University of Virginia Library

34. CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE SURRENDER.

The rocky precipice which now sheltered
these few “hardy gleanings” of so many desperate
fights, was within a few paces of the river's
margin; but not a boat was there to receive them.
In this extremely painful situation they remained
many minutes, when they found themselves suddenly
surrounded by more than five times their
number; and knowing that a further resistance
would produce an useless effusion of blood, they
reluctantly complied with their leader's advice,
who sighed in the performance of what had now
become a necessary duty, for the prevention of a

greater sacrifice. They threw down their arms
in sullen despondency, which Scott, with a graceful
dignity peculiar to himself, tendered his sword
to his more fortunate opponent.

Wadsworth, who, with his faithful followers,
had been a sharer in the dangers and glory of five
victorious conflicts, was also compelled to participate
in the reverses of the day. The remaining
militia under his command, amounting to one hundred
and fifty men, relinquished their well-tried
arms to the enemy, and became prisoners of
war.

After the surrender, an Indian advanced to
Scott, surveyed him very attentively for some
time, and then addressed him—“You are not
born to be shot. So many times—(holding up
all the fingers of both hands, to count ten)—so
many times have I levelled and fired my rifle at
you. Scott was in full uniform, and being remarkable
for his stature, was evidently a fair
mark for a sharp-shooter.

Under the rocks and fissures of the precipice,
were upwards of one hundred militia, whose constitutional
scruples had been so far overcome as to
permit them to cross the river, but they had not
ventured to ascend the precipice, or appear in
sight of the enemy! What a mortifying discovery
must this have been to those brave fellows who
had now sought shelter there, almost exhausted
with fatigue, from a contest of eleven hours with
no ordinary enemy, either for numbers or courage!
I sincerely lament that the duty of a faithful
historian compels me to record this fact. But
to return.

During the short cessation of slaughter which
succeeded the fall of Brock and the dispersion of

his followers, the wounded received such attentions
as situation and circumstances would permit.
The bullet which had entered the thigh of
ensign Willoughby, was easily extracted on the
opposite side, it having glanced the bone, and
passed almost through; when, as soon as the
bleeding was stanched, he insisted on resuming
his former position in the line, where he continued
during two furious assaults of the enemy, who
was defeated in each. In the third, however,
which terminated the contest, George had become
so exhausted with fatigue and loss of blood, that
he fainted a moment before the Americans gave
way, and fell among a promiscuous heap of
friends and foes, who had met in the arms of
death.

When he recovered his recollection, a gigantic
savage was standing over him, rifling the pockets
of his coat, which had been stripped from his
body. In a moment the miniature of Catharine
caught his eye—it had been torn from his neck,
and was now suspended at the Indian's girdle.
Our hero took no time for reflection, but starting
on his feet, seized the unguarded and astonished
savage by the throat, and threw him on the
ground, where he was just on the point of regaining
his lost treasure, when his arm was arrested,
and he found himself surrounded by a dozen
more, with suspended tomahawks, and looks less
expressive of vengeance than of wonder, at his
daring temerity.

Knowing that he must now, in all human probability,
fall a sacrifice to their fury, he only
thought of selling his life as dearly as possible.
But he was unarmed; the bandage had broken

loose from his wound, which was bleeding afresh,
and he felt that his newly-recovered strength was
rapidly declining. He looked round upon his
enemies in despair, and again sank nerveless on
the ground.

Two of the savages immediately raised him,
and after venting a fiend-like laugh at their fallen
comrade, each seized an arm of our hero, and
forced him along between them through the scene
of carnage which the hill presented. Here many
of these merciless monsters were engaged in
stripping and scalping the dying and the slain.
George recognised the lifeless bodies of several
of his friends, stripped even of their linen, scalped,
and horribly mangled; some, who had only
received a shot-wound in the limbs, and had fallen
through weakness, now presented scalpless
sculls cloven entirely in two by the hatchets of
these barbarous wretches. He shuddered at the
contemplation of a fate which his sudden recovery
had certainly deferred—perhaps wholly
averted.

They descended the western declivity of the
hill, and George was delivered into the hands of
the English. He could have thanked the savages
for their unexpected clemency, but the jewel of
which they had rifled him suddenly darted across
his recollection, and he exclaimed, in a tone of
frenzy—“Monsters! restore me my treasure!”
His exclamation, however, excited no attention;
and he was consigned to the care of a surgeon,
after receiving a very flattering encomium from
the British officers for his conspicuous bravery
during the active duties of the day. It gives me
pleasure to add, upon the best authority, that the

treatment which the wounded prisoners received
from the English officers and surgeons on this occasion,
was marked with proper delicacy, tenderness,
and respect.