raised this terrible storm of human passion!

But there were more prisoners taken that night than Edward Allen
and John Carnele. Of the remainder of their friends, who had
set off at the same time with themselves, to reconnoitre the town,
only three had escaped the clutches of the savages. These three
were, Sergeant Bomb, and the two scouts who had gone by themselves.
How Bomb escaped, is beyond our power to explain; and
as he never had any definite idea of the matter himself, it is altogether
probable the mystery will never be cleared up; and that,
consequently, coming generations will be as much in the dark as
we are. All he ever remembered, was, that when the alarm broke
out, he was not a great way from the river; and that, soon after,
he found himself chilled to the very bone swimming the Miami.
The escape of the scouts was more easily accounted for. They
chanced to be on the northern side of the village, on the very outskirts
thereof, and on the point of entering it—having waited till
such an hour as they deemed advisable to insure the success of

their design. On the first alarm they fled, and in due time reached
Rendezvous Mount, where they were shortly after joined by the
Sergeant, who, under the excitement from which he was laboring,
immediately embraced the old woodsman, and solemnly declared,
that if he ever lived to reach a white settlement again, he would
never have any thing further to do with Indians. He had escaped
a horrible death twice, he said, and in a third risk there might be a
fatal charm.

Those of our gallant little band who were captured, had, like
those whom we have followed step by step, penetrated to the very
heart of the village. Consequently the alarm at once surrounded
them with Indians, and rendered it impossible for them to escape.
They did their best, however, and all that men could do. They
were not captured without a struggle for liberty. It was their firearms
that were heard, and more than one of their enemies bit the
dust, though none, as it chanced, were mortally wounded. Yet
they fought alone, and each party without the knowledge of the
whereabouts of the other; for no two had met after the separation
which we described in a previous chapter. Why they were
not killed on the spot, will he readily perceived by those who know
the nature and habits of the Indian; and to those who have no such
solution to what may seem a mystery, we will merely say, that
they were reserved for the greater vengeance of the most diabolical
and excruciating tortures.

Death in itself, as viewed by the savage, has no terrors; it is
merely the manner of dying that can appal him; consequently he
rarely inflicts a sudden death upon his most bitter enemy, when it
can be as well avoided. Thus it was in the case of our friends.
Each party being surrounded by numbers, who were certain of securing
them, their lives were spared, by mutual consent, for a vengeance
a thousand times more terrible. If there is any doubt existing
in the mind of the reader as to how each could be so readily
discovered in the pitchy darkness that prevailed, we must remind
him that all the village had not retired to rest—that in every
third or fourth cabin there was a light, generally a torch—and that
in rushing out at the first alarm-whoop, each party exercised sufficient
forethought to take one of these with them, which, though it
might reveal their own persons to the enemy, would, in return,
reveal the persons of the enemy to them; and this, under the circumstances,
was necessary, in order to know whether it were the
better policy to stand their ground or take to flight.

To such a degree of vindictive fury were the passions of the populace
excited, that for a time it seemed probable the prisoners
would be torn in pieces, in spite of the efforts of a more calculating
few to reserve them for another fate. But at last, by entreaty and
menace, they succeeded in restraining the mob from present violence.
Gradually the tumult subsided, and the prisoners were severally

conducted to the council house, bound hand and foot, and put
under a strong guard, to await their hour of trial, which was to
take place on the following day. Sentinels were next stationed
throughout the town, to prevent the recurrence of a similar scene,
and guard the village against surprise; and a party of young warriors,
headed by a daring, experienced, and sagacious chief, were
selected to set off by daylight, to ascertain if any of the adventurous
whites had made their escape, and if so, to follow their trail, and
endeavor to take them prisoners, that all might die at the stake
together, and create a savage jubilee.

Order at length being restored, the recently alarmed denizens of
Piqua quietly withdrew to their homes, all more or less elated at the
prospect of shortly being both spectators and actors in the barbarous
amusement of human torture.

Silence, as concerning the human storm of passion, again reigned
in the village; but the storm of the elements still raged as fiercely
as ever; and the wind sighed, and moaned, and whistled among
the lodges, and the rain and hail pattered on their bark roofs as
before, rendering the night pitchy dark, disagreeable, and gloomy.

And doubly gloomy was it now to our friends, whose last hopes
had expired, and who could look forward to nothing better than
a horrible death on the morrow. As one by one each was conducted
within the council house, and, by the lurid, fliekering light
of the torch burning within, beheld so many of his friends prisoners
also, a keener pang than even his own captivity occasioned, penetrated
his breast.

As for Edward, on coming to himself, and perceiving at a glance
what had transpired, and believing it was all occasioned by his
own imprudence, his anguish of soul knew no bounds; and he
repeatedly groaned aloud, and rolled to and fro in his fetters, as one
in mortal agony. On the point of liberating her he loved, he had
been struck down, she had been torn from him, and now there was
little hope that he would ever behold her sweet face again.

And more than this, he had involved others in his own ruin,
and brought upon them a doom of which he shuddered and grew
sick at heart to think. Oh! he thought, if he could but die alone,
and thus atone for his incautious acts, how gladly would he do
so; but no, this could not be—the father of her he loved would
also be a victim—and not only this, but those who had so nobly
consented to risk their own lives to rescue those so dear to him,
would receive the same horrible doom and fate. And then, alas!
what would become of poor Lucy, without a protector? Alas, indeed!

The prisoners, though near each other through the night, were
not permitted to speak; and as the day dawned—a cold, disagreeable,
drizzly morning—and the dull rays of light penetrated the
chinks and crannies of the council house, and spread a gray or

leaden hue over each object, it revealed the pale, anguished features
of the prisoners, with their bloodshot eyes, and clearly showed that
the night had been one of intense, restless, mental agony, devoid
of hope.

The positions of Edward and the Colonel were such, that though
tightly bound and extended at full length on the damp, cold ground,
they could look into each other's faces; and as they did so, tears
involuntarily started to the eyes of both; but they knit their brows,
compressed their lips and strove to be stoics; yet strove in vain;
for the tears would occasionally gush out afresh, in spite of their
efforts to the contrary. The Colonel was unhurt, as were all the
rest, with the exception of Edward, whose head was somewhat
bloody from the wound he had received at the time of his capture.
But the contusion was not a dangerous one, and he experienced
very little inconvenience from it; though the Colonel, in looking on
him, could not forbear a groan, for he knew not the extent of the
injury, and he already loved him as his own son.

About sunrise, the guard over the captives was changed; but
nothing else worthy of note took place, for a couple of hours, when
Posetha, the brother of Miller, made his appearance. As he entered
the council house—which was a large, circular building, with a row
of rude benches around the walls—he glanced his dark eye, coldly,
almost savagely, over the prisoners, without the least sign of recognition,
even when it fell on his own brother. He was still costumed
as we before described him; but his face and breast had
been re-painted, and he now presented an appearance which our
friends considered revolting in the extreme—the more so, perhaps,
that they knew him to be a white man, and looked upon him as a
being sunk to the lowest degree of human depravity and degradation.
It was bad enough, they thought, to behold so disgusting a
spectacle in an Indian; but for a white man, it was monstrous, and
his presence became hateful to their sight. Previous to his appearance,
there had been a faint hope in the mind of his brother, that he
might, in some unknown, unexpected way, assist them in their
difficulties; but the moment he looked upon Posetha, that hope
fled, and he closed his eyes and shuddered.

All this the white savage noted, as his keen, black eye glanced
from one to the other; and when he had finished his survey, a
grin, which seemed one of fiendish delight, rested on his now ugly
countenance. He had read their thoughts, and knew himself despised
by all, and this seemed to give him inward satisfaction.

“Dog of the pale face!” he said, addressing his brother in Shawnee,
“your time, and that of your companions, has come; and Posetha
laughs—tell them so. As sure as the sun rises and sets, you will
all be doomed; and still Posetha laughs—tell them so. Your cries
at the stake will be music in Posetha's ear—tell them so.”

“Begone!” exclaimed Miller, vehemently, his indignation raised

to a pitch he could not control. “Begone, base ingrate and fratricide!
and may your brother's blood be on your head, and in your
breast the torments of the damned!”

“Ha! ha! I laugh—I laugh!” was the taunting rejoinder; and
Posetha drew closer to his brother, who was so bound as to be
unable to move a limb. “I laugh at you—I spit upon you—I defy
you!” he continued still drawing closer and closer, by a slow
movement, till his feet fairly touched the prostrate man. “Oh,
yes, I laugh; and I will laugh at the stake, as I invent tortures
wherewith to make you groan anew. Let me tell you one of the
tortures now, that you may laugh too—let me whisper it in your
ear;” and he bent down his head, apparently for the purpose; but
instead of the language Harry was expecting to hear, these words
almost made him doubt his senses:

“Courage! Posetha is true—but know him not—for he must deceive
the Indians to save his friends.” Then he added aloud:—
“Ha, ha, ha! How does the dog of the pale-face like the invention?”
and turning abruptly away, he strode to the door, passed a
few words with the guard, and disappeared.

About an hour later, several inferior chiefs and warriors made
their appearance, and after walking around the prisoners, and examining
them, and occasionally turning them over with their feet,
in a careless manner, they gathered themselves together in a group
near the door, and a very animated discussion took place, of the
nature of which Miller was ignorant, the conversation being carried
on in a tone too low to reach his ear.

Suddenly all ceased speaking, and drew back with deference,
and a man of venerable appearance entered the council house.
The new corner was decorated with all the trappings of a great chief;
but even had he not been, there would have been no mistaking
his character and position; for his erect carriage, dignified mien,
graceful step, and lofty bearing, would at once have proclaimed
him a man of no inferior grade and intellect.

His features were venerable and striking. He was apparently
not less than eighty years of age; but his movement was as graceful
and energetic as one who had numbered only half his winters.
In his rather handsome countenance, was more than ordinary intelligence;
and his slightly Roman nose, prominent and well turned
chin, compressed lips, and eagle eye, gave him a look of lofty decision.
In his ears he wore heavy jewels, which came down almost
to his shoulders; and the skin around his loins, the belt around his
waist, his leggins and moccasins, were all richly and tastefully ornamented
with wampum. A bright red scarf passed from left to
right across his back and breast, and was carelessly tied around
his waist; and his long gray scalp-lock was adorned with feathers
of beautiful colors. Such was Catahecassa, or Black Hoof, one of
the most cunning, sagacious, and successful warriors of the Shawnee

nation. He was a great orator; and in speaking, ever used
the most flowing, sublime, and effective language. Stepping forward
to where the prisoners lay bound, he regarded them a few
minutes, with a stern, almost vindictive, expression; and then said,
in a full, sonorous, majestic tone:

“Is there one among the pale-faces that speaks the language of
the great Shawnee nation?”

“There is,” replied Miller, in Shawnee.

“Let him be unbound and stand forth!” said the chief, turning
to one of his attendants.

Instantly a warrior sprang forward to Miller, cut the cords that
confined his limbs, and led him into the circle that had now
silently formed around Black Hoof, much to the astonishment of
all the rest of the prisoners, who, not understanding what had been
said, could not of course divine what was about to take place.

In detailing the interview, between Miller and the chief, as also
in recording other remarks and speeches of the Shawnee, we wish
the reader to understand that we give a free translation, but at the
same time preserve the true spirit of the Indian language, with all
its striking vigor, eloquence, and poetical imagery.

“Warrior of the pale-face,” began Black Hoof, in a calm, dignified,
almost haughty tone, drawing up his handsome form to its
full height, and fixing his eagle eye keenly and sternly upon the
captive: “Warrior of the pale-face, whose race is from the rising
sun, how is it that the language of the great nation of the South[1] is
upon thy tongue?”

“Because I have mingled much with the red men, and have
closely noted his speech,” replied the undaunted scout, in a firm
tone.

“So have you learned much that is good,” was the proud rejoinder;
“for the Shawnee is a great nation; and he who hears
and understands its mighty men, gains wisdom. But why, like a
cat upon its prey, did the pale-face warriors last night steal into the
stronghold of my people?”

“The old bear will follow its cub—the dove will seek its mate,”
was the figurative reply of Miller, who well understood how much
the prolonging of the interview with the great chief depended on
his skilful answers.

“Yet those you sought were the rightful property of those who
conquered the pale-faces, and gathered scalps, as the harvester gathers
corn. Warrior of the pale-face, you and your companions
were more brave than wise, to enter the stronghold of the red-man
on such an errand.”

“Is the she bear wise that rushes upon the hunter's bullet in defence
of her cub?” was the interrogative reply.

“The she bear takes the consequences of her temerity—the pale-face
must take his,” was the rejoinder of the Shawnee chief.
“Warrior, the red-man was once as the leaves of the forest in
numbers, and, like the deer that runs free, was happy on his own
domains. The pale-face came, and the red-man retired to give
him room. But not content with territory, the pale-face still intrudes
upon the hunting grounds of the red-man, to rob him of
his own, and drive him farther towards the setting sun. Let him
go peacefully, and what then? The pale-face, more arrogant and
avaricious from easy victory, will follow his trail, and seek to drive
him farther. There are no bounds to his cravings. But he must
and shall have limits. Already the red-man knows he is not invincible.
Does the pale-face warrior want proof—let him seek the
wigwams of my people, and he will there behold the long-pole
bending with the weight of trophies, as the tree bends with the
weight of fruit. Let the pale-face ask whence came these trophies,
and the red-man will point him to a great victory, where
the arms that took them were made weary by numbers. The warriors
of the pale-face were there that day, in all their strength, with
their women and children by to cheer them on, and nerve their
arms for deeds of valor. Yet the red-man conquered. He shall
always conquer. Yes, (raising his voice, and throwing into it all
the powerful eloquence of lofty, energetic passion, while his eyes
brighted till they fairly seemed to flash,) yes, he shall always conquer.
The pale-face shall be driven from the land that is not his
own; and then, and not till then, shall there be peace. He shall
wail for his women—he shall weep for his young. He shall sue
for mercy—but find it not. He shall tear his hair, and curse the
hour that he was born. His women shall become squaws of the
red-man—his children shall hunt with their father's victors, and
forget the race they are of, and the mothers that bore them. The
war-cry is sounded, the hatchet is red, the pipe is broken, and the
pale-face shall never know peace, till he finds it in dust, or his
trail leads toward the rising sun, and crosses the Great Hills[2] that
divide him from his fatherland. Warrior of the pale-face, the lips
of a great chief have been opened, and thou hast heard words of
prophetic wisdom. Catahecassa has spoken.”

Nothing could exceed the dignity, the majestic bearing of Black
Hoof, as, upon ending his brief speech, he turned away from the
captive, amid outbursts of applause from the hearers of his own nation.
His eye emitted an almost unearthly gleam, his nostrils expanded,
his form towered aloft, and he did, indeed, seem a prophet
of the olden day, who had just broken the seal of the great book
of the future and read its contents.

As he drew near the door of the council-house, several of the
minor chiefs and braves surrounded him, and a short consultation
was held in a tone too low to reach the ears of Miller, who still
remained unbound, but surrounded by a strong guard. The scout
had seen and heard enough, however, to know that his own doom,
and that of his companions, was sealed. In fact he believed, when
taken, that no mercy would be shown; and, therefore, had he fought
with desperation, until overpowered by numbers. The words of his
brother, however, were not forgotten; but the more he reflected
upon them, the less ground there seemed to build a hope upon.
His brother, whom at first he considered false, he now believed to
be true. Yet what would it avail, save in the consoling reflection,
that he had one friend among many enemies? What could Posetha
do? His will might be good enough—but what could he do?
What was one man among hundreds? What was one voice among
thousands?

While revolving these thoughts in his mind, a young, athletic
warrior, from the party near the door, came up to Miller, and tapping
him on the shoulder, made signs that he should follow him.
At the same time, another party, numbering one to each prisoner,
approached our friends, and proceeded to cut them loose. The
Indians then made signs that the captives should arise and follow
them; but in attempting to stand, only one of them succeeded at
the first trial. The exception was Lieutenant Wilkes, who, by
some means, had not been as tightly bound as the others, and did
not therefore experience the same numbness, in consequence of the
stoppage of the circulation of the blood. He however felt very
much stiffened from the cold, and weak from loss of rest and food;
for the reader must bear in mind, that the party had not tasted any
thing—not even so much as a drink of water—since their capture.

After repeated trials, during which the Indians exhibited their
haste, and vented a small share of their hatred, by repeated kicks
on the bodies of our friends, the latter succeeded in getting upon
their feet. Edward was the last to rise: and when he finally did
so, it was only by a great effort he could stand. He felt stiff, numb,
and weak, with occasionally sharp darting pains through his body,
and a slight dizziness in his head.

“Cheer up, poor lad!” said Colonel Danforth, in a low, tender
tone. “It is a great trial we are about to undergo, and I sincerely
pray we may be able to bear it as becomes American officers.”

These were the first words the Colonel had ventured to address
to one of his companions, since being taken a prisoner; and he
was now warned against repeating the offence, by receiving a backhand
blow across the face, from one of the savages, which caused
his lips to swell. The Colonel started, his eyes flashed, and he
instinctively placed his right hand to his left side, as if to draw his
sword; but instantly recollecting himself, his countenance fell, and

and turning a hopeless, mournful look upon Edward, he bowed his
head upon his bosom, and quietly walked alongside of the young
savage that had him in charge.

As one by one our friends passed out of the council-house, each
beheld a sight which involuntarily made him recoil. But ere we
describe what they saw, we will open another chapter.