It was three o'clock in the afternoon of
Friday, the 7th of June, that Crawford and Knight were led captives to
Wingenund's camp. On Sunday evening
following, five Delawares, who had posted themselves some distance on the road
of the army, east, brought to the camp the scalps of Captain Biggs and
Lieutenant Ashley; likewise, an Indian scalp taken by the former upon the field
of battle. These Indians also brought in
the horses of Knight and Biggs. The two
young men who ran off when Crawford and Knight were taken, again escaped the
savages.
The Delawares had nine other prisoners at
their camp besides Crawford and Knight; all securely guarded, and with very
little to eat. John McKinly, formerly an
officer in the Thirteenth Virginia regiment, was one of the captives. Several of the Indians spoke English quite
fluently. Some were personally known
both to Crawford and Knight. All very
soon learned that the former was the commander of the expedition—the "Big
Captain" of the Americans. This
information had been immediately carried to The Pipe and Wingenund, at the Half
King's place. Some of the Delawares at
the camp were Christian Indians from the Muskingum, who, it is inferred, had
gone back into heathenism. Two of these,
who were personally known to Knight, brought in scalps of the volunteers.
On Monday morning, the 10th of June, the
prisoners were all paraded to march, as they were told, to Sandusky—the Half
King's town—about thirty-three miles distant, by way of the Indian trail. There were seventeen Delawares having the
captives in charge. They carried with
them the scalps of four white men.
Crawford had been told that Simon Girty,
who, it will be remembered, was an old acquaintance, was at the Half King's
village; and being very desirous to see him, was permitted to go to the town
the same night, with two warriors to guard him; the rest of the prisoners were
to go no farther than Upper Sandusky Old Town that day. Crawford's guards had orders to go by the
route taken by him from the battle-field, that they might, if possible, find
the horses he and the young man had been compelled to leave behind, on the morning
after the retreat began.
The prisoners were all marched together
on the trace leading west, for three miles, when Crawford and his two guards
struck off to the right—in a northwest direction, while the others were taken
on to the Old Town. The point where they
separated was about eight miles almost due east from the present town of
Bucyrus,—in what is now Jefferson township, Crawford county.
Crawford reached the Half King's town
some time during the night, and had an interview with Girty. Very little has been preserved of their
conversation. "Tom Jelloway,"
as he was called, a Christian Indian from the Muskingum, speaking pretty plain
English and French, was near and heard what was said. Enough was reported by this Indian to Captain
Pipe and Wingenund, who were in the village, to convince them that Crawford had
made an earnest appeal for his safety. He
offered Girty a thousand dollars to save him; and the white savage promised,
with no intention of keeping his word, to do everything in his power. Crawford's offer of money only made the two
Delaware chiefs more determined against him.
Crawford clearly saw that the Indians,
particularly The Pipe, were very much enraged against the prisoners. Girty informed the Colonel that William
Harrison and young William Crawford were made prisoners by the Shawanese, but
had been pardoned at their towns. This
information was true as to their capture, but false as to their lives being
spared. The Wyandots had a few prisoners
at their town; what became of them is entirely unknown—tradition, even, is
silent, concerning them. They were
probably, soon after the visit of Crawford, tomahawked and their heads stuck
upon poles, as was the usual custom of the Indians. It is certain they were not tortured to death;
as the Wyandots were more merciful, in this respect, than their allies, as has
already been explained.
Knight and his nine fellow-prisoners
reached the Old Town late in the afternoon, as they had to travel a distance,
from Wingenund's camp, of twenty-five miles. Here they were securely guarded during the
night. Early in the morning — Tuesday,
June 11th, the two Delaware chiefs, Captain Pipe and Wingenund, came up the
river to them, from the Half King's town; and the former, with his own hands,
painted the faces of all the prisoners black! As he was painting Knight, he told him (the
war-chief spoke very good English) he should go to the Shawanese towns and see
his friends: Knight knew but too well the ominous import of these words,
notwithstanding the blandness of the wily savage.
About an hour after, Crawford also
arrived up the river, whither he had been brought, as he had been told, to
march into the Half King's village with the other prisoners. The two Delaware chiefs, who had avoided
seeing him at the town below, now came forward and greeted him:- he was personally
known to both. They had frequently seen
each other before the disaffection of the clan to which these two Indians belonged.
At the treaty of the 17th of September, 1778, at Fort Pitt, between the
Delawares and the American government, Crawford and The Pipe were present, each
taking part in the negotiations, and each signing the articles agreed
upon. The dissembling war-chief told the
Colonel he was glad to see him, and that he would have him shaved—that is,
adopted as an Indian—when he came to see his friends, the prisoners, at the
Wyandot town; but, at the same time, he painted him black!
The whole party now started on the trail
leading to the village of the Wyandots, eight miles below; but, as the march
began, Crawford and Knight were kept back, guarded by The Pipe and Wingenund. They were soon ordered forward; but had not
traveled far, before they saw four of their comrades lying by the path
tomahawked and scalped; some of them were at a distance of a half a mile from
the others. The Delaware chiefs guarded
well their two prisoners to the springs where Upper Sandusky now stands, when,
to their dismay, another trail, than the one leading to the village of the
Wyandots, was taken. Their course was
now to the northwest, toward the Delaware town upon the Tymochtee, instead of
to the northeast in the direction of Sandusky. If any spark of hope had been kept alive in
the breasts of the two captives, it must now have been extinguished. Onward they marched between their two guards,
who seemed determined to make sure of their victims.
Passing out of what is now Crane
township into the present township of Salem, they soon reached the Little
Tymochtee creek, where they overtook the five prisoners that remained alive. The Indians now caused all their captives to
sit down on the ground— Crawford and Knight with the rest; the two last,
however, some distance from the others. Knight
was then given in charge of one of the Indians to be taken, on the morrow, to
the Shawanese towns.
At the place they had halted, there were
a number of squaws and boys, who now fell on the five prisoners and tomahawked
them all. An old squaw cut off the head of John McKinly,
and kicked it about upon the ground. The young Indian fellows came often where
Crawford and Knight were, and dashed the reeking scalps in their faces.
Again the march began. They were in what is now Crawford township,
they were soon met by Simon Girty and several Indians, on horseback. The former, well knowing what was to be the
fate of Crawford, had come from the Half King's town across the Plains to The
Pipe's village, to be present upon the arrival of the two Delaware chiefs with
their prisoners, but, becoming impatient, had started out on the trail to meet
the savages and their captives. He rode
up to Crawford and spoke to him; but did not inform him of the determination of
The Pipe and Wingenund. At this point
the two prisoners had become separated, Crawford being about one hundred and
fifty yards in advance of Knight.
Girty had promised, it will be
remembered, at the meeting with Crawford the night previous at the Half King's
home, to do all he could for him; but that promise, as we have seen, he did not
intend to keep; for now, at his first meeting with the Delaware chiefs since
parting with Crawford, he made not the slightest effort in his behalf. Nor is there any reason for believing, that he
could have made any impression upon either The Pipe or Wingenund, had he been
inclined to make the trial.
The two war-chiefs of the Delawares were
the archenemies of the Americans. They
had been, as we have seen, the prime movers in the alienation of their tribe
from its neutral policy. They drew with
them from the Muskingum the war-faction, which not only set up its lodges upon
the banks of the Sandusky and Tymochtee, but also formed a close alliance with
the British Indians. Besides, in the
battles just fought, several of their bravest warriors had been killed. It is not surprising, therefore, that no mercy
was to be shown the prisoners who had fallen into their hands.1
As the party moved along toward the
Tymochtee, almost every Indian the prisoners met, struck them with sticks or
their fists. Girty waited until Knight
was brought up, and asked, "Was that the doctor?" Knight answered him in the affirmative, and
went toward him, reaching out his hand; but the savage bid him begone, calling
him a damned rascal; upon which the Indian having him in charge pulled him
along. Girty rode up after him, telling
him he was to go to the Shawanese towns.
A short distance further brought them
near to the Tymochtee, and another halt was made. They had now arrived within three-quarters of
a mile of the Delaware village, which was further down the creek. Just here— a memorable locality—when the
afternoon was well advanced, we will leave the unfortunate Crawford, to relate
the incidents which afterward befell Knight, who, for over two hours before
leaving the place, drank to the dregs, it may be premised, a cup of inexpressible
horror! He was then taken to Captain
Pipe's house, at the Delaware village, where he lay bound all night.
The next morning, the I2th of June,
Knight was untied by the savage who had him in charge — a Delaware Indian,
whose name was Tutelu, a rough looking fellow— and again painted black! They then started for the Shawanese towns,
which the Indian said was somewhat less than forty miles away. Tutelu was on horseback, and drove Knight
before him. The latter pretended he was
ignorant of the death he was to die, affected as cheerful a countenance as
possible, and asked the savage if they were not to live together as brothers in
one house when they should get to the town. Tutelu seemed well pleased, and said,
"Yes." He then asked Knight if
he could make a wigwam. Knight told him
he could. He then seemed more friendly.
The route taken by the Delaware was the
Indian trace leading from the Delaware town to Wapatomica. It led off in a direction partly southwest. They traveled, as near as Knight could judge,
the first day about twenty-five miles. The
doctor was then informed by Tutelu, that they would reach the town the next day
a little before the sun was on the meridian. The prisoner was again tied, and both laid
down to rest. Knight attempted very often
to untie himself, but the Indian was extremely vigilant and scarce ever shut
his eyes. At daybreak he got up and
untied his captive.
Tutelu now began to mend up the fire;
and, as the gnats were troublesome, Knight asked him if he should make a smoke
behind him. He said, "Yes." The doctor took the end of a dogwood fork,
which had been burnt down to about eighteen inches in length. It was the longest stick he could find, yet
too small for the purpose he had in view. He then took up another small stick, and
taking a coal of fire between them, went behind the savage; when, turning
suddenly about, he struck the Indian on the head with all his force. This so stunned the savage that he fell
forward with both his hands in the fire. He soon recovered and got up, but ran off
howling in a most fearful manner. Knight
seized his gun and followed him, with a determination to shoot him down; but by
pulling back the cock [hammer] with
too great violence, broke the mainspring, as he believed. The Indian continued to run, still followed by
Knight, who was vainly endeavoring to fire his gun. The doctor, however, soon gave up the chase
and returned to the fire, where we will leave him for the present, to narrate
what befell Slover and his two companions in captivity, whom we left just
approaching, on the 11th of June, the upper Shawanese town, in what is now
Logan county.
The inhabitants of the village, which
they were nearing, came out with clubs and tomahawks—struck, beat, and abused
the three captives greatly. They seized
one of Slover's companions, the oldest one, stripped him naked, and with coal
and water painted him black! The man
seemed to surmise that this was the sign that he was to be burnt, and shed
tears. He asked Slover the meaning of
his being blacked; but the Indians, in their own language, forbade him telling
the man what was intended. They assured
the latter, speaking English to him, that he was not to be hurt.
A warrior had been sent to Wapatomica,
to acquaint them with the arrival of the prisoners, and prepare them for the
frolic; and, on the approach of the captives, the inhabitants came out with
guns, clubs, and tomahawks. The three
were told they had to run to the council-house, about three hundred yards
distant. The man who was painted black
was about twenty yards in advance of the other two in running the gauntlet. They made him their principal object; men, women,
and children beating him, and those who had guns firing loads of powder into
his flesh as he ran naked, putting the muzzles of their guns up to his body;
shouting, hallooing, and beating their drums in the meantime.
The unhappy man had reached the door of
the council-house, beaten and wounded in a shocking manner. Slover and his companion having already
arrived there, had a full view of the spectacle—a most horrid one! They had cut him with their tomahawks, shot
his body black, and burnt it into holes with loads of powder blown into it. A large wadding had made a wound in his
shoulder whence the blood gushed very freely.
The unfortunate man, agreeable to the
declarations of the savages when he first set out, had reason to think himself
secure when the door of the council-house was reached. This seemed to be his hope; for, coming up
with great struggling and endeavor, he laid hold of the door, but was pulled
back and drawn away by the enemy. Finding
now that no mercy was intended, he attempted several times to snatch or lay
hold of some of their tomahawks; but being weak, could not effect it.
Slover saw him borne off; and the
Indians were a long time beating, wounding, pursuing, and killing him! The same evening, Slover saw the dead body
close by the council-house. It was
cruelly mangled; the blood mingled with the powder was rendered black. He saw, also, the same evening, the body after
it had been cut into pieces,—the limbs and head about two hundred yards on the
outside of the town, stuck on poles!
The same evening Slover also saw the
bodies of three others at Wapatomica, in the same black and mangled condition. These, he was told, had been put to death the
same day, and just before his arrival. Their
bodies, as they lay, were black, bloody,—burnt with powder. One of these was William Harrison, the son
in-law of Crawford; another, young William Crawford, a nephew. Slover recognized the visage of Harrison, and
saw his clothing and that of young Crawford, at the town. The Indians brought two horses to him, and
asked him if he knew them. He said they
were those of Harrison and Crawford. The
savages replied they were.
The third body, Slover could not
recognize, but he believed it to be Major John McClelland, fourth in command of
the expedition. The next day, the bodies
of these men were dragged to the outside of the town, and their corpses given
to the dogs, except their limbs and heads, which were stuck on poles! Such were the awful results of the wild orgies
at Wapatomica. What a gorge of infernal
revelry did these unfortunate prisoners afford the infuriated savages! 2
Slover saw Tutelu, the Delaware Indian,
coming into Wapatomica. He said that the
prisoner he was bringing to be burnt, and who he said was a doctor, had made
his escape from him. Slover knew this
must have been Dr. Knight, who went as surgeon of the expedition. The Indian had a wound four inches long in his
head, which he acknowledged the doctor had given him; he was cut to the skull. His story was, that he had untied the doctor,
being asked by him to do so, Knight promising that he would not go away; that
while he was employed in kindling a fire, the doctor snatched up the gun, came
up behind him, and struck him; that he then made a stroke at Knight with his
knife, which the latter laid hold of, and his fingers were cut almost off, the
knife being drawn through his hand; that he gave the doctor two stabs—one in
the back, the other in the belly. He
said Knight was a big, tall, strong man! Slover contradicted the doughty Delaware. He told the warriors that he knew the doctor,
and that he was a weak, little man; at which they laughed immoderately, and did
not credit the brave Tutelu!
On the last day of the council, save
one, a "speech" came from Detroit, brought by a warrior who had been
counseling with De Peyster, the commanding officer at that place. The "speech" had long been expected,
and was in answer to one sent some time previous to Detroit. It was in a belt of wampum, and began with the
address—" My Children:" and inquired why the Indians continued to
take prisoners. "Provisions are
scarce; when prisoners are brought in we are obliged to maintain them; and some
of them run away and carry tidings of our affairs. When any of your people fall into the hands of
the rebels, they show no mercy; why then should you take prisoners? Take no more prisoners, my children, of any
sort—man, woman, or child."
Two days after, all the tribes that were
near, being collected in council—Ottawas, Chippewas, Wyandots, Mingoes,
Delawares, Shawanese, Monseys, and a part of the Cherokees—it was determined to
take no more prisoners; and in the event of any tribes not present, taking any,
the others would rise against them, take away the captives, and put them to
death. Slover understood perfectly what
was said in these deliberations. They
laid plans also against the settlements of Kentucky, the Falls (Louisville),
and toward Wheeling. There was one
council held at which Slover was not present. The warriors had sent for him as usual, but the
squaw with whom he lived would not suffer him to go, but hid him under a large
quantity of skins. It may have been done
that Slover might not hear the determination she feared would be arrived at, to
burn him. About this time, twelve men
were brought in from Kentucky, three of whom were burnt in Wapatomica; the
remainder were distributed to other towns, and shared, as Slover was informed
by the Indians, the same fate.
The day after the last-mentioned
council, about forty warriors, accompanied by George Girty, an adopted
Delaware, a brother of Simon and James Girty, came early in the morning round
the house where Slover was. He was
sitting before the door. The squaw gave
him up. They put a rope around his neck,
tied his arms behind his back, stripped him naked, and blacked him in the usual
manner. Girty, as soon as he was tied,
cursed him, telling him he would get what he had many years deserved. Slover was led to a town about five miles
away, to which a messenger had been dispatched to desire them to prepare to
receive him. Arriving at the town, he
was beaten with clubs and the pipe ends of their tomahawks, and was kept for
some time tied to a tree before a house door. In the meantime, the inhabitants set out for
another town about two miles distant, where Slover was to be burnt, and where
he arrived about three o'clock in the afternoon. They were now at Mac-a-chack, not far from the
present site of West Liberty, in Logan county.
At Mac-a-chack there was a council-house
also, as at Wapatomica; but part only of it was covered. In the part without a roof was a post about
sixteen feet in height. Around this, at
a distance of four feet, were three piles of wood about three feet high. Slover was brought to the post, his arms again
tied behind him, and the thong or cord with which they were bound was fastened
to it. A rope was also put about his
neck, and tied to the post about four feet above his head. While they were tying him, the wood was
kindled and began to flame. Just then
the wind began to blow, and in a very short time, the rain fell violently. The fire which, by this time, had began to
blaze considerably, was instantly extinguished. The rain lasted about a quarter of an hour.
When it was over, the savages stood
amazed, and were a long time silent. At
last, one said they would let him alone till morning, and have a whole day's
frolic in burning him. The sun at this
time was about three hours high. The
rope about his neck was untied; and making him sit down, they began to dance
around him. This they continued until
eleven o'clock at night; in the meantime, beating, kicking, and wounding him
with their tomahawks and clubs.
At last, one of the warriors, the Half
Moon, asked him if he was sleepy. Slover
answered, "Yes." The head
warrior then chose out three men to take care of him. These took him to a block-house. They tied his arms until the cord was hid in
the flesh; once around the wrist and once above the elbows. A rope was fastened about his neck and tied to
a beam of the house, but permitting him to lie down on a board. The three warriors constantly harassed him,
saying: "How will you like to eat fire to-morrow? You will kill no more Indians now." Slover was in expectation of their going to
sleep, when at length, about an hour before daybreak, two laid down; but the
third smoked a pipe, and talked to the captive, asking him the same painful
questions. About half an hour after, he
also laid down. Slover heard him begin
to snore. Instantly he went to work; and
as his arms were perfectly benumbed, he laid himself down on his right one,
which was behind his back. With his fingers,
which still had some life and strength, he slipped the cord from his left arm
over his elbow and wrist.
One of the warriors now got up and
stirred the fire. Slover was
apprehensive that he would be examined, and thought it was all over with him;
but the Indian laid down again, and his hopes revived. He then attempted to unloose the rope about
his neck; tried to gnaw it, but all in vain, as it was as thick as his thumb
and very hard, being made of a buffalo hide. He wrought with it a long time; finally gave
it up; and could see no relief. It was
now daybreak. Again he made an attempt—almost without hope,
pulling the rope by putting his fingers between it and his neck,— when, to his
great surprise, it came easily untied. It
was a noose, with two or three knots tied over it.
Slover now stepped over the warriors as
they lay; and having got out of the house, looked back to see if there was any
disturbance. He then ran through the
town into a corn-field. In the way, he
saw four or five children and a squaw lying asleep under a tree. Going a different way into the field, he
untied his arm, which was greatly swollen and turned black. Having observed a number of horses in a glade
he had run through, he went back to catch one. On his way he found a piece of an old rug or
quilt hanging on a fence, which he took with him. Catching the horse,—the rope with which he had
been tied serving as a halter,—he mounted the animal and rode rapidly off. 3
Slover and Dr. Knight had been able to elude their
captors. Others were not so blessed. Col. Crawford himself is still at the mercy
of his merciless foes. Lord willing we’ll
pick up the story in my next post.
Christ, not man, is King!
Dale
1) C.W. Butterfield, An Historical Account of the Expedition Against Sandusky (Cincinnati, OH: Robert Clarke & Co., 1873), p. 330-8.
2) Ibid., p. 341-7.
3) Ibid., p. 351-6.
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