 Chapter 7 of A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Mary Jemisin For four or five years we sustained no loss in the war, except in the few who had been killed in distant battles, and our tribe, because of the remoteness of its situation from the enemy, felt secure from an attack. At length, in the fall of 1779, intelligence was received that a large and powerful army of the rebels, under the command of General Sullivan, was making rapid progress towards our settlement, burning and destroying the huts and cornfields, killing the cattle, hogs, and horses, and cutting down the fruit trees belonging to the Indians throughout the country. Our Indians immediately became alarmed, and suffered everything but death from fear that they should be taken by surprise and totally destroyed at a single blow. But in order to prevent so great a catastrophe, they sent out a few spies who were to keep themselves at a short distance in front of the invading army in order to watch its operations, and give information of its advances and success. Sullivan arrived at Canadigua Lake and had finished his work of destruction there, and it was ascertained that he was about to march to our flats, when our Indians resolved to give him battle on the way, and prevent, if possible, the distresses to which they knew we would be subjected, if he should succeed in reaching our town. Accordingly, they sent all their women and children into the woods a little west of Littlebeard's town, in order that we might make a good retreat if it should be necessary, and then, well armed, set out to face the conquering enemy. The place which they fixed upon for their battleground lay between Honeoy Creek and the head of the Canisius Lake. At length a scouting party from Sullivan's army arrived at the spot selected, when the Indians arose from their ambush with all the fierceness and terror that it was possible for them to exercise, and directly put the party upon a retreat. Two Oneida Indians were all the prisoners that were taken in that skirmish. One of them was a pilot of General Sullivan and had been very active in the war, rendering to the people of the state's essential services. At the commencement of the Revolution, he had a brother older than himself, who resolved to join the British service and endeavored by all the art that he was capable of using to persuade his brother to accompany him. But his arguments proved abortive. This went to the British, and that joined the American army. At this critical juncture they met, one in the capacity of a conqueror, the other in that of a prisoner, and as an Indian seldom forgets accountants that he has seen, they recognized each other at sight. Envy and revenge glared in the features of the conquering savage as he advanced to his brother, the prisoner, and all the haughtiness of Indian pride, heightened by a sense of power and addressed him in the following manner. Brother, you have merited death. The hatchet or the war club shall finish your career. When I begged of you to follow me in the fortunes of war, you was death to my cries. You spurned my entreaties. Brother, you have merited death and shall have your deserts. When the rebels raised their hatchets to fight their good master, you sharpened your knife. You brightened your rifle and led on our foes to the fields of our fathers. You have merited death and shall die by our hands. When those rebels had drove us from the fields of our fathers to seek out new homes, it was you who could dare to step forth as their pilot and conduct them even to the doors of our wigwams, to butcher our children and put us to death. No crime can be greater, but though you have merited death and shall die on this spot, my hands shall not be stained in the blood of a brother who will strike. Littlebeard, who was standing by as soon as the speech was ended, struck the prisoner on the head with his tomahawk and despatched him at once. Littlebeard then informed the other Indian prisoner that as they were at war with the whites only and not with the Indians they would spare his life and after a while give him his liberty in an honorable manner. The Oneida warrior, however, was jealous of Littlebeard's fidelity and suspecting that he should soon fall by his hands watched for a favorable opportunity to make his escape, which he soon effected. Two Indians were leading him, one on each side when he made a violent effort, threw them upon the ground and ran for his life towards where the main body of the American army was encamped. The Indians pursued him without success, but in their absence they fell in with a small detachment of Sullivan's men, with whom they had a short but severe skirmish in which they killed a number of the enemy, took Captain or Lieutenant William Boyd and one private prisoner's and brought them to Littlebeard's town where they were soon after put to death in the most shocking and cruel manner. Littlebeard, in this, as in all other scenes of cruelty that happened at his town, was master of ceremonies and principal actor. Poor Boyd was stripped of his clothing and then tied to a sapling where the Indians menaced his life by throwing their tomahawks at the tree, directly over his head, brandishing their scalping knives around him in the most frightful manner and accompanying their ceremonies with terrific shouts of joy. Having punished him sufficiently in this way they made a small opening in his abdomen, took out an intestine which they tied to the sapling, and then unbound him from the tree and drove him round it till he had drawn out the whole of his intestines. He was then beheaded, his head was stuck upon a pole and his body left on the ground unburied. Thus ended the life of poor William Boyd, who it was said had every appearance of being an active and enterprising officer of the first talents. The other prisoner was, if I remember distinctly, only beheaded and left near Boyd. This tragedy being finished our Indians again held a short counsel on the expediency of giving Sullivan battle if he should continue to advance, and finally came to the conclusion that they were not strong enough to drive him, nor to prevent his taking possession of their fields, but that if it was possible they would escape with their own lives, preserve their families, and leave their possessions to be overrun by the invading army. The women and children were then sent on still further towards Buffalo, to a large creek that was called by the Indians, Kataba, accompanied by a part of the Indians, while their remainder secreted themselves in the woods back of Beardstown to watch the movements of the army. At that time I had three children who went with me on foot, one rode on horse back and one whom I carried on my back. Our corn was good that year, a part of which we had gathered and secured for the winter. In one or two days after the skirmish at Canesius Lake, Sullivan and his army arrived at Genesee River, where they destroyed every article of the food kind that they could lay their hands on. A pan of our corn they burnt and threw the remainder into the river. They burnt our houses, killed what few cattle and horses they could find, destroyed our fruit trees, and left nothing but the bare soil and timber. But the Indians had eloped and were not to be found. Then crossed and recrossed the river and finished the work of destruction, the army marched off to the east. Our Indians saw them move off, but suspecting that it was Sullivan's intention to watch our return, and then to take us by surprise, resolve that the main body of our tribe should hunt where we then were, till Sullivan had gone so far that there would be no danger of his returning to molest us. This being agreed to, we hunted continually till the Indians concluded that there could be no risk in our once more taking possession of our lands. Accordingly we all returned, but what were our feelings when we found that there was not a mouthful of any kind of sustenance left, not even enough to keep a child one day from perishing with hunger? The weather by this time had become cold and stormy, and as we were destitute of houses and food too, I immediately resolved to take my children and look out for myself without delay. With this intention I took two of my little ones on my back, bade the other three follow, and the same night arrived at Gardo Flats where I have ever since resided. At that time two negroes who had run away from their masters some time before were the only inhabitants of those flats. They lived in a small cabin and had planted and raised a large field of corn which they had not yet harvested. As they were in want of help to secure their crop I hired to them to husk corn till the whole was harvested. I have laughed a thousand times to myself when I thought of the good old negro who hired me, who fearing that I should get taken or entered by the Indians, stood by me constantly when I was husking, with a loaded gun in his hand, in order to keep off the enemy and thereby lost as much labor of his own as he received from me by paying good wages. I, however, was not displeased with his attention, for I knew that I should need all the corn that I could earn, even if I should husk the whole. I husked enough for them to gain for myself at every tenth string one hundred strings of years which were equal to twenty-five bushels of shelled corn. This seasonable supply made my family comfortable for samp and cakes through the succeeding winter, which was the most severe that I have witnessed since my remembrance. The snow fell about five feet deep and remained so for a long time, and the weather was extremely cold, so much so indeed that almost all the game upon which the Indians depended for subsistence perished and reduced them almost to a state of starvation through that and three or four succeeding years. When the snow melted in the spring deer were found dead upon the ground in vast numbers and other animals of every description perished from the cold also, and were found dead in multitudes. Many of our people barely escaped with their lives, and some actually died of hunger and freezing. But to return from this digression, having been completely routed at Little Beardstown deprived of a house and without the means of building one in season after I had finished my husking and having found from the short acquaintance which I had made with the Negroes, that they were kind and friendly, I concluded at their request to take up my residence with them for a while in their cabin till I should be able to provide a hut for myself. I lived more comfortable than I expected to through the winter, and the next season made a shelter for myself. The Negroes continued on my flats two or three years after this, and then left them for a place that they expected would suit them much better. But as that land became my own in a few years, by virtue of a deed from the chiefs of the six nations I have lived there from that to the present time. My flats were cleared before I saw them, and it was the opinion of the oldest Indians that were at Genesha, at the time that I first went there, that all the flats on the Genesee River were improved before any of the Indian tribes ever saw them. I well remember that soon after I went to Little Beardstown, the banks of Fall Brook were washed off, which left a large number of human bones uncovered. The Indians then said that those were not the bones of Indians, because they had never heard of any of their dead being buried there, but that they were the bones of a race of men who a great many moons before cleared that land and lived on the flats. The next summer after Sullivan's campaign, our Indians highly incensed at the whites for the treatment they had received, and the sufferings which they had consequently endured determined to obtain some redress by destroying their frontier settlements. Corn planter, otherwise called John O'Bale, led the Indians, and an officer by the name of Johnston, commanded the British in the expedition. The force was large and so strongly bent upon revenge and vengeance that seemingly nothing could avert its march nor prevent its depredations. After leaving Genesee they marched directly to some of the headwaters of the Susquehanna River and Shahari Creek. Went down that creek to the Mohawk River, thence up that river to Fort Stanwyx, and from thence came home. In their route they burnt a number of places, destroyed all the cattle and other property that fell in their way, killed a number of white people, and brought home a few prisoners. In that expedition, when they came to Fort Plain on the Mohawk River, corn planter and a party of his Indians took old John O'Bale, a white man, and made him a prisoner. Old John O'Bale, in his younger days, had frequently passed through the Indian settlements that lay between the Hudson and Fort Niagara, and in some of his excursions had become enamored with a squaw by whom he had a son that was called corn planter. Corn planter was a chief of considerable eminence, and having been informed of his parentage and of the place of his father's residence, took the old man at this time in order that he might make an introduction leisurely and become acquainted with a man to whom, though a stranger, he was satisfied that he owed his existence. After he had taken the old man, his father, he led him as a prisoner ten or twelve miles up the river, and then stepped before him, faced about, and addressed him in the following terms. My name is John O'Bale, commonly called corn planter. I am your son. You are my father. You are now my prisoner, and subject to the customs of Indian warfare. But you shall not be harmed. You need not fear. I am a warrior. Many are the scalps which I have taken. Many prisoners I have tortured to death. I am your son. I am a warrior. I am anxious to see you, and to greet you in friendship. I went to your cabin and took you by force. But your life shall be spared. Indians love their friends and their kindred, and treat them with kindness. If now you choose to follow the fortune of your yellow sun, and to live with our people, I will cherish your old age with plenty of venison, and you shall live easy. But if it is your choice to return to your fields and live with your white children, I will send a party of my trusty young men to conduct you back in safety. I respect you, my father. You have been friendly to Indians, and they are your friends. Old John chose to return. Corn planter, as good as his word, ordered an escort to attend him home, which they did with the greatest care. Amongst the prisoners that were brought to Genesee was William Newkirk, a man by the name of Price and two Negroes. Price lived awhile with Littlebeard, and afterwards with Jack Berry, an Indian. When he left Jack Berry he went to Niagara, where he now resides. Newkirk was brought to Beardstown, and lived with Littlebeard, and at Fort Niagara about one year, and then enlisted under Butler, and went with him on an expedition to the Mananga Heela. CHAPTER VIII. Some time near the close of the Revolutionary War, a white man, by the name of Ebenezer Allen, left his people in the state of Pennsylvania on the account of some disaffection towards his countrymen, and came to the Genesee River to reside with the Indians. He tarried at Genesure a few days, and came up the gado where I then resided. He was, apparently, without any business that would support him, but he soon became acquainted with my son Thomas, with whom he hunted for a long time, and made his home with him at my house. Winter came on, and he continued his day. When Allen came to my house, I had a white man living on my land, who had an anti-cook score for his wife, with whom he had lived very peacefully. For he was a moderate man, commonly, and she was a kind, gentle, cunning creature. It so happened that he had no hay for his cattle, so that in the winter he was obliged to drive them every day, perhaps half a mile from his house, to let them feed on rushes, which in those days was so numerous as to nearly cover the ground. Allen, having frequently seen the score in the fall, took the opportunity when her husband was absent with his cows, daily, to make her a visit, and in return for his kindnesses, she made and gave him a red cap, finished and decorated in the highest Indian style. The husband, had for some considerable length of time, felt a degree of jealousy that Allen was trespassing upon him with the consent of his quaw. For when he saw Allen dressed in so fine an Indian cap, and found that his dear anti-cook had presented it to him, his doubts all left him, and he became so violently enraged that he caught her by the hair of her head, dragged her on the ground to my house, a distance of 40 rods, and threw her in at the door. Heo Kattu, my husband, exasperated at the sight of so much inhumanity, hastily took down his old tomahawk, which for a while had lain idle, shook it over the cuckold's head, and bade him jogo, that is, go off. The enraged husband, well knowing that he should feel a blow if he waited to hear the order repeated, instantly retreated and went down the river to his cattle. We protected the poor anti-cook woman and gave her victuals, and Allen sympathized with her in her misfortunes till spring, when her husband came to her, acknowledged his former errors, and that he had abused her without a cause, promised a reformation, and she received him with every mark of a renewal of her affection. They went home lovingly, and soon after, removed to Niagara. The same spring, Allen commenced working my flats, and continued to labour there till after the peace in 1783. He then went to Philadelphia on some business that detained him but a few days, and returned with a horse and some dry goods, which he carried to a place that is now called Mount Morris, where he built or bought a small house. The British and Indians of the Niagara frontier, dissatisfied with the Treaty of Peace, were determined at all hazards to continue their depredations upon the white settlements, which lay between them and Albany. They actually made ready, and were about setting out on an expedition to that effect, when Allen, who by this time understood their customs of war, took a belt of wampum, which he had fraudulently procured, and carried it as a token of peace from the Indians to the commander of the nearest American military post. The Indians were soon answered by the American officer that the wampum was cordially accepted, and that a continuance of peace was ardently wished for. The Indians, at this, were chagrined and disappointed beyond measure. But as they held the wampum to be a sacred thing, they dared not go against the import of its meaning, and immediately buried the hatchet, as it respected the people of the United States, and smoked the pipe of peace. They, however, resolved to punish Allen for his officiousness in meddling with their national affairs, by presenting the sacred wampum without their knowledge, and went about devising means for his detection. A party was accordingly dispatched from Fort Niagara to apprehend him, with orders to conduct him to that post for trial of a safekeeping, till such time as his fate should be determined, born in a legal manner. The party came on, but before it arrived at Gado, Allen got news of its approach and fled for safety, leaving the horse and goods that he had brought from Philadelphia an easy prayer to his enemies. He had not been long absent when they arrived at Gado, where they made diligent search for him till they were satisfied that they could not find him, and then seized the effects which he had left and returned to Niagara. My son Thomas went with them, with Allen's horse, and carried the goods. Allen, on finding that his enemies had gone, came back to my house, where he lived as before, but of his return they were soon notified at Niagara, and nettles, who married Priscilla Ramsey, with a small party of Indians, came on to take him. He, however, by some means found that they were near, and gave me his box of money and trinkets to keep safely till he called for it, and again took to the woods. Nettles came on determined at all events to take him before he went back, and in order to accomplish his design, he, with his Indians, hunted in the daytime and lay by at night at my house, and in that way they practiced for a number of days. Allen watched the motion of his pursuers, and every night after they had gone to rest, came home and got some food, and then returned to his retreat. It was in the fall, and the weather was cold and rainy, so that he suffered extremely. Some night he sat in my chamber till nearly daybreak, while his enemies were below, and when the time arrived, I assisted him to escape unnoticed. Nettles, at length, abandoned the chase, went home, and Allen, all in tatters, came in. By running in the woods, his clothing had become torn into rags, so that he was in a suffering condition, almost naked. Hiokatu gave him a blanket and a piece of broad cloth for a pair of trousers. Allen made his trousers himself, and then built a raft on which he went down the river to his own place at Mount Morris. About that time he married a squaw whose name was Sally, the Niagara people, finding that he was at his own house, came and took him by surprise when he least expected them, and carried him to Niagara. Fortunately for him, it so happened that just as they arrived at the fort, a house took fire, and his keepers all left him to save the building, if possible. Allen had supposed his doom to be nearly sealed, but finding himself at liberty, he took to his heels, left his escort to put out the fire, and ran to Tonawanta. There, an Indian gave him some refreshment and a good gun, with which he hastened on to little Beards Town, where he found his squaw. Not daring to risk himself at that place for fear of being given up, he made her but a short visit and came immediately to Gado. Just as he got to the top of the hill above the Gado flats, he discovered a party of British soldiers and Indians in pursuit of him, and in fact they were so near that he was satisfied that they saw him, and concluded that it would be impossible for him to escape. The love of liberty, however, added to his natural swiftness, gave him sufficient strength to make his escape to his former castle of safety. His pursuers came immediately to my house, where they expected to have found him secreted, and under my protection. They told me where they had seen him, but a few moments before, and that they were confident that it was within my power to put him into their hands. As I was perfectly clear of having had any hand in his escape, I told them plainly that I had not seen him since he was taken to Niagara, and that I could give them no information at all respecting him. Still unsatisfied, and doubting my veracity, they advised my Indian brother to use his influence to draw from me the secret of his concealment, which they had an idea that I considered of great importance, not only to him but to myself. I persisted in my ignorance of his situation, and finally they left me. Although I had not seen Alan, I knew his place of security, and was well aware that if I told him the place where he had formally hid himself, they would have no difficulty in making him a prisoner. He came to my house in the night, and awoke me with the greatest caution, fearing that some of his enemies might be watching to take him at a time when and in a place where it would be impossible for him to make his escape. I got up and assured him that he was then safe, but that his enemies would return early in the morning, and search him out if it should be possible. Having given him some victuals, which he received thankfully, I told him to go, but to return the next night to a certain corner of the fence near my house, where he would find a quantity of meal that I would have well prepared and deposited there for his use. Early the next morning, Nettles and his company came in while I was pounding the meal for Alan, and insisted upon my giving him up. I again told them that I did not know where he was, and that I could not, neither would I, tell them anything about him. I well knew that Alan considered his life in my hands, and although it was my intention not to lie, I was fully determined to keep his situation a profound secret. They continued their labour, and examined, as they supposed, every crevice, gully, tree, and hollow log in the neighbouring woods, and at last concluded that he had left the country and gave him up for lost, and went home. At that time, Alan lay in a secret place in the gulf, a short distance above my flats, in a hole that he accidentally found in the rock near the river, at night he came and got the meal at the corner of the fence, as I had directed him, and afterwards lived in the gulf two weeks. Each night he came to the pasture and milked one of my cows, without any other vessel in which to receive the milk than his had, out of which he drank it. I supplied him with meal, but fearing to build a fire, he was obliged to eat it raw, and wash it down with the milk. Nettles, having left our neighbourhood, and Alan, considering himself safe, left his little cave and came home. I gave him his box of money and trinkets, and he went to his own house at Mount Morris. It was generally considered by the Indians of our tribe, that Alan was an innocent man, and that the Niagara people were persecuting him without a just cause. Little beard, then about to go to the eastward on public business, charged his Indians not to meddle with Alan, but to let him live amongst them peaceably, and enjoy himself with his family and property if he could. Having the protection of the chief, he felt himself safe, and let his situation be known to the whites from whom he suspected no harm. They, however, were more inimicable than our Indians, and were easily bribed by Nettles to assist in bringing him to justice. Nettles came on, and the whites, as they had agreed, gave poor Alan up to him. He was bound and carried to Niagara, where he was confined in prison through the winter. In the spring, he was taken to Montreal, or Kubrick, for a trial, and was honorably acquitted. The crime for which he was tried was for his having carried the warmth to the Americans, and thereby putting two sudden stops to their war. From the place of his trial, he went directly to Philadelphia, and purchased on credit a boat load of goods which he brought by water to Conhocton, where he left them and came to Mount Morris for assistance to get them brought on. The Indians readily went with horses and brought them to his house, where he disposed of his dry goods, but not daring to let the Indians begin to drink strong liquor for fear of the quarrels which would naturally follow. He sent his spirits to my place, and we sold them. For his goods, he received ginseng roach, principally, and a few skins. Ginseng, at that time, was plenty, and commanded a high price. We prepared the whole that he received for the market, expecting that he would carry them to Philadelphia. In that, I was disappointed, for when he had disposed off, and got paid for all his goods. He took the ginseng and skins to Niagara, and there sold them and came home. Tired of dealing in goods, he planted a large field of corn on or near his own land, attended to it faithfully, and succeeded in raising a large crop which he harvested, loaded into canoes, and carried down the river to the mouth of Island's Creek, then called by the Indians guine saga, where he unloaded it, built him a house, and lived with his family. The next season, he planted corn at that place, and built a grist and sawmill on Genesee Falls, now called Rochester. At the time, Allen built the mills. He had an old German living with him by the name of Andrews, whom he sent in a canoe down the river with his millions. Allen went down at the same time, but before they got to the mills, Allen threw the old man overboard, and drowned him, as it was then generally believed, for he was never seen or heard of afterwards. In the course of the season in which Allen built his mills, he became acquainted with the daughter of a white man who was moving to Niagara. She was handsome, and Allen soon got into her good races, so that he might be married and took her home to be a joint partner with Sally, the score, whom she had never heard of till she got home and found her in full possession. But it was too late for her to retrace the hasty steps she had taken, for her father had left her in the care of her tender husband and gone on. She, however, found that she enjoyed at least an equal half of her husband's affections, and made herself contented. Her father's name I have forgotten, but hers was Lucy. Allen was not contented with two wives, for in a short time after he had married Lucy, he came up to my house, where he found a young woman who had an old husband with her. They had been on a long journey, and called it my place to recruit and rest themselves. She filled Allen's eye, and he accordingly fixed upon a plan to get her into his possession. He praised his situation, enumerated his advantages, and finally persuaded them to go home and tarry with him a few days at least, and partake of a part of his confets. They accepted his generous invitation, and went home with him. But they had been there but two or three days when Allen took the old gentleman out to view his flats, and as they were deliberately walking on the bank of the river, pushed him into the water. The old man almost strangled, succeeded in getting out, but his fall and exertions had so powerful an effect upon his system that he died in two or three days and left his young widow for the protection of his murderer. She lived with him about one year in a state of concubinage, and then left him. How long Allen lived at Allen's Creek, I am unable to state. But soon after the young widow left him, he removed to his old place at Mount Morris, and built a house where he made Sally his quar, by whom he had two daughters, a slave to Lucy, by whom he had had one son. Still, however, he considered Sally to be his wife. After Allen came to Mount Morris at that time, he married a girl by the name of Marilla Gregory, whose father, at the time, lived on Genesee flats. The ceremony being over, he took her home to live in common with his other wives. But his house was too small for his family. For Sally and Lucy, conceiving that their lawful privileges would be abridged if they received a partner, united their strength and whipped poor Marilla so cruelly that he was obliged to keep her in a small Indian house, a short distance from his own, or lose her entirely. Marilla, before she left Mount Morris, had four children, one of Marilla's sisters, lived with Allen about a year after Marilla was married, and then quit him. A short time after they all got to living at Mount Morris, Allen prevailed upon the chiefs to give to his Indian children a tract of land, four miles square, where he then resided. The chiefs gave them the land, but he so artfully contrived the conveyance that he could apply it to his own use, and by alienating his right, destroy the claim of his children. Having secure the land in that way to himself, he sent his two Indian girls to Trenton, New Jersey, and his white son to Philadelphia for the purpose of giving each of them a respectable English education. While his children were at school, he went to Philadelphia and sold his right to the land which he had begged of the Indians for his children to Robert Morris. After that, he sent for his daughters to come home, which they did. Having disposed of the whole of his property on the Genesee River, he took his two white wives and their children together with his effects, and removed to a Delaware town on the River de Trench in Upper Canada. When he left Mount Morris, Sally, his core, insisted upon going with him, and actually followed him, crying bitterly and praying for his protection some two or three miles till he absolutely bade her leave him, or he would punish her with severity. At length, finding her case hopeless, she returned to the Indians. At the great treaty at Big Tree, one of Allen's daughters claimed the land which he had sold to Morris. The claim was examined and decided against her in favor of Ogden, Trumbull, Rogers and others, who were the creditors of Robert Morris. Allen yet believed that his daughter had an indisputable right to the land it quest in, and got me to go with Mother Fali, a half Indian woman, to assist him by interceding with Morris for it, and to urge the propriety of her claim. We went to Thomas Morris, and having stated to him our business, he told us plainly that he had no land to give away, and that as the title was good, he never would allow Allen nor his heirs one foot of words to that effect. We returned to Allen the answer we had received, and he, conceiving all further attempts to be useless, went home. He died at the Delaware town on the River de Trench in the year 1814 or 15, and left two white widows and one squire with a number of children to lament his loss. By his last will, he gave all his property to his last wife, Morella, and her children, without providing in the least for the support of Lucy or any of the other members of his family. Lucy, soon after his death, went with her children down the Ohio River to receive assistance from her friends. In the Revolutionary War, Allen was a Tory, and by that means became acquainted with our Indians when they were in the neighborhood of his native place, desolating the settlements on the Susquehanna. In those predatory battles, he joined them, and as I have often heard the Indians say, for cruelty was not exceeded by any of his Indian comrades. At one time, when he was counting with the Indians in the Susquehanna country, he entered a house very early in the morning, where he found a man, his wife, and one child in bed, the man as he entered the door, instantly sprang on the floor for the purpose of defending himself and little family, but Allen dispatched him at one blow. He then cut off his head and threw it, bleeding into the bed with the terrified woman, took the little infant from its mother's breast, and holding it by its legs, dashed its head against the jam, and left the unhappy widow and mother to mourn alone over her murdered family. It has been said by some that after he had killed the child, he opened the fire and buried it under the coals and embers, but of that I am not certain. I have often heard him speak of that transaction with a great degree of sorrow, and as the foulest crime he had ever committed, one for which I have no doubt he repented. 9. Soon after the close of the Revolutionary War, my Indian brother Khajisattagil, which being interpreted signifies black coals, offered me my liberty and told me that if it was my choice I might go to my friends. My son Thomas was anxious that I should go and offered to go with me and assist me on the journey by taking care of the younger children and providing food as we traveled through the wilderness, but the chiefs of our tribe suspecting from his appearance, actions, and a few war-like exploits that Thomas would be a great warrior or a good counselor, refused to let him leave them on any account whatever. To go myself and leave him was more than I felt able to do, for he had been kind to me, and was one on whom I placed great dependence. The chiefs refusing to let him go was one reason for my resolving to stay, but another more powerful, if possible, was that I had got a large family of Indian children that I must take with me, and that if I should be so fortunate to find my relatives, they would despise them, if not myself, and treat us as enemies, or at least with a degree of cold indifference, which I thought I could not endure. Accordingly, after I had duly considered the matter, I told my brother that it was my choice to stay and spend the remainder of my days with my Indian friends, and live with my family as I had heretofore done. He appeared well pleased with my resolution, and informed me, that is, that was my choice, I should have a piece of land that I could call my own, where I could live unmolested, and have something at my deceased to leave for the benefit of my children. In a short time he made himself ready to go to Upper Canada, but before he left us he told me that he would speak to some of the chiefs at Buffalo, to attend the Great Council, which he expected would convene in a few years at Farthest, and conveyed to me such attractive land as I should select. My brother left us as he had proposed, and soon after died at Grand River. Khajisa Tagua was an excellent man and ever treated me with kindness. Perhaps no one of his tribe at any time exceeded him in natural mildness of temper, and warmth and tenderness of affection. If he had taken my life at the time when the avarice of the Old King inclined him to procure my emancipation, it would have been done with a pure heart and from good motives. He loved his friends and was generally beloved. During the time that I lived in the family with him he never offered the most trifling abuse. On the contrary, his whole conduct towards me was strictly honorable. I mourned his loss as that of a tender brother, and shall recollect him through life with the emotions of friendship and gratitude. I lived undisturbed, without hearing a word on the subject of my land, till the Great Council was held at Big Tree in 1797, when Farmer's brother, whose Indian name is Phonayewas, sent for me to attend the Council. When I got there he told me that my brother had spoken to him to see that I had a piece of land reserved for my use, and that then was the time for me to receive it. He requested that I would choose for myself and describe the bounds of a peace that would suit me. I accordingly told him the place of beginning, and then went round a tract that I judged would be sufficient for my purpose, knowing that it would include the guard of flats, by stating certain bounds with which I was acquainted. When the Council was open and the business afforded a proper opportunity, Farmer's brother presented my claim, and rehearsed the request of my brother. Red Jacket, whose Indian name is Saguyu Watah, which interpreted as Keeper Awake, opposed me or my claim with all his influence and eloquence. Farmer's brother insisted upon the necessity, propriety, and expediency of his proposition, and got the land granted. The deed was made and signed, securing to me the title to all the land I had described, under the same restrictions and regulations that other Indian lands are subject to. That land has ever since been known by the name of the Gardo Tract. Red Jacket not only opposed my claim at the Council, but he withheld my money two or three years, on the account of my lands having been granted without his consent. Parishon Jones at length convinced him that it was the white people, and not the Indians who had given me the land, and compelled him to pay over all the money which he had retained on my account. My land derived its name, Gardo, from a hill that is within its limits, which is called in the Seneca language Kautam. Kautam, when interpreted, signifies up and down, or down and up, and is applied to a hill that you will ascend and descend in passing it, or to a valley. It has been said that Gardo was the name of my husband Hayokatu, and that my land derived its name from him. That, however, was a mistake, for the old man always considered Gardo a nickname, and was uniformly offended when called by it. About three hundred acres of my land when I first saw it was open flats, lying on the Genesee River, which it is supposed was cleared by a race of inhabitants who preceded the first Indian settlements in this part of the country. The Indians are confident that many parts of this country were settled, and for a number of years occupied by people of whom their fathers never had any tradition, as they never had seen them. Once those people originated and wither they went, I have never heard one of our oldest and wisest Indians pretend to guess. When I first came to Geneshao, the bank of Falbrook had just slid off and exposed a large number of human bones, which the Indians said were buried there long before their fathers ever saw the place, and that they did not know what kind of people they were. It, however, was and is believed by our people that they were not Indians. My flats were extremely fertile, but needed more labor than my daughters and myself were able to perform to produce a sufficient quantity of grain and other necessary productions of the earth. For the consumption of family the land had lain uncultivated so long that it was thickly covered with weeds of almost every description. In order that we might live more easy, Mr. Parish, with the consent of the chiefs, gave me liberty to lease my land to white people to till on shares. I accordingly let it out and have continued to do so, which makes my task less burdensome, while at the same time I am more comfortably supplied with the means of support. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 I HAVE FREQUENTLY Heard it asserted by white people and can truly say from my own experience that the time at which parents take the most satisfaction and comfort with their families is when their children are young, incapable of providing for their own wants and are about the fireside, where they can be daily observed and instructed. Few mothers, perhaps, have had less trouble with their children during their minority than myself. In general, my children were friendly to each other, and it was very seldom that I knew them to have the least difference or quarrel, so far indeed were they from rendering themselves or me uncomfortable, that I considered myself happy, more so than commonly falls to the lot of parents, especially to women. My happiness in this respect, however, was not without alloy, for my son Thomas, from some cause unknown to me, from the time he was a small lad, always called his brother John a witch, which was the cause, as they grew towards manhood, of frequent and severe quarrels between them and gave me much trouble and anxiety for their safety. After Thomas and John arrived to manhood, in addition to the former charge, John got two wives, with whom he lived till the time of his death. Although polygamy was tolerated in our tribe, Thomas considered it a violation of good and wholesome rules in society, intending directly to destroy that friendly social intercourse and love that ought to be the happy result of matrimony and chastity. Consequently he frequently reprimanded John by telling him that his conduct was beneath the dignity and inconsistent with the principles of good Indians, indecent and unbecoming a gentleman, and as he never could reconcile himself to it, he was frequently, almost constantly, when they were together, talking to him on the same subject. John always resented such reprimand and reproof with a great degree of passion, though they never quarreled unless Thomas was intoxicated. In his fits of drunkenness Thomas seemed to lose all his natural reason, and to conduct like a wild or crazy man without regard to relatives, decency, or propriety. At such times he often threatened to take my life for having raised a witch, as he called John, and has gone so far as to raise his tomahawk to split my head. He, however, never struck me, but on John's account he struck Hyokatu and thereby excited in John a high degree of indignation which was extinguished only by blood. For a number of years their difficulties and consequent unhappiness continued and rather increased, continually exciting in my breast the most fearful apprehensions and greatest anxiety for their safety. With tears in my eyes I advised them to become reconciled to each other, and to be friendly, told them the consequences of their continuing to cherish so much malignity and malice that it would end in their destruction the disgrace of their families and bring me down to the grave. No one can conceive of the constant trouble that I daily endured on their account, on the account of my two oldest sons, whom I loved equally and with all the feelings and affection of a tender mother stimulated by an anxious concern for their fate. Parents, mothers especially, will love their children though ever so unkind and disobedient. Their eyes of compassion, of real sentimental affection, will be involuntarily extended after them in their greatest excesses of iniquity, and those fine filaments of consanguinity which gently entwine themselves around the heart where filial love and parental care is equal, will be lengthened and enlarged to chord seemingly of sufficient strength to reach and reclaim the wanderer. I know that such exercises are frequently unavailing, but notwithstanding their ultimate failure it still remains true and ever will that the love of a parent for a disobedient child will increase and grow more and more ardent so long as a hope of its reformation is capable of stimulating a disappointed breast. My advice and expostulations with my sons were abortive, and year after year their disaffection for each other increased. At length Thomas came to my house on the first day of July, 1811, in my absence, somewhat intoxicated, where he found John, with whom he immediately commenced a quarrel on their old subjects of difference. John's anger became desperate. He caught Thomas by the hair of his head, dragged him out at the door, and there killed him by a blow which he gave him on the head with his tomahawk. I returned soon after and found my son lifeless at the door, on the spot where he was killed. No one can judge of my feelings on seeing this mournful spectacle, and what greatly added to my distress was the fact that he had fallen by the murderous hand of his brother. I felt my situation unsupportable. Having passed through various scenes of trouble of the most cruel and trying kind, I had hoped to spend my few remaining days in quietude and to die in peace surrounded by my family. This fatal event, however, seemed to be a stream of woe poured into my cup of afflictions, filling it even to overflowing and blasting all my prospects. As soon as I had recovered a little from the shock which I felt at the side of my departed son, and some of my neighbors had come in to assist in taking care of the corpse, I hired Shanks, an Indian, to go to Buffalo, and carry the sorrowful news of Thomas's death to our friends at that place, and request the chiefs to hold a council, and dispose of John as they should think proper. Shanks set out on his errand immediately, and John, fearing that he should be apprehended and punished for the crime he had committed, at the same time went off towards Canidia. Thomas was decently interred in its style corresponding with his rank. The chiefs soon assembled in council on the trial of John, and after having seriously examined the matter according to their laws, justified his conduct and acquitted him. They considered Thomas to have been the first transgressor, than that for the abuses which he had offered he had merited from John the treatment that he had received. John on learning the decision of the council returned to his family. Thomas, except when intoxicated, which was not frequent, was a kind and tender child, willing to assist me in my labor, and to remove every obstacle to my comfort. His natural abilities were said to be of a superior caste, and he soared above the trifling subjects of revenge, which are common amongst Indians as being far beneath his attention. In his childish and boyish days his natural turn was to practice in the art of war, though he despised the cruelties that the warriors inflicted upon their subjugated enemies. He was manly in his deportment, courageous and active and commanded respect. Though he appeared well pleased with peace, he was cunning in Indian warfare and succeeded to admiration in the execution of his plans. At the age of fourteen or fifteen years he went into the war with manly fortitude, armed with a tomahawk and scalping knife, and when he returned brought one white man a prisoner whom he had taken with his own hands on the west branch of the Susquehanna River. It so happened that as he was looking out for his enemies he discovered two men boiling sap in the woods. He watched them unperceived till dark when he advanced with a noiseless step to where they were standing, caught one of them before they were apprised of danger, and conducted him to the camp. He was well treated while a prisoner and redeemed at the close of the war. At the time God Jesus Tagiyah gave me liberty to go to my friends. Thomas was anxious to go with me, but as I have before observed the chiefs would not suffer him to leave them on the account of his courage and skill in war, expecting that they should need his assistance. He was a great counselor and a chief when quite young, and in the last capacity went two or three times to Philadelphia to assist in making treaties with the people of the states. Thomas had four wives by whom he had eight children. Jacob Jemison, his second son by his last wife, who is at this time twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age, went to Dartmouth College in the spring of eighteen sixteen for the purpose of receiving a good education, where it was said that he was an industrious scholar and made great proficiency in the study of the different branches to which he attended. Having spent two years at that institution, he returned in the winter of eighteen eighteen and is now at Buffalo, where I have understood that he contemplates commencing the study of medicine as a profession. Thomas at the time he was killed was a few moons over fifty-two years old, and John was forty-eight. As he was naturally good-natured and possessed a friendly disposition, he would not have come to so untimely an end had it not been for his intemperance. He fell a victim to the use of ardent spirits, a poison that will soon exterminate the Indian tribes in this part of the country, and leave their names without a root or branch. The thought is melancholy, but no arguments, no examples, however persuasive or impressive, are sufficient to deter an Indian for an hour from taking the potent draft, which he knows at the time will derange his faculties, reduce him to a level with the beast, or deprive him of life. CHAPTER 11 In the month of November, eighteen eleven, my husband Hiokatu, who had been sick four years of the consumption, died at the advanced age of one hundred and three years, as nearly as the time could be estimated. He was the last that remained to me of our family connection, or rather of my old friends with whom I was adopted, except a part of one family which now lives at Tonavanta. Hiokatu was buried decently, and had all the insignia of a veteran warrior buried with him, consisting of a war club, tomahawk, and scalping knife, a powder flask, flint, a piece of spunk, a small cake and a cup, and in his best clothing. Hiokatu was an old man when I first saw him, but he was by no means enervated. During the term of nearly fifty years that I lived with him, I received, according to Indian customs, all the kindness and attention that was my due as his wife. Although war was his trade from his youth till old age, and their crepitude stopped his career, he uniformly treated me with tenderness, and never offered an insult. I have frequently heard him repeat the history of his life from his childhood, and when he came to that path which related to his actions, his bravery, and his valor in war, when he spoke of the ambush, the combat, the spoiling of his enemies, and the sacrifice of the victims, his nerves seemed strung with youthful ardour, the warmth of the able warrior seemed to animate his frame, and to produce the heated gestures which he had practised in middle age. He was a man of tender feelings to his friends, ready and willing to assist them in distress, yet as a warrior, his cruelties to his enemies perhaps were unparalleled, and will not admit a word of palliation. Hiokatu was born in one of the tribes of the six nations that inhabited the banks of the Sasquhana, or rather he belonged to a tribe of the Senakas that made, at the time of the great Indian Treaty, a part of those nations. He was owned cousin to Farmer's brother, a chief who has been justly celebrated for his worth. Their mothers were sisters, and it was through the influence of Farmer's brother that I became Hiokatu's wife. In early life, Hiokatu showed signs of thirst for blood, by attending only to the art of war in the use of the tomahawk and scalping knife, and in practising cruelties upon everything that chanced to fall into his hands which was susceptible to pain. In that way, he learned to use his implements of war effectually, and at the same time, blunted all those fine feelings and tender sympathies that are naturally excited by hearing or seeing a fellow being in distress. He could inflict the most excruciating tortures upon his enemies and prided himself upon his fortitude in having performed the most barbless ceremonies and tortures without the least degree of pity or remorse. Thus qualified, when very young, he was initiated into scenes of carnage by being engaged in the wars that prevailed amongst the Indian tribes. In the year 1731, he was appointed a runner to assist in collecting an army to go against the Catorpes, Cherokees and other southern Indians. A large army was collected, and after a long and fatiguing march, met its enemies in what was then called the low, dark and bloody lands near the mouth of Red River, in what is now called the state of Kentucky. Footnote, those powerful armies, met near the place that is now called Clarksville, which is situated at the fork where Red River joins the Cumberland, a few miles above the line between Kentucky and Tennessee, and Footnote. The Catorpes Footnote, the author acknowledges himself, unacquainted from Indian history, with the nation of this name, but as ninety years have elapsed since the date of this occurrence, it is highly probable that such a nation did exist, and that it was absolutely exterminated at that eventful period. And their associates had, by some means, been apprised of their approach, and lay in ambush to take them at once, when they should come within their reach, and destroy the whole army. The northern Indians, with their usual sagacity, discovered the situation of their enemies, rushed upon the ambush kid, and massacred a thousand and two hundred on the spot. The battle continued for two days and two nights, with the utmost severity in which the northern Indians were victorious, and so far succeeded in destroying the Catorpes that they, at that time, ceased to be a nation. The victors suffered an immense loss in kill, but gained the hunting ground which was their grand object, though the Cherokees would not give it up in a treaty, or consent to make peace. Bows and arrows, at that time, were in general use, though a few guns were employed. From that time, he was engaged in a number of battles, in which Indians only were engaged, and that made fighting his business till the commencement of the French war. In those battles, he took a number of Indian prisoners, whom he killed by tying them to trees, and then setting small Indian boys to shooting at them with arrows, till death finished the misery of the sufferers, a process that frequently took two days for its completion. During the French war, he was in every battle that was fought on the Susquehanna and Ohio rivers, and was so fortunate as never to have been taken prisoner. At Dragox's defeat, he took two white prisoners, and burnt them alive in a fire of his own kindling. In 1777, he was in the battle at Fort Freeland, in Northumberland County, Pennsylvania. The fort contained a great number of women and children, and was defended only by a small garrison. The force that went against it consisted of 100 British regulars, commanded by Colonel MacDonald and 300 Indians under Hiokatu. After a short but bloody engagement, the fort was surrendered. The women and children were sent under an escort to the next fort below, and the men and boys taken off by a party of British to the general Indian encampment. As soon as the fort had capitulated, and the firing had ceased, Hiokatu, with the help of a few Indians, tomahawked every wounded American, while earnestly begging with uplifted hands for quarters. The massacre was but just finished, when Captain's Daughty and Boone arrived with a reinforcement to assist the garrison. On their arriving inside of the fort, they saw that it had surrendered, and that an Indian was holding the flag. There's so much inflamed Captain Daughty that he left his command, stepped forward, and shot the Indian at the first fire. Another took the flag, and had no sooner got it erected than Daughty dropped him as he had the first, a third presumed to hold it, who was also shot down by Daughty. Hiokatu, exasperated at the sight of such bravery, saluted out with a party of his Indians, and killed Captain's Daughty, Boone, and 14 men at the first fire. The remainder of the two companies escaped by taking to flight, and soon arrived at the fort which they had left but a few hours before. In an expedition that went out against Cherry Valley and the neighbouring settlements, Captain David, a Mohawk Indian, was first, and Hiokatu the second in command. The force consisted of several hundred Indians who were determined on mischief, and the destruction of the whites. A continued series of wantonness and barbarity characterised their career, for they plundered and burned everything that came in their way, and killed a number of persons among whom were several infants, whom Hiokatu butchered or dashed upon stones with his own hands. Besides the instances which have been mentioned, he was in a number of parties during the Revolutionary War where he ever acted a conspicuous part. The Indians, having removed the seat of their depredations and war to the frontiers of Pennsylvania, Ohio, Kentucky, and the neighbouring territories, assembled a large force at Upper Sandusky, their place of General Rondeau, from whence they went out to the various places which they designed to sacrifice. Tired of the desolating scenes that were so often witnessed, and feeling a confidence that the savages might be subdued and an end put to their crimes, the American government raised a regiment consisting of 300 volunteers for the purpose of dislodging them from their cantonment and preventing further barbarities. Colonel William Crawford and Lieutenant Colonel David Williamson, men who had been thoroughly tried and approved, were commissioned by General Washington to take the command of a service that seemed all important to the welfare of the country. In the month of July 1782, well armed and provided with a sufficient quantity of provision, this regiment made an expeditious march through the wilderness to Upper Sandusky, where, as had been anticipated, they found the Indians assembled in full force at their encampment, prepared to receive an attack. As Colonel Crawford and his brave band advanced, and when they had got within a short distance from the town, they were met by a white man with a flag of crews from the Indians who proposed to Colonel Crawford that if he would surrender himself and his men to the Indians, their lives should be spared. But if they persisted in their undertaking and attacked the town, they should all be massacred to a man. Crawford, while hearing the proposition, attentively surveyed its bearer and recognized in his features one of his former schoolmates and companions with whom he was perfectly acquainted by the name of Simon Gertie. Gertie, but a short time before this, had been a soldier in the American army in the same regiment with Crawford, but on the account of his not having received the promotion that he expected, he became disaffected, swore an eternal war with his countrymen, fled to the Indians and joined them as a leader well qualified to conduct them to where they could satiate their thirst for blood upon the innocent, unoffending and defenseless settlers. Crawford sternly inquired of the traitor if his name was not Simon Gertie, and being answered in the affirmative, he informed him that he despised the offer which he had made and that he would not surrender his army unless he should be compelled to do so by a superior force. Gertie returned and Crawford immediately commenced an engagement that lasted till night without the appearance of victory on either side when the firing ceased and the combatants on both sides retired to take refreshment and to rest through the night. Crawford encamped in the woods near half a mile from the town where after the sentinels were placed and each had taken his ration they slept on their arms that they might be instantly ready in case they should be attacked. The stillness of death hovered over the little army and sleep relieved the whole except the wakeful sentinels who vigilantly attended to their duty. But what was their surprise when they found late in the night that they were surrounded by the Indians on every side except a narrow space between them and the town? Every man was under arms and the officers instantly consulted each other on the best method of escaping for they saw that a fight would be useless and that a surrender would be death. Crawford proposed a retreat through the ranks of the enemy in an opposite direction from the town as being the most sure course to take. Lieutenant Colonel Williamson advised to march directly through the town where there appeared to be no Indians and the fires were yet burning. There was no time or place for debates. Colonel Crawford with 60 followers retreated on the route that he had proposed by attempting to rush through the enemy but they had no sooner got amongst the Indians than every man was killed or taken prisoner. Amongst the prisoners were Colonel Crawford and Dr. Knight surgeon of the regiment. Lieutenant Colonel Williamson with the remainder of the regiment together with the wounded set out at the same time that Crawford did went through the town without losing a man and by the help of good guides arrived at their homes in safety. The next day after the engagement the Indians disposed of all their prisoners to the different tribes except Colonel Crawford and Dr. Knight but those unfortunate men were reserved for a more cruel destiny. A council was immediately held on Sandusky Plains consisting of all the chiefs and warriors ranged in their customary order in a circular form and Crawford and Knight were brought forward and seated in the center of the circle. The council being opened the chiefs began to examine Crawford on various subjects relative to the war. At length they inquired who conducted the military operations of the American army on the Ohio and Susquehanna rivers during the year before and who had led that army against them with so much skill and so uniform success. Crawford very honestly and without suspecting any harm from his reply promptly answered that he was the man who had led his countrymen to victory who had driven the enemy from the settlements and by that means had procured a great degree of happiness to many of his fellow citizens. Upon hearing this a chief who had lost a son in the year before in a battle where Colonel Crawford commanded left his station in the council stepped to Crawford blacked his face and at the same time told him that the next day he should be burned. The council was immediately dissolved on adhering the sentence from the chief and the prisoners were taken off the ground and kept in custody through the night. Crawford now viewed his fate as sealed and despairing of ever returning to his home or his country only dreaded the tediousness of death as commonly inflicted by the savages and earnestly hoped that he might be dispatched at a single blow. Early the next morning the Indians assembled at the place of execution and Crawford was led to the post the goal of savage torture to which he was fastened. The post was a stick of timber placed firmly in the ground having an arm framed in at the top and extending some six or eight feet from it like the arm of a signpost. A pile of wood containing about two cords lay a few feet from the place where he stood which he was informed was to be kindled into a fire that would burn him alive as many had been burnt on the same spot who had been much less deserving than himself. Gertie stood and supposedly looked on the preparations that were making for the funeral of one of his former playmates. A hero by whose side he had fought of a man whose valour had won glorrals which if he could have returned would have been strewed upon his grave by his grateful countrymen. Dreading the agony that he saw he was about to feel Crawford used every argument which his perilous situation could suggest to prevail upon Gertie to ransom him at any price and deliver him as it was in his power from the savages and their torments. Gertie heard his prayers and expostulations and saw his tears with indifference and finally told the forsaken victim that he would not procure him a moment's respite nor offered him the most trifling assistance. The colonel was then bound, stripped naked and tied by his wrists to the arm which extended horizontally from the post in such a manner that his arms were extended over his head with his feet just standing upon the ground. This being done the savages placed the wood in a circle around him at the distance of a hue-feet in order that his misery might be protracted to the greatest length and then kindled it in a number of places at the same time. The flames arose and the scorching heat became almost insupportable. Again he prayed to Gertie in all the anguish of his torment to rescue him from the fire or to shoot him dead upon the spot. A demonic smile suffused the countenance of Gertie while he calmly replied to the dying sublime that he had no pity for his sufferings but that he was then satisfying that spirit of revenge which for a long time he had hoped to have an opportunity to wreck upon him. Nature now almost exhausted from the intensity of the heat he settled down a little when a squaw threw coals of fire and embers upon him which made him groan most piteously while the whole camp rung with exaltation. During the execution they manifested all the ecstasy of a complete triumph. Poor Croff Heard soon died and was entirely consumed. Thus ended the life of a patriot and hero who had been an intimate with General Washington and who shared in an imminent degree the confidence of that great good man to whom in the time of revolutionary perils the sons of legitimate freedom looked with a degree of faith in his mental resources unequaled in the history of the world. That tragedy being ended Dr Knight was informed that on the next day he should be burned in the same manner that his comrade Croff Heard had been at Lower Sandasky Hyokhatu who out had been a leading chief in the battle with and in the execution of Croff Heard painted Dr Knight's face black and then bound and gave him up to two able-bodied Indians to conduct to the place of execution. They set off with him immediately and travelled till towards evening when they halted to encamp till morning. The afternoon had been very rainy and the storm still continued which rendered it very difficult for the Indians to kindle a fire. Knight observing the difficulty under which they labour made them to understand by science that if they would unbind him he would assist them. They accordingly unbound him and he soon succeeded in making a fire by the application of small dry stuff which he was at considerable trouble to procure. While the Indians were warming themselves the doctor continued to gather wood to last through the night and in doing this he found a club which he placed in a situation from whence he could take it conveniently whenever an opportunity should present itself in which he could use it effectually. The Indians continued warming till at length the doctors saw that they had placed themselves in a favourable position for the execution of his design. When stimulated by the love of life he cautiously took his club and at two blows knocked them both down. Determined to finish the work of death which he had so well begun he drew one of their scalping knives with which he beheaded and scalped them both. He then took a rifle, tomahawk and some ammunition and directed his course for home where he arrived without having experienced any difficulty on his journey. The next morning the Indians took the track of their victim and his attendants to go to lower Sandarski and there execute the sentence which they had pronounced upon him. But what was their surprise and disappointment when they arrived at the place of encampment where they found their trusty friends scalped and decapitated and that their prisoner had made an escape? Chagrin beyond measure they immediately separated and went in every direction in pursuit of their prey but after having spent a number of days unsuccessfully they gave up their chase and returned to their encampment. Footnoted, I have understood from unauthenticated sources however that soon after the Revolutionary War Dr. Knight published a pamphlet containing an account of the battle at Sandarski and of his own sufferings. My information on this subject was derived from a different quarter. The subject of this narrative in giving the account of her last husband Hirokato referred us to Mr. George Jemisin who as it will be noticed lived on her land a number of years and who had frequently heard the old chief relate the story of his life particularly that part which related to his military career. Mr. Jemisin on being inquired off gave the foregoing account partly from his own personal knowledge and the remainder from the account given by Hirokato. Mr. Jemisin was in the battle was personally acquainted with Colonel Crawford and one that escaped with Lieutenant Colonel Williamson. We have no doubt of the truth of the statement and have therefore inserted the whole account as an addition to the historical facts which are daily coming into a state of preservation in relation to the American Revolution. Author, End Footnot. In the time of the French War in an engagement that took place on the Ohio River Hirokato took a British Colonel by the name of Simon Canton whom he carried to the Indian encampment. A council was held and the Colonel was sentenced to suffer death by being tied on a wild colt with his face towards its tail and then having the colt turned loose to run where it pleased. He was accordingly tied on and the colt let loose agreeable to the sentence. The colt run two days and then returned with its rider yet alive. The Indians thinking that he would never die in that way took him off and made him run the gauntlet three times but in the last race a squad knocked him down and he was supposed to have been dead. He however recovered and was sold for fifty dollars to a Frenchman who sent him as a prisoner to Detroit. On the return of the Frenchman to Detroit the Colonel besought him to ransom him and give or set him at liberty with so much warmth and promised with so much solimity to reward him as one of the best of benefactors if he would let him go that the Frenchman took his word and sent him home to his family. The Colonel remembered his promise and in a short time sent his deliverer one hundred and fifty dollars as a reward for his generosity. Since the commencement of the Revolutionary War Hirokato has been in seventeen campaigns four of which were in the Cherokee War. He was so great an enemy to the Cherokees and so fully determined upon their subjugation that on his march to their country he raised his own army for those four campaigns and commanded it and also superintended its subsistence. In one of those campaigns which continued two whole years without intermission he attacked his enemies on the mobile drove them to the country of the Creek Nation where he continued to harass them till being tired of war he returned to his family. He brought home a great number of scalps which he had taken from the enemy and ever seemed to possess an unconquerable will that the Cherokees might be utterly destroyed. Towards the close of his last fighting in that country he took two scores whom he sold on his way home for money to defray the expense of his journey. Hirokato was about six feet four or five inches high large boned and rather inclined to leanness. He was very stout and active for a man of his size for it was said by himself and others that he had never found an Indian who could keep up with him on a race or throw him at wrestling. His eye was quick and penetrating and his voice was of that harsh and powerful kind which amongst Indians always commands attention. His health had been uniformly good. He never was confined by sickness till he was attacked with the consumption four years before his death and although he had from his earliest days been endured to almost constant fatigue and exposure to every inclementary of the weather in the open air he seemed to lose the vigor of the prime of life only by the natural decay occasioned by old age. End of Chapter 11, Recording by Hilara. Chapter 12 of a Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Mary Jemisin. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Mary Jemisin by James E. Chapter 12 Being now left a widow in my old age to mourn the loss of a husband who had treated me well and with whom I had raised five children and having suffered the loss of an affectionate son, I fondly fostered the hope that my melancholy vicissitudes had ended and that the remainder of my time would be characterized by nothing unpropitious. My children, dutiful and kind, live near me, and apparently nothing obstructed our happiness. But a short time, however, elapsed after my husband's death before my troubles were renewed with redoubled severity. John's hands, having been once stained in the blood of a brother, it was not strange that after his acquittal every person of his acquaintance should shun him, from a fear of his repeating upon them the same ceremony that he had practiced upon Thomas. My son Jesse went to Mount Morris a few miles from home on business in the winter after the death of his father, and it so happened that his brother John was there who requested Jesse to come home with him. Jesse, fearing that John would commence a quarrel with him on the way, declined the invitation and tarried overnight. From that time John conceived himself despised by Jesse and was highly enraged at the treatment which he had received. Very little was said, however, and it all passed off apparently till some time in the month of May, 1812, at which time Mr. Robert Whaley, who lived in the town of Castile, within four miles of me, came to my house early on Monday morning to hire George Chongo, my son-in-law, and John and Jesse to go that day and help him slide a quantity of boards from the top of the hill to the river, where he calculated to build a raft of them for market. They all concluded to go with Mr. Whaley, and made ready as soon as possible. But before they set out I charged them not to drink any whiskey, for I was confident that if they did they would surely have a quarrel in consequence of it. They went and worked till almost night, when a quarrel ensued between Chongo and Jesse, in consequence of the whiskey that they had drank through the day, which terminated in a battle, and Chongo got whipped. When Jesse had got through with Chongo he told Mr. Whaley that he would go home and directly went off. He, however, went but a few rods before he stopped and lay down by the side of a log to wait, as was supposed, for company. John, as soon as Jesse was gone, went to Mr. Whaley with his knife in his hand and made him Jogo, that is, be gone. At the same time telling him that Jesse was a bad man. Mr. Whaley, seeing that his countenance was changed and that he was determined upon something desperate, was alarmed for his own safety and turned towards home, leaving Chongo on the ground drunk, near to where Jesse had lain, who by this time had got up and was advancing towards John. Mr. Whaley was soon out of hearing of them, but some of his workmen stayed till it was dark. Jesse came up to John and said to him, you want more whiskey and more fighting. And after a few words went at him to try in the first place to get away his knife. In this he did not succeed and they parted. By this time the night had come on and it was dark. Again they clenched and at length in their struggle they both fell. John, having his knife in his hand, came under and in that situation gave Jesse a fatal stab with his knife and repeated the blows till Jesse cried out. Brother, you have killed me. Quit his hold and settled back upon the ground. Upon hearing this John left him and came to Thomas's widow's house, told them that he had been fighting with their uncle whom he had killed and showed them his knife. Next morning as soon as it was light, Thomas's and John's children came and told me that Jesse was dead in the woods and also informed me how he came by his death. John soon followed them and informed me himself of all that had taken place between him and his brother and seemed to be somewhat sorrowful for his conduct. You can better imagine what my feelings were than I can describe them. My darling son, my youngest child, him on whom I depended, was dead. And I, in my old age, left destitute of a helping hand. As soon as it was consistent for me I got Mr. George Jemison, of whom I shall have occasion to speak, to go with his sleigh to where Jesse was. And bring him home, a distance of three or four miles. My daughter Polly arrived at the fatal spot first. We got there soon after her, though I went the whole distance on foot. By this time, Chongo, who was left on the ground drunk the night before, had become sober and sensible of the great misfortune which had happened to our family. I was overcome with grief at the sight of my murdered son, and so far lost the command of myself as to be almost frantic, and those who were present were obliged to hold me from going near him. On examining the body it was found that it had received eighteen wounds so deep and large that it was believed that either of them would have proved mortal. The corpse was carried to my house, and kept till the Thursday following when it was buried after the manner of burying white people. Jesse was twenty-seven or eight years old when he was killed. His temper had been uniformly, very mild and friendly, and he was inclined to copy after the white people, both in his manners and dress. Although he was naturally temperate he occasionally became intoxicated, but never was quarrelsome or mischievous. With the white people he was intimate and learned from them their habits of industry which he was fond of practicing, especially when my comfort demanded his labour. As I have observed it is the custom amongst the Indians for the women to perform all the labour in and out of doors, and I had the whole to do with the help of my daughters till Jesse arrived to a sufficient age to assist us. He was disposed to labour in the cornfield, to chop my wood, milk my cows, and to tend to any kind of business that would make my task the lighter. On the account of his having been my youngest child, and so willing to help me, I am sensible that I loved him better than I did either of my other children. After he began to understand my situation and the means of rendering it more easy I never wanted for anything that was in his power to bestow. But since his death, as I have had all my labour to perform alone, I have constantly seen hard times. Jesse shunned the company of his brothers, and the Indians generally, and never attended their frolics, and it was supposed that this, together with my partiality for him, were the causes which excited in John so great a degree of envy that nothing short of death would satisfy it. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Mary Jemisin This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Mary Jemisin by James E. Siever. Chapter 13 A year or two before the death of my husband, Captain H. Jones sent me word that a cousin of mine was then living in Leicester, a few miles from Gardeau, by the name of George Jemisin, and as he was very poor, thought it advisable for me to go and see him, and take him home to live with me on my land. My Indian friends were pleased to hear that one of my relatives was so near, and also advised me to send for him and his family immediately. I accordingly had him and his family moved into one of my houses in the month of March, 1810. He said that he was my father's brother's son, that his father did not leave Europe till after the French War in America, and that when he did come over, he settled in Pennsylvania where he died. George had no personal knowledge of my father, but from information was confident that the relationship which he claimed between himself and me actually existed. Although I had never before heard of my father having had but one brother, him who was killed at Fort Necessity, yet I knew that he might have had others, and as the story of George carried with it a probability that it was true, I received him as a kinsman, and treated him with every degree of friendship which his situation demanded. Beginning a footnote. Mrs. Jemison is now confident that George Jemison is not her cousin and thinks that he claimed the relationship only to gain assistance, but the old gentleman who is now living is certain that his and her father were brothers as before stated. End of footnote. I found that he was destitute of the means of subsistence and in debt to the amount of seventy dollars without the ability to pay one cent. He had no cow and finally was completely poor. I paid his debts to the amount of seventy two dollars and bought him a cow, for which I paid twenty dollars and a sow and pigs that I paid eight dollars for. I also paid sixteen dollars for pork that I gave him and furnished him with other provisions and furniture so that his family was comfortable. As he was destitute of a team I furnished him with one and also supplied him with tools for farming. In addition to all this I let him have one of Thomas's cows for two seasons. My only object in mentioning his poverty and the articles with which I supplied him is to show how ungrateful a person can be for favors and how soon a kind benefactor will, to all appearance, be forgotten. Thus furnished with the necessary implements of husbandry, a good team, and as much land as could till he commenced farming on my flats and for some time labored well. At length, however, he got an idea that if he could become the owner of a part of my reservation he could live more easy and certainly be more rich and accordingly set himself about laying a plan to obtain it in the easiest manner possible. I supported Jemison and his family eight years and probably should have continued to have done so to this day had it not been for the occurrence of the following circumstance. When he had lived with me some six or seven years a friend of mine told me that as Jemison was my cousin and very poor I ought to give him a piece of land that he might have something where on to live that he could call his own. My friend and Jemison were then together at my house, prepared to complete a bargain. I asked how much land he wanted. Jemison said that he should be glad to receive his old field, as he called it, containing about fourteen acres, and a new one that contained twenty-six. I observed to them that as I was incapable of transacting business of that nature I would wait till Mr. Thomas Clute, a neighbor on whom I depended, should return from Albany before I should do anything about it. To this, Jemison replied that if I waited till Mr. Clute returned he should not get the land at all and appeared very anxious to have the business closed without delay. On my part I felt disposed to give him some land, but knowing my ignorance of riding, fear to do it alone, lest they might include as much land as they pleased without my knowledge. They then read the deed which my friend had prepared before he came from home, describing a piece of land by certain bounds that were a specified number of chains and links from each other. Not understanding the length of a chain or link I described the bounds of a piece of land that I intended Jemison should have, which they said was just the same that the deed contained, and no more. I told them that the deed must not include a lot that was called the still place, and they assured me that it did not. Upon this, putting confidence in them both, I signed the deed to George Jemison, containing, and conveying to him, as I supposed, forty acres of land. The deed being completed, they charged me never to mention the bargain, which I had then made to any person, because if I did, they said it would spoil the contract. The whole matter was afterwards disclosed, when it was found that that deed, instead of containing only forty acres, contained four hundred, and that one half of it actually belonged to my friend, as it had been given to him by Jemison as a reward for his trouble in procuring the deed in the fraudulent manner above mentioned. My friend, however, by the advice of some well-disposed people, a while afterwards gave up his claim, but Jemison held his till he sold it for a trifle to a gentleman in the south part of Genesee County. Sometime after the death of my son Thomas, one of his sons went to Jemison to get the cow that I had let him have two years, but Jemison refused to let her go, and struck the boy so violent a blow as to almost kill him. Jemison then run to Jealous Clute, Esquire, to procure a warrant to take the boy. But Young King, an Indian chief, went down to Squawky Hill to Esquire Clute's, and settled the affair by Jemison's agreeing never to use that club again. Having satisfactorily found out the friendly disposition of my cousin towards me, I got him off my premises as soon as possible. CHAPTER XIII. Trouble seldom comes single. While George Jemison was busily engaged in his pursuit of wealth at my expense, another event of a much more serious nature occurred, which added greatly to my afflictions and consequently destroyed at least a part of the happiness that I had anticipated was laid up in the archives of Providence to be dispensed on my old age. My son John was a doctor, considerably celebrated amongst the Indians of various tribes for his skill in curing their diseases by the administration of roots and herbs which he gathered in the forests and other places where they had been planted by the hand of nature. In the month of April or 1st of May, 1817, he was called upon to go to Buffalo, Cataraugus, and Allegheny to cure some who were sick. He went and was absent about two months. When he returned, he observed the great slide of the bank of Genesee River, a short distance above my house, which had taken place during his absence. And conceiving that circumstance to be ominous of his own death, called at his sister Nancy's, told her that he should live but a few days, and wept bitterly at the near approach of his dissolution. Nancy endeavored to persuade him that his trouble was imaginary and that he ought not to be affected by a fancy which was visionary. Her arguments were ineffectual and afforded no alleviation to his mental sufferings. From his sisters he went to his own house where he stayed only two nights and then went to Squawky Hill to procure money with which to purchase flour for the use of his family. While at Squawky Hill, he got into the company of two Squawky Hill Indians whose names were Dr. and Jack, with whom he drank freely and in the afternoon had a desperate quarrel in which his opponents, as it was afterwards understood, agreed to kill him. The quarrel ended and each appeared to be friendly. John bought some spirits of which they all drank and then set out for home. John and an Allegheny Indian were on horseback and Dr. and Jack were on foot. It was dark when they set out. They had not proceeded far when Dr. and Jack commenced another quarrel with John, clenched and dragged him off his horse, and then with a stone gave him so severe a blow on his head that some of his brains were discharged from the wound. The Allegheny Indian, fearing that his turn would come next, fled for safety as fast as possible. John recovered a little from the shock he had received and endeavored to get to an old hut that stood near, but they caught him and with an axe cut his throat and beat out his brains so that when he was found the contents of his skull were lying on his arms. Some squaws who heard the uproar ran to find out the cause of it, but before they had time to offer their assistance the murderers drove them into a house and threatened to take their lives if they did not stay there or if they made any noise. Next morning Esquire Clute sent me word that John was dead and also informed me of the means by which his life was taken. A number of people went from Gardow to where the body lay and Dr. Levi Brundridge brought it up home where the funeral was attended after the manner of the white people. Mr. Benjamin Luther and Mr. William Wiles preached a sermon and performed the funeral services and myself and family followed the corpse to the grave as mourners. I had now buried my three sons who had been snatched from me by the hands of violence when I least expected it. Although John had taken the life of his two brothers and caused me unspeakable trouble and grief his death made a solemn impression upon my mind and seemed in addition to my former misfortunes enough to bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. Yet on a second thought I could not mourn for him as I had for my other sons because I knew that his death was just and what he had deserved for a long time from the hand of justice. John's vices were so great and so aggravated that I have nothing to say in his favor. Yet as a mother I pitied him while he lived and have ever felt a great degree of sorrow for him because of his bad conduct. From his childhood he carried something in his features indicative of an evil disposition that would result in the perpetration of enormities of some kind. And it was the opinion and saying of Ebenezer Allen that he would be a bad man and be guilty of some crime deserving of death. There is no doubt but what the thoughts of murder rankled in his breast and disturbed his mind even in his sleep, for he dreamed that he had killed Thomas for a trifling offense and thereby forfeited his own life. Alarmed at the revelation and fearing that he might in some unguarded moment destroy his brother, he went to the black chief to whom he told the dream and expressed his fears that the vision would be verified. Having related the dream together with his feelings on the subject, he asked for the best advice that his old friend was capable of giving to prevent so sad an event. The black chief with his usual promptitude told him that from the nature of the dream he was fearful that something serious would take place between him and Thomas and advised him by all means to govern his temper and avoid any quarrel which in future he might see arising, especially if Thomas was a party. John, however, did not keep the good counsel of the chief for soon after he killed Thomas as I have related. John left two wives with whom he had lived at the same time and raised nine children. His widows are now living at Canedia with their father and keep their children with and near them. His children are tolerably white and have got light-colored hair. John died about the last day of June, 1817, aged 54 years. Doctor and Jack, having finished their murderous design, fled before they could be apprehended and lay six weeks in the woods back of Canistio. They then returned and sent me some wampum by Chango, my son-in-law, and Sangiwa, that is Big Kettle, expecting that I would pardon them and suffer them to live as they had done with their tribe. I, however, would not accept their wampum but returned it with a request that, rather than have them killed, they would run away and keep out of danger. On their receiving back the wampum, they took my advice and prepared to leave their country and people immediately. Their relatives accompanied them a short distance on their journey and, when about to part, their old uncle, the tall chief, addressed them in the following pathetic and sentimental speech. Friends, hear my voice. When the Great Spirit made Indians, he made them all good and gave them good cornfields, good rivers, well-stored with fish, good forests filled with game and good bows and arrows. But very soon each wanted more than his share and Indians quarreled with Indians and some were killed and others were wounded. Then the Great Spirit made a very good word and put it in every Indian's breast to tell us when we have done good or when we have done bad and that word has never told a lie. Friends, whenever you have stole or got drunk or lied, that good word has told you that you were bad Indians and made you afraid of good Indians and made you ashamed and looked down. Friends, your crime is greater than all those. You have killed an Indian in a time of peace and made the wind hear his groans and the earth drink his blood. You are bad Indians. Yes, you are very bad Indians. And what can you do? If you go into the woods to live alone, the ghost of John Jemison will follow you, crying blood, blood, and will give you no peace. If you go to the land of your nation, there that ghost will attend to you and say to your relatives, See my murderers. If you plant, it will blast your corn. If you hunt, it will scare your game. And when you are asleep, its groans and the sight of an avenging tomahawk will awake you. What can you do? Deserving of death, you cannot live here and to fly from your country to leave all your relatives and to abandon all that you have known to be pleasant and dear must be keener than an arrow, more bitter than gall, more terrible than death. And how must we feel? Your path will be muddy. The woods will be dark. The lightnings will glance down the trees by your side and you will start at every sound. Peace has left you and you must be wretched. Friends, hear me and take my advice. Return with us to your homes. Offer to the great spirit your best wampum and try to be good Indians. And if those whom you have bereaved shall claim your lives as their only satisfaction, surrender them cheerfully and die like good Indians. And here Jack, highly incensed, interrupted the old man and made him stop speaking or he would take his life. Afrighted at the appearance of so much desperation, the company hastened towards home and left Doctor and Jack to consult their own feelings. As soon as they were alone, Jack said to Doctor, I had rather die here than leave my country and friends. Put the muzzle of your rifle into my mouth and I will put the muzzle of mine into yours. And at a given signal we will discharge them and rid ourselves at once of all the troubles under which we now labor and satisfy the claims which justice holds against us. Doctor heard the proposition and after a moment's pause made the following reply, I am as sensible as you can be of the unhappy situation in which we have placed ourselves. We are bad Indians. We have forfeited our lives and must expect in some way to atone for our crime. But because we are bad and miserable, shall we make ourselves worse? If we were now innocent and in a calm reflecting moment should kill ourselves, that act would make us bad and deprive us of our share of the good hunting in the land where our fathers have gone. What would Little Beard say to us on our arrival at his cabin? Footnote. Little Beard was a chief who died in 1806. End footnote. He would say, Bad Indians, cowards, you were afraid to wait till we wanted your help. Go, Jogo, to where snakes will lie in your path, where the panthers will starve you by devouring the venison and where you will be naked and suffer with the cold. Jogo, go. None but the brave and good Indians live here. I cannot think of performing an act that will add to my wretchedness. It is hard enough for me to suffer here and have good hunting hereafter. Worse to lose the hold. Upon this, Jack withdrew his proposal. They went on about two miles and then turned about and came home. Guilty and uneasy, they lurked about Squawky Hill near a fortnight and then went to Cateragus and were gone six weeks. When they came back, Jack's wife earnestly requested him to remove his family to Tana Wanta, but he remonstrated against her project and utterly declined going. His wife and family, however, tired of the tumult by which they were surrounded, packed up their effects in spite of what he could say and went off. Jack deliberated a short time upon the proper course for himself to pursue and finally, rather than leave his old home, he ate a large quantity of muskrat root and died in ten or twelve hours. His family, being immediately notified of his death, returned to attend the burial and is yet living at Squawky Hill. Nothing was ever done with Doctor, who continued to live quietly at Squawky Hill till sometime in the year 1819 when he died of consumption. End of Chapter 14