NECDOTES of men who have been distinguished for their bravery, whether friend or foe, civilized or savage, seldom fail to excite an interest.

During the second war with England, the Seneca nation of Indians, who resided in the neighborhood of Buffalo, were employed by the American government, and attached themselves to the army, then about to enter Canada, under the command of General Brown. The principal chief of this tribe was “Farmer’s Brother”—a stout, athletic warrior. The frosts of eighty winters had passed over his head; and yet he retained his faculties in an eminent degree. He possessed all the ardour of his young associates, and was uncommonly animated at the prospect which a fresh harvest of laurels presented to his mind.

This celebrated chief, in the war between England and France, was engaged in the service of the latter. He once pointed out, to the writer of this account, the spot where, with a party of Indians, he lay in ambush—patiently waiting the approach of a guard that accompanied the English teams, employed between the Falls of Niagara and the British garrison; the fort had lately surrendered to Sir William Johnson. The place selected for that purpose is now known by the name of the “Devil’s Hole,” and is three and a half miles below the famous cataract, upon the United States side. The mind can scarcely conceive a more dismal looking den. A large ravine, occasioned by the falling in of the perpendicular bank, made dark by the spreading branches of the birch and cedar, which had taken root below, and the low murmurings of the rapids in the chasm, added to the solemn thunder of the cataract itself, conspire to render the scene truly awful. The English party were not aware of the dreadful fate which awaited them. Unconscious of danger, the drivers were gaily whistling to their dull ox-teams. On their arrival at this spot, Farmer’s Brother and his band rushed from the thicket that had concealed them, and commenced a horrid butchery. So unexpected was the attack, and so completely were the English deprived of all presence of mind, but a feeble resistance was made. The guard, the teamsters, the oxen, and the wagons, were precipitated into the gulf. But two of them escaped; a Mr. Steadman, who lived at Schlosser, above the falls, being mounted on a fleet horse, made good his retreat; and one of the soldiers, who was caught on the projecting root of a cedar, which sustained him until—assured by the distant yells of the savages—they had left the grounds. He then clambered up, and proceeded to Fort Niagara, with the intelligence of this disaster. A small rivulet, which pours itself down this precipice, was literally colored with the blood of the vanquished—and has ever since borne the name of “The Bloody Run.”

In the war of the Revolution, Farmer’s Brother evinced his hostility to the Americans upon every occasion that occurred; and with the same zeal, he engaged in the late war against his former friends—the British.

Another anecdote of this chief will show, in more glaring colors, the real savage. A short time before the United States army crossed the Niagara, Farmer’s Brother chanced to observe an Indian, who had mingled with the Senecas, and whom he instantly recognised, as belonging to the Mohawks—a tribe living in Canada, and then employed in the enemy’s service. He went up to him, and addressed him in the Indian tongue:—“I know you well—you belong to the Mohawks—you are a spy—here is my rifle—my tomahawk—my scalping knife—I give you your choice, which of them shall I use?—but I am in haste!” The young warrior, finding resistance vain, chose to be despatched with the rifle. He was ordered to lie upon the grass; while, with the left foot upon the breast of his victim, the chief lodged the contents of the rifle into his head.

With so much of the savage, Farmer’s Brother possessed some estimable traits of character. He was as firm a friend, where he promised fidelity, as a bitter enemy to those against whom he contended; and would rather lose the last drop of his blood, than betray the cause he had espoused. He was fond of recounting his exploits, and, savage-like, dwelt with much satisfaction upon the number of scalps he had taken in his skirmishes with the whites.

In company with several other chiefs, he paid a visit to General Washington, who presented him with a silver medal. This he constantly wore, suspended from his neck; and, so precious was the gift in his eyes, that he often declared, he would lose it only with his life. Soon after the battles of Chippewa and Bridgewater, this veteran paid the debt of nature, at the Seneca village; and, out of respect to his bravery, he was interred with military honors from the fifth regiment of United States infantry.

Original

Original