THERE is seldom a more difficult task under­taken by man, than the act of writing a narra­tive of a person's own life; especially where the inci­dents border on the marvellous. Prodigies but sel­dom happen, and the veracity of relaters of them is still less frequently vouched for; however, as the dis­pensations of Providence towards me have been too striking not to make a deep and grateful impression, and as the principal part of them can be attested to by living evidences, I shall proceed, being confident that the candid reader will pardon the inaccuracies of an illiterate soldier, and that the tender hearted will drop the tear of sympathy, when they realize the idea of the sufferings of such of our unfortunate country folks as fall into the hands of the western Indians, whose tender mercies are cruelties.

I was born and brought up at Falmouth, Cascobay, where I resided until I attained to the seventeenth year of my age. My parents were poor, the farm we oc­cupied small and hard to cultivate, their family large and expensive, and every way fitted to spare me to seek a separate fortune; at least these ideas had gain­ed so great an ascendancy in my mind that I deter­mined, with the consent of my parents, to look out for means of supporting myself.

[Page 4]Having fixed on the matter firmly, I took leave of my friends and sailed on the 1st of May, 1791, on board a coasting schooner for Boston. Being arrived in this capital, and entirely out of employ, I had many uneasy sensations, and more than once sincerely wished myself at home with my parents; however, as I had set out on an important design, and as yet met with no misfortune, pride kept me from this act, while necessity urged me to fix speedily on some mode of obtaining a livelihood.

My mind was severely agitated on this subject one morning, when a young officer came into my room, and soon entered into conversation on the pleasures of a military life, the great chance there was for an active young man to obtain promotion, and the grand prospect opening for making great fortunes in the western country. His artifice had the desired effect; for after treating me with a bowl or two of punch, I enlisted, with a firm promise on his side to assist me in obtaining a serjeant's warrant before the party left Boston.

An entire new scene now opened before me; instead becoming a serjeant, I was treated severely for my ignorance in a matter I had until then scarcely thought it, and insultingly ridiculed for remonstrating against the conduct of the officer. I suffered great uneasiness on these and other accounts of a similar kind, for some time; at length, convinced of the futility of complaint, I applied myself to study the exercise, and in a few days became tolerably expert. The begin­ning of July we left Boston, and proceeded on our way to join the western army. When we arrived at Fort Washington I was ordered to join Capt. Phelon's company, and in a few days set out on the expedition under General Harmar. Those alone who have ex­perienced, can tell what hardships men undergo in such excursions; hunger, fatigue and toil were our [Page 5] constant attendants; however, as our expectations were raised with the idea of easy conquest, rich plun­der, and fine farms in the end, we made a shift to be tolerably merry: For my own part, I had obtained a serjeancy, and flattered myself I was in the direct road to honour, fame and fortune. Alas! how fluctuating are the scenes of life! how singularly precarious the fortune of a soldier! before a single opportunity pre­sented in which I could have a chance to signalize myself, it was my lot to be taken in an ambuscade, by a party of Kickapoo Indians, and with ten others constrained to experience scenes, in comparison of which our former distresses sunk into nothing. We were taken on the banks of the Wabash, and imme­diately conveyed to the upper Miami, at lead such of us as survived. The second day after we were taken, one of my companions, by the name of George Ai­kins, a native of Ireland, became so faint with hunger and fatigue that he could proceed no further; a short council was immediately held among the Indians who guarded us, the result of which was that he should be put to death: This was no sooner determined on, than a scene of horror began: The captain of the guard approached the victim, who lay bound upon the ground, and with his knife made a circular incision on the skull; two others immediately pulled off the scalp; after this they each of them struck him on the head with their tomahawks; they then stripped him naked, stabbed him with their knives in every sensi­tive part of the body, and left him weltering in blood, though not quite dead, a wretched victim to Indian rage and hellish barbarity.

We were eight days on our march to the upper Mi­ami, during which painful travel, no pen can describe our sufferings from hunger, thirst, and toil. We were met at the entrance of the town by above five hun­dred Indians, besides squaws and children, who ap­proached [Page 6] by a most hideous yelling made by our guard, and answered repeatedly from the village.— Here we were all severely beaten by the Indians, and four of our number, viz. James Durgee, of Concord, Samuel Forsythe, of Beverly, Robert Deloy, of Mar­blehead, and Uzza Benton, of Salem, who all faint­ed under their heavy trials, were scalped and toma­hawked in our presence, and tortured to death with every inflicted misery that Indian ingenuity could in­vent.

It was the 4th of August when we were taken, and our unhappy companions were massacred the 13th. News was that day received of the destruction of L'Anguille, &c. by General Harmar, numbers of scalps were exhibited by the warriors, and several prisoners, among whom were three women and six children, carried through the village, destined to a Kickapoo settlement further westward. The fifteenth of August four more of my fellow prisoners, viz. Lemuel Saunders, of Boston, Thomas Thap, of Dor­chester, Vincent Upham, of Mistic, and Younglove Croxall, of Abington, were taken from us, but wheth­er they were massacred or preserved alive, I am una­ble to say. After this nothing material occurred for a fortnight, except that we were several times severely whipped on the receipt of bad news, and our allow­ance of provisions lessened, so that we did not fall an immediate sacrifice to the fire or tomahawk, but Heav­en had otherwise decreed.

On the night following the 30th of August, our guard, which consisted of four Indians, tired out with watching, laid down to sleep, leaving only an old squaw to attend to us; Providence so ordered that my companion had by some means got one of his hands at liberty, and having a knife in his pocket, soon cut the withes that bound his feet, and that which pin­ioned my arms, unperceived of the old squaw, who [Page 7] sat in a drowsy position, not suspecting harm, over a small fire in the wigwam.

I ruminated but a few moments on our situation; there was no weapon near us, except my companion's knife, which he still held; I looked on him to make him observe me, and the same instant sprang and grasped the squaw by the throat to prevent her making a noise, and my comrade in a moment dispatched her for the world of spirits. He then seized a tomahawk, and myself a rifle, and striking at the same instant, dispatched two of our enemies; the sound of these blows awakened the others, but before they had time to rise, we renewed our strokes on them, and luckily to so good effect as to stun them, and then repeating the blow we sunk a tomahawk in each of their heads, armed ourselves completely, and taking what provi­sions the wigwam afforded, we committed ourselves to the protection of Providence, and made the best of our way into the wilderness.

The compass of a volume would scarce contain the events of our progress through the wilderness, but as they were interesting to none but us, I shall only ob­serve generally, that the difficulties of the journey were too great to have been endured by any who had less interest than life at stake, or a less terrible enemy than Indians to fear. Hunger, thirst and fatigue were our constant companions, and of a truth we could de­clare that wearisome nights were appointed unto us: We travelled hard day and night, except the few hours absolutely requisite for repose, that nature might not sink under her oppression, at which period one constantly watched while the other slept. In this tiresome mode we proceeded until the 15th of Septem­ber, having often to shift our direction on account of impassable bogs, deep morasses and hideous precipices, without meeting any adventure worthy note. On the morning of the 15th, as we were steering nearly a [Page 8] north course in order to avoid a bog that intercepted our course S. E. we found the bodies of one old man, a woman and two children newly murdered, stript and scalped. This horrid spectacle chilled our blood; we viewed the wretched victims, and from what we could collect from circumstances, we concluded that they had been dragged away from their homes, and their feet being worn out, had been murdered inhumanly and left weltering in their blood. We were at a great loss now to determine what course to steer; at length we pitched on a direction about northwest, and walked on as fast as possible to escape the savages, if practicable. About noon this day we came to a good spring, which was a great relief to us, but which we had great reason, a few minutes after, to believe would be the last of our earthly comforts. My companion, Richard Sackville, a corporal of Capt. Newman's company, stepped aside into a thicket on some occa­sion, and returned with the account that a few rods distant he had discovered four Indians with two mis­erable wretches bound, sitting under a tree, eating; and that if I would join him, he would either relieve the captives or perish in the attempt: The resolution of my worthy comrade pleased me greatly; and as no time was to be lost, we sat immediately about the ex­ecution of our design: Sackville took the lead, and conducted me, undiscovered, within fifty yards of the Indians. Two of them were laid down, with their muskets in their arms, and appeared to be asleep; the others sat at the head of the prisoners, their muskets resting against their left shoulders, and in their right hands each of them a tomahawk, over the head of their prisoners: We each chose our man to fire at, and, taking aim deliberately, had the satisfaction to see them both fall; the others instantly started, and seem­ing at a loss to determine from whence the assault was made, fell on their bellies, and looked carefully around, [Page 9] to discover the best course to take; meantime we had re-charged, and shifting our position a little, im­patiently waited their rising; in a minute they raised on their hands and knees, and having, as we supposed, discovered the smoke of our guns rising above the bushes, attempted to crawl into the thicket on the opposite side. This gave us a good chance, and we again fired, at different men, and with such effect that we brought them both down; one lay motionless, the other crawled along a few yards; we loaded in an in­stant, and rushed towards him, yet keeping an eye on him, as he had reached his comrade's gun, and sat up­right in a posture of defence. By our noise in the bushes he discovered the direction to fire; alas! too fatally, for by his fatal shot I lost my faithful comrade and friend Sackville. At this moment the two pris­oners, who were close pinioned, endeavoured to make their escape towards me, but the desperate savage again fired, and shot one of them dead; the other gained the thicket within a few yards of me: I had now once more got ready to fire, and discharged at the wounded Indian; at this discharge I wounded him in the neck, from whence I perceived the blood to flow swiftly, but he yet undauntedly kept his seat, and having new charged his guns, fired upon us with them both, and then fell, seemingly from faintness and loss of blood. I ran instantly to the pinioned white man, and having unbound his arms, and armed him with the unfortunate Sackville's musket, we cautiously ap­proached a few yards nearer the wounded Indian, when I ordered my new comrade to fire, and we could per­ceive the shot took effect, yet the savage lay motion­less. As soon as my companion had re-loaded, we approached the Indian, whom we found not quite dead, and a tomahawk in each hand, which he flour­ished at us, seemingly determined not to be taken alive. I felt for my own part determined to take him [Page 10] alive, if possible, but my new comrade prevented me by shooting him through the body. I now inquired of my new companion what course we ought to steer, and whence the party came, from whose power I had relieved him; he informed me with respect to the course, which we immediately took, and on the way let me know that we were within about three days march of Fort Jefferson; that he and three others were taken by a party of ten Wabash Indians four days before, in the neighbourhood of that fort; that two of his companions, being wounded, were immediately scalped and killed; that the party, at the time of taking him, had in their possession seven other prison­ers, three of whom were committed to the charge of a party of four Indians; what became of them he knew not; the others being worn down with fatigue, were massacred the day before, and which I found to be those whose bodies poor Sackville discovered in the thicket; that the other two Indians were gone to­wards the settlements, having sworn to kill certain per­sons whose names he had forgotten, and that destruc­tion seemed to be their whole drift.

My comrade, whose name on inquiry I found to be Gregory Sexton, formerly a resident of Newport, Rhode-Island, I found to be an excellent woodsman, and a man of great spirit, and so grateful for the de­liverance I had been instrumental in obtaining for him, that he would not suffer me to watch for him to sleep, but one hour in the four and twenty, although he was so fatigued as to have absolute need of a much greater proportion; neither would he permit me to carry any of our baggage.

From the time of being joined by Sexton, we steer­ed a S. E. course, as direct as possible, until the 18th towards night, directing our course by the sun and the moss on the trees by day, and the moon by night; on the evening of the 18th, we providentially fell in [Page 11] with an American scouting party, who conducted us safely, in a few hours, to Fort Jefferson, where we were treated with great humanity, and supplied with the best refreshments the fort afforded, which to me was very acceptable, as I had not tasted any thing, except wild berries and ground nuts, for above a week.

This fort is situated in a fertile country, within a few miles of the spot where Braddock's defeat took place. I walked over the ground where the action happened, a few days after our arrival at Fort Jeffer­son, and viewed it very attentively; having a com­panion with me who was able to describe the differ­ent positions of the English army on that very unhap­py day. In many places we observed human bones strewed on the ground, which remained unconsumed, and excited melancholy sensations. Many of the trees around still shew the scars of balls which grazed them in the action. Alas! how little did I think at the time of viewing these things, that an army of Americans, nearly equal in number to general Brad­dock's, was destined in a few days to experience a sim­ilar defeat, and fly across this melancholy spot: This however was the case, and myself, so often in danger, and so repeatedly the subject of signal deliverances, was by destiny to be an actor in the tremendous scene; and once more, almost miraculously, to escape alive, while death, in its most dreadful shape, appear­ed in every direction, and seemed to be insatiable in his desire of victims.

The week after our arrival at Fort Jefferson, I was able to return to my own regiment, which, the latter end of October, joined the western army, on an expe­dition against the Indians of the Miami Village, the place in which I had suffered so much, and so recently, and where I had beheld so many cruelties perpetrated on the unfortunate Americans. It is easier to con­ceive than describe the perturbation of my mind [...] [Page 12] this occasion—the risk I should run, in common with my fellow soldiers, seemed heightened by the certainty of torture that awaited me in case of being captured by the savages. However, these reflections only oc­casioned a firm resolution of doing my duty vigilantly, and selling my life in action as dear as possible, but by no means to be taken alive, if I could evade it by any exertion short of suicide.

My captain shewed me every kindness in his power on the march, indulged me with a horse as often as possible, and promised to use his influence to obtain a commission for me, if I conducted well the present expedition;—poor gentleman! little did he think he was soon to expire, gallantly fighting the battles of his country! I hasten now to the most interesting part of my short narrative, the description of Gen. St. Clair's defeat, and the scenes which succeeded it.

On the 3d of November we arrived within a few miles of the Miami Village. Our army consisted of about 1200 regular troops, and nearly an equal num­ber of militia. The night of the 3d, having reason to expect an attack, we were ordered under arms about midnight, and kept in order until just before day light; at which time, scouts having been sent out in various directions, and no enemy discovered, we were dismissed from the parade to take some refreshment. The men in general, almost worn out with fatigue, had thrown themselves down to repose a little: But their rest was of short duration, for before sunrise the Indians began a tremendous attack upon the militia, soon threw them into disorder, and forced them to re­tire before them precipitately, into the very heart of our camp.

But alas! what were my feelings, when starting from my slumbers, I heard the most tremendous fir­ing all around, with yellings, horrid whoopings, and expiring groans in dreadful discord sounding in mine [Page 13] ears. I seized my arms, ran out of my tent with several of my comrades, and saw the Indians with their bloody tomahawks and murderous knives butchering the flying militia. I flew towards them, filled with desperation, discharged my firelock among them, and had the satisfaction to see one of the tawny savages fall, whose tomahawk was at that instant elevated to strike a gallant officer, who was then engaged sword in hand with a savage in front. My example, I have reason to think, animated my companions. Our own compa­ny now reached the place we occupied, and aided by the regulars of other companies and regiments, who joined us indiscriminately, we drove the Indians back into the bush, and soon after formed in tolerable order, under as gallant commanders as ever died in defence of America. The firing ceased for a few minutes, but it was like the interval of a tornado, calculated, by an instantaneous, dreadful reverse, to strike the deeper horror. In one and the same minute, seemingly, the most deadly and heavy firing took place in every part of our camp; the army, exposed to the shot of the enemy, delivered from the ground, fell on every side, and drenched the plains in blood, while the dis­charge from our troops, directed almost at random, I am fearful did but little execution. Orders were now given to charge with bayonets, we obeyed with alac­rity; a dreadful swarm of tawny savages rose from the ground and fled before us; but alas! our officers, rendered conspicuous by their exertions to stimulate the men, become victims to savage ingenuity, and fell so fast, in common with the rest, that scarce a shot spent in vain.—Advantages gained by the bayonet were, by this means, and want of due support, lost again, and our little corps obliged, in turn, repeat­edly to give way before the Indians.—We were now reduced to less than half our original number of regular troops, and less than a fourth part of our officers, our [Page 14] horses all killed or taken, our artillery men all cut off, and the pieces in the enemy's hands; in this dread­ful dilemma we had nothing to do but to attempt a retreat, which soon became a flight, and for several miles, amidst the yells of Indians, more dreadful to my ears than screams of hateful fiends to my ideas, amidst the groans of dying men, and the dreadful sight of bloody massacres on every side, perpetrated by the In­dians on the unfortunate creatures they overtook, I endured a degree of torture no tongue can describe, or heart conceive; yet, I providentially escaped un­hurt, and frequently discharged my musket, as I am persuaded, to effect.

Providence was pleased to sustain my spirits and preserve my strength, and although I had been so far spent previous to setting out on the expedition, as to be unable to go upon fatigue for several days, or even to bear a moderate degree of exercise, I reached Fort Jefferson the day after the action, about ten in the morning, having travelled on foot all night to effect it.

Thus have I made the reader acquainted with the most interesting scenes of my life; many of them are extraordinary, some of them perhaps incredible, but all of them founded in fact, which can be attested by numbers. Gen. St. Clair, in consequence of my suf­ferings, and what he and others were pleased to call soldier-like exertions, presented me with an ensign's commission, on joining the remains of my old compa­ny, in which station I mean to serve my country again, as far as my slender abilities will permit; trusting that the same kind, protecting Providence, which hath covered my head in the day of battle, and shielded me repeatedly in the hour of danger, will dispose of me as to infinite wisdom seems best; and if I die in the cause of my country, may the remembrance of my sufferings, escapes, perseverance through divine sup­port and repeated mercies received, kindle a flame of [Page 15] heroism in the breast of many an American youth, and induce him, while he reads the sufferings of his unfor­tunate countrymen, to exert himself to defend the worthy inhabitants on the frontiers from the depreda­tions of savages; whose horrid mode of war is a scene to be deprecated by civilized nature, whose ten­der mercies are cruelties, and whose faith is by no means to be depended on, though pledged in the most solemn treaties. The reader will permit me to close a short, but to me an extremely interesting narrative, with a few lines composed, as a song, by my worthy comrade Sackville, a few days before his death, dur­ing his hour to watch while I slept.