The Indian: On the Battle-Field and in the Wigwam

ADVENTURE OF GENERAL PUTNAM

N the month of August, 1758, five hundred men were employed, under the orders of Majors Rogers and Putnam, to watch the French and Indians, near Ticonderoga. At South Bay, they separated the party into two equal divisions, and Rogers took a position on Wood creek, twelve miles distant from Putnam.

Upon being, sometime afterwards, discovered, they formed a re-union, and concerted measures for returning to Fort Edward. Their march through the woods, was in three divisions, by files, the right commanded by Rogers, the left by Putnam, and the centre by Captain D’Ell. The first night they encamped on the banks of Clear river, about a mile from old Fort Ann, which had been formerly built by General Nicholson.

Next morning, Major Rogers and a British officer, named Irwin, incautiously suffered themselves, from a spirit of false emulation, to be engaged in firing at a mark. Nothing could have been more repugnant to the military principles of Putnam than such conduct, or reprobated by him in more pointed terms. As soon as the heavy dew which had fallen the preceding night would permit, the detachment moved in one body, Putnam being in front, D’Ell in centre, and Rogers in the rear. The impervious growth of shrubs, and underbrush, that had sprung up, where the land had been partially cleared some years before, occasioned this change in the order of march. At the moment of moving, the famous French partisan, Molang, who had been sent with five hundred men, to intercept our party, was not more than a mile and a half distant from them. Having heard the firing, he hastened to lay an ambuscade precisely in that part of the wood most favorable to his project. Major Putnam was just emerging from the thicket, into the common forest, when the enemy rose, and with discordant yells and whoops, commenced an attack upon the right of his division. Surprised, but undismayed, Putnam halted, returned the fire, and passed the word for the other divisions to advance for his support. D’Ell came. The action, though widely scattered, and principally fought between man and man, soon grew general and intensely warm. It would be as difficult as useless to describe this irregular and ferocious mode of fighting. Rogers came not up; but, as he declared afterwards, formed a circular file between our party and Wood creek, to prevent their being taken in rear or enfiladed. Successful as he commonly was, his conduct did not always pass without unfavorable imputation. Notwithstanding, it was a current saying in the camp, “that Rogers always sent, but Putnam led his men to action,” – yet, in justice, it ought to be remarked here, that the latter has never been known, in relating the story of this day’s disaster, to fix any stigma upon the conduct of the former.

Major Putnam, perceiving it would be impracticable to cross the creek, determined to maintain his ground. Inspired by his example, the officers and men behaved with great bravery: sometimes they fought collectively in open view, and sometimes individually under cover; taking aim from behind the bodies of trees, and acting in a manner independent of each other. For himself; having discharged his fuzee several times, at length it missed fire, whilst the muzzle was pressed against the breast of a large and well proportioned savage. This warrior, availing himself of the indefensible attitude of his adversary, with a tremendous war-whoop sprang forward, with his lifted hatchet, and compelled him to surrender; and having disarmed and bound him fast to a tree, returned to the battle.

The intrepid Captains D’Ell and Harman, who now commanded, were forced to give ground for a little distance; the savages, conceiving this to be the certain harbinger of victory, rushed impetuously on, with dreadful and redoubled cries. But our two partisans, collecting a handful of brave men, gave the pursuers so warm a reception as to oblige them in turn, to retreat a little beyond the spot at which the action had commenced.

Here they made a stand. This change of ground occasioned the tree, to which Putnam was tied, to be directly between the two parties. Human imagination can hardly figure to itself a more deplorable situation. The balls flew incessantly from either side, many struck the tree, while some passed through the sleeves and skirts of his coat. In this state of jeopardy, unable to move his body, to stir his limbs, or even to incline his head, he remained more than an hour. So equally balanced, and so obstinate was the fight! At one moment, while the battle swerved in in favor of the enemy, a young savage chose an odd way of discovering his humor. He found Putnam bound. He might have despatched him at a blow; but he loved better to excite the terrors of the prisoner, by hurling a tomahawk at his head, or rather it should seem his object was to see how near he could throw it without touching him – the weapon struck in the tree a number of times at a hair’s breadth distant from the mark. When the Indian had finished his amusement, a French officer, (a much more inveterate savage by nature, though descended from so humane and polished a nation,) perceiving Putnam, came up to him, and levelling a fuzee within a foot of his breast, attempted to discharge it; it missed fire – ineffectually did the intended victim solicit the treatment due to his situation, by repeating that he was a prisoner of war. The degenerate officer did not understand the language of honor or of nature; deaf to their voice, and dead to sensibility, he violently and repeatedly pushed the muzzle of his gun against Putnam’s ribs, and finally gave him a cruel blow on the jaw with the butt of his piece. After this dastardly deed he left him.

At length the active intrepidity of D’Ell and Harman, seconded by the persevering valor of their followers, prevailed. They drove from the field the enemy, who left about ninety dead behind them. As they were retiring, Putnam was untied by the Indian who had made him prisoner, and whom he afterwards called master.

Having been conducted for some distance from the place of action, he was stripped of his coat, vest, stockings, and shoes; loaded with as many packs of the wounded as could be piled upon him: strongly pinioned, and his wrists tied as closely together as they could be pulled with a cord. After he had marched through no pleasant paths, in this painful manner, for many a tedious mile, the party, who were excessively fatigued, halted to breathe. His hands were now immoderately swelled from the tightness of the ligature; and the pain had become intolerable. His feet were so much scratched that the blood dropped fast from them. Exhausted with bearing a burden above his strength, and frantic with torments exquisite beyond endurance, he entreated the Irish interpreter to implore as the last and only grace he desired of the savages, that they would knock him on the head and take his scalp at once, or loose his hands.

A French officer, instantly interposing, ordered his hands to be unbound, and some of the packs to be taken off. By this time the Indian who captured him, and had been absent with the wounded, coming up, gave him a pair of moccasins, and expressed great indignation at the unworthy treatment his prisoner had suffered.

That savage chief again returned to the care of the wounded, and, the Indians, about two hundred in number, went before the rest of the party to the place where the whole were, that night, to encamp. They took with them Major Putnam, on whom (besides innumerable other outrages) they had the barbarity to inflict a deep wound with a tomahawk, in the cheek. His sufferings were in this place to be consummated. A scene of horror, infinitely greater than had ever met his eyes before, was now preparing. It was determined to roast him alive. For this purpose they led him into a dark forest, stripped him naked, bound him to a tree, and piled dried brush with other fuel, at a small distance, in a circle round him. They accompanied their labors, as if for his funeral dirge, with screams and sounds inimitable but by savage voices. Then they set the piles on fire. A sudden shower damped the rising flame. Still they strove to kindle it, until, at last, the blaze ran fiercely round the circle. Major Putnam soon began to feel the scorching heat. His hands were so tied that he could move his body. He often shifted sides as the fire approached. This sight, at the very idea of which all but savages must shudder, afforded the highest diversion to his inhuman tormentors, who demonstrated the delirium of their joy by corresponding yells, dances, and gesticulations. He saw clearly that his final hour was inevitably come. He summoned all his resolution and composed his mind, as far as the circumstances could admit, to bid an eternal farewell to all he held most dear.

To quit the world would scarcely have cost a single pang, but for the idea of home; but for the remembrance of domestic endearments, of the affectionate partner of his soul, and of their beloved offspring. His thought was ultimately fixed on a happier state of existence, beyond the tortures he was beginning to endure. The bitterness of death, even of that death which is accompanied with the keenest agonies, was, in a manner, past – nature, with a feeble struggle, was quitting its last hold on sublunary things – when a French officer rushed through the crowd, opened the way by scattering the burning brands, and unbound the victim. It was Molang himself – to whom a savage, unwilling to see another human sacrifice immolated, had run and communicated the tidings. That commandant spurned and severely reprimanded the barbarians, whose nocturnal powwows and hellish orgies he suddenly ended. Putnam did not want for feeling and gratitude. The French commander, fearing to trust him alone with them, remained until he could deliver him in safety into the hands of his master.

The savage approached his prisoner kindly, and seemed to treat him with peculiar affection. He offered him some hard biscuit, but finding that he could not chew them, on account of the blow he had received from the Frenchman, this more humane savage soaked some of the biscuit in water and made him suck the pulp-like part. Determined, however, not to lose his captive (the refreshment being finished) he took the moccasins from his feet and tied them to one of his wrists; then directing him to lie down on his back upon the bare ground, he stretched one arm to its full length, and bound it fast to a young tree; the other arm was extended and bound in the same manner – his legs were stretched apart and fastened to two saplings. Then a number of tall, but slender poles were cut down; which, with some long bushes, were laid across his body from head to foot: on each side lay as many Indians as could conveniently find lodging, in order to prevent the possibility of his escape. In this disagreeable and painful posture he remained until morning. During this night, the longest and most dreary conceivable, our hero used to relate that he felt a ray of cheerfulness come casually across his mind, and could not even refrain from smiling, when he reflected on this ludicrous group for a painter, of which he himself was the principal figure.

The next day he was allowed his blanket and moccasins, and permitted to march without carrying any pack, or receiving any insult. To allay his extreme hunger, a little bear’s meat was given him, which he sucked through his teeth. At night, the party arrived at Ticonderoga, and the prisoner was placed under a French guard. The savages, who had been prevented from glutting their diabolical thirst for blood, took other opportunities of manifesting their malevolence for the disappointment, by horrid grimaces and angry gestures; but they were suffered no more to offer violence or personal indignity to him.

After having been examined by the Marquis de Montcalm, Major Putnam was conducted to Montreal, by a French officer, who treated him with the greatest indulgence and humanity.

At this place were several prisoners. Colonel Peter Schuyler, remarkable for his philanthropy, generosity, and friendship, was of the number. No sooner had he heard of Major Putnam’s arrival, than he went to the interpreter’s quarters, and inquired whether he had a provincial major in his custody. He found Major Putnam in a comfortless condition – without hat, waistcoat, or hose – the remnant of his clothing miserably dirty, and ragged – his beard long and squalid – his legs torn by thorns and briers – his face gashed with wounds, and swollen with bruises. Colonel Schuyler, irritated beyond all sufferance at such a sight, could scarcely restrain his speech within limits consistent with the prudence of a prisoner, and the meekness of a Christian. Major Putnam was immediately treated according to his rank, clothed in a decent manner, and supplied with money by that liberal and sympathetic patron of the distressed.

The capture of Frontenac, by General Brad-street, afforded occasion for an exchange of prisoners: Colonel Schuyler was comprehended in the cartel. A generous spirit can never be satisfied with imposing tasks for its generosity to accomplish. Apprehensive if it should be known that Putnam was a distinguished partisan, his liberation might be retarded, and knowing that there were officers, who, from the length of their captivity, had a claim of priority to exchange; he had, by his happy address, induced the governor to offer, that whatever officer he might think proper to nominate, should be included in the present cartel. With great politeness in manner, but seeming indifference as to object, he expressed his warmest acknowledgments to the governor, and said: “There is an old man here, who is a provincial major, and he wishes to be at home with his wife and children. He can do no good here, or any where else: I believe your excellency had better keep some of the young men, who have no wife or children to care for, and let the old fellow go home with me.” This justifiable finesse had the desired effect.

THE INDIANS OF ST. MARY’S

IT belonged to a member of the once dominant sect of Catholics to glorify his creed and clime, and to set an example to the world, in the establishment of complete religious liberty. To George Calvert, the originator of the scheme for colonizing Maryland, this honor belonged; but, alas! he was not permitted to execute the plans his noble heart conceived, for death snatched him from his labors, ere the boon he contemplated for the world was ready to be given.

But Cecil Calvert was a worthy son of so great a father. He at once entered into all the plans of his deceased parent, and with a veneration that does him credit, resolved that they should be carried out to the fullest extent; and the slightest wish the old lord had expressed in regard to the new colony should be religiously complied with. Bigots sneered at him, enemies maligned, but, conscious of the rectitude of his purpose, he steadily pursued his plans.

Under the guidance of Leonard Calvert, (a brother of the proprietor), some two hundred English gentlemen, and their servants, mostly of the catholic persuasion, sailed for the province, in November, 1633, and after the usual vicissitudes and adventures of a sea voyage at that period, arrived in the Potomac in the spring of 1634. A small party was despatched into the interior to explore the country previous to effecting a permanent settlement; the woods were then all joyous and teeming with grandeur, and loveliness of spring tinting the fair face of nature with that peculiar and fascinating beauty which is better felt than described.

To the sea-worn colonists, the country opened before them as a broad fair haven, where they might worship God free as the air and feel themselves men. The scouts soon returned, and, according to their direction, the party moved up to a spot they had selected on the banks of a clear and silvery stream flowing into the broad river they had first entered. Here, with the usual ceremonies, Calvert took possession, naming the surrounding country “Marie-land,” in honor of “our glorious ladye, the queene;” and in gratitude for their success thus far, they named the river St. Mary.

But the good Cecil, in the wise provision for the wants of his people had not forgotten the rightful lords of the soil, the Indian aborigines. “Entreat them kindly always, I conjure you, endeavor assiduously to cultivate their friendship, and above all take no land from them but what ye might pay therefor,” Such were the mild and benevolent instructions of the proprietor, and faithfully were they carried into execution by his brother, the governor.

Anxious, therefore, to secure his settlement on a firm basis, and to obtain an acknowledged title to the soil, Calvert submitted to a neighboring chief, his propositions to purchase land of him, but received an answer of sullen indifference, “I will neither bid you go nor ask you to stay.” Such was the address and courtesy of the governor, however, and the just and pacific policy of his people, that not only was the stoic warrior won over to their interests, but he also exerted his influence with the neighboring tribes, on behalf of the new comers.

Through his aid a council of the neighboring Indians was soon convened. The governor appeared in pomp, and addressed them, calling them brothers, and asking for a piece of ground, that he and his people might plant corn, and the red man and the pale face would live together in peace and unity. He described to them, in their own exaggerated rhetoric, the power of the King of England, and his master, the Lord of Baltimore, and told them the kind messages he had sent to his forest children.

The Indians replied in the language of kindness and conciliation. “The white man should have land – room enough for both people – plenty room – White chief very good to send word to the Indians.” The governor and chief then embraced each other, and the pipe of peace was passed round the circle, each one gravely taking a few whiffs. A treaty was then made, giving to the settlers a considerable tract of land, within which was the Indian town of Taocomoco.

To this town they gave the name of St. Mary’s, in honor of the Virgin, and the first building erected was a chapel dedicated to her worship. The Indians looked upon the colonists with surprise, they mingled freely with them, and had many curious and amusing questions to ask concerning every thing they saw, and which was all new to them.

One morning a party of them wandered into the church, and gazed with bewildered air upon the pictures and crucifixes with which it was decorated. Shortly after this, one of their number being on a visit to the governor, he presented him with a rosary, having a small crucifix attached; the happy fellow received it with a yell of delight, and ran off to his comrades, whirling up his prize, and they immediately commenced kneeling and crossing themselves in the same manner they had observed the worshippers do in the chapel.

It is something refreshing and ennobling, amid the dark and sickening catalogue of bigotry, slaughter, and desolating wars which disgraced the history of too many of our states, to look back on one green spot, where fellow men were not spurned and despised on account of their creed, and where the poor Indian was treated with kindness.

Many of the tribes in the vicinity, attracted by curiosity, and the good name given to these new people, came to the settlement, and their chiefs were entertained with a sumptuous feast on board a ship, which lay anchored in the river, the King of Patuxent being seated at the table between the Governor of Maryland, and the Governor of Virginia, who was also present on a friendly mission.

When the storehouse was finished, and it became necessary to unload the ships, the governor, in order to gratify his Indian friends, and make a proper impression on all who were inclined to be enemies, directed it to be done with all due solemnity. The colors were displayed, and the colonists clad in military costume, paraded under arms, to the strains of martial music, the sound of which so delighted the Indians, that they clapped their hands in glee, and struck off in one of their national festive dances.

Volleys of musketry were fired on shore, and answered by discharges of cannon on board the ship, which terrified the Indians so highly, that they fled some distance into the woods; but finding no harm done, they returned greatly impressed with the power of the people who could bring “the big thunder” to their aid. Some of the sachems from a distance, being present at this exhibition, took occasion to warn the Indians of Yaocomoco, (or St. Mary’s, as it was now called,) to keep the league they had made with the English.

The old King of Patuxent in particular showed undecided partiality for the “good men,” as he called them. He remained in town several days, during which he was treated with becoming attention, and when about to leave, made use of this remarkable expression, to the governor: “I love the English so well, that if they should go about to kill me, I would command the people not to avenge my death; for I know they would do no such a thing, except it were through my own fault.”

At length the ship sailed, leaving the colonists alone with their red brethren. Before he left, however, the captain called the Indians together, and told them he was going, and they must be kind to the people he left behind, and he would tell his great lord how good they were.

The Indians seemed much affected when he told them he was going, and pressed around to take a farewell. They accompanied him to the boat, and brought some of their forest furs, and bows, and ornamented pipes, which they begged him to give “to great white chief, and tell him how much his Indian children love him – thank him very much, for the good people he send to live among Indians, – we love him much, and we love his people. We be all English.”

No community could now be happier than the little colony on the St. Mary’s. It seemed as if the golden age was realized, when all men should dwell together in peace and unity. The English and the Indians lived together in St. Mary’s, each occupying half the town according to a stipulation between them, and the utmost harmony prevailed.

Once a party of them visiting the governor’s, they were shown a portrait of the proprietor, Cecil Calvert, the second Lord Baltimore, which they regarded in silence for some time, and then exclaimed, “great father, good father – He love us much – we love him,” and eagerly inquired if he would ever come over and see them.

Frequently they would enter the chapel when the congregation was at worship, and would look with respectful attention on the ceremonies. The worthy pastor of the colonists, early took a great interest in the welfare of the Indians. He delighted to see them in the chapel, and would tell them to come often. A class of native children was soon formed to learn the catechism, and some few of the adults were won over to the catholic faith, and were received into the church by baptism, with becoming ceremony. The good priest was very kind to his Indian charge; he would enter their wigwams and talk to them, and give them little pictures of the saints, and small rosaries, which they stuck up in conspicuous places and highly esteemed.

In this way he won their gratitude and affection, until he came to be regarded by them with dutiful awe and reverence, and received the title of father, the same which the whites gave him. They would say, “big chief great man – Father also great, he be good – talk kind to Indian – Indian sick – he give him good medicine make him well. Father great medicine-man, him big doctor beat Indian medicine-man.”

The natives testified their friendly disposition, by going every day into the woods with their new neighbors, pointing out the best resorts of game, joining in the chase with them, and when the whites were too busy to hunt, they would go alone, and bring home venison and wild turkies in abundance, which they would lay at the feet of the settlers, and go away well satisfied with the cheap requital of knives, beads, and toys.