British a large supply of arms, which Canada greatly needed, and also gave them time to secure the alliance of savage tribes ever ready to join the victorious party.

Hull was tried by a court-martial and condemned to be shot, but was pardoned by the President in consideration of his age and Revolutionary services. He was no coward, but, swayed too much by considerations of humanity, committed a grave error of judgment. He was wholly incompetent to meet and overcome obstacles which a younger and more energetic man would have successfully encountered.

After the surrender, Brock, who had a high opinion of the sagacity and gallantry of Tecumseh, took off his own rich crimson silk sash, and publicly placed it round the waist of the chief, who was much pleased at such a mark of respect, but who received it with dignity. With rare modesty he at once placed it upon Round Head, a celebrated Wyandot warrior, saying, "I do not wish to wear such a mark of distinction when an older and abler warrior than myself is present." For his services at the battle of Maguaga he had been rewarded by the British Government with the commission of brigadier-general.

Tecumseh's appearance at this time was very prepossessing. His age was about forty, his complexion light copper, and his countenance oval, with bright hazel eyes, indicating cheerfulness, energy, and decision. Three small silver crosses or coronets were suspended from the lower cartilage of his aquiline nose, and a large silver medallion of George III., which an ancestor had received, was attached to a mixed-colored wampum string and hung round his neck. His dress consisted of a plain, neat uniform-tanned deerskin jacket, with long trousers of the same material, the seams of both being covered with neatly cut fringe. His moccasins were much ornamented with work made from the dyed quills of the porcupine. The cap was red, the band ornamented with colored porcupine quills. When in full dress, on gala occasions, he wore a cocked hat and plume.

The success of the British in this campaign was largely owing to the efficient co-operation of Tecumseh and his Indians, and to the fears with which they inspired the American commander.

In 1804 the United States had erected upon the site of a French tradingpost, at the mouth of the Chicago River, where the city of Chicago now stands, a small work called Fort Dearborn. It was garrisoned

Angust, 1812.

at this time by seventy-five men, under Captain Heald. While manifesting friendship for the garrison, the Potawatomies in its vicinity were in alliance with Great Britain, and were annually receiving a large supply of presents at Fort Malden, on the Canada side.

In obedience to orders, but contrary to the advice of his officers and of Winnemeg, a friendly chief, the provisions and goods in the fort were distributed among the Indians in the vicinity, and on the morning of August 15th the garrison evacuated the fort, and took up the line of march for Fort Wayne. They were accompanied by about five hundred Potawatomies, who had pledged their word to escort them in safety to that post.

They had proceeded but a mile and a half when these treacherous savages attacked and surrounded them. After a short conflict, in which half his men were killed or wounded, Heald surrendered. A portion of the prisoners were taken to Detroit, the remainder were distributed among the Potawatomie villages. The wounded prisoners were not included in the stipulation, and many of them were put to death with savage barbarity.

The wife of Lieutenant Helm, one of Heald's officers, in describing this scene, says: "I felt that my hour was come, and endeavored to forget those that I loved, and prepare myself for my approaching fate. At this moment a young Indian raised his tomahawk at me. By springing aside I avoided the blow which was aimed at my head, but which alighted on my shoulder. I seized him around the neck, and while exerting my utmost efforts to get possession of his scalping - knife, which hung in a scabbard over his breast, I was dragged from his grasp by another and older Indian.

"The latter bore me, struggling and resisting, towards the lake. I was

immediately plunged into the water, and held there with a forcible hand, notwithstanding my resistance. I soon perceived, however, that the object of my captor was not to drown me, as he held me in a position to place my head above the water. Looking at him attentively, I soon recognized, in spite of the paint with which he was disguised, 'The Black Partridge.' "This was a chief of some distinction, who entertained a strong personal regard for many of the white families in the fort. The evening before the massacre he had entered Heald's room, and said, 'Father, I come to deliver the medal I wear. up to you It was given me by the Americans, and I have long worn it in token of mutual friendship. But our young men are resolved to imbrue their hands in the blood of the whites. I cannot restrain them, and I will not wear a token of peace while I am compelled to act as an enemy.'

"When the firing had somewhat subsided, my preserver bore me from the water and conducted me up the sand-banks. It was a burning August morning, and walking through the sand in my drenched condition was inexpressibly painful and fatiguing. I stopped, and took off my shoes to free them from the sand with which they were nearly filled, when a squaw seized and carried them off. . . . Supported partly by my kind conductor, and partly by another Indian, I dragged my fainting steps to one of the wigwams.

"Seeing my exhausted condition, the wife of a chief standing near dipped up some water from a stream close at hand, threw into it some maple-sugar, and, stirring it, gave it to me to drink. This act of kindness, in the midst of so many atrocities of which I was witness, touched me most sensibly."

After passing through the scenes above described, Mrs. Helm was taken to Detroit; her husband, who had also been taken prisoner, was afterwards liberated. Fifteen years later the town, now the fourth city in population in the United States, was laid out near the scene of this mas

sacre.

Sept., 1812.

Zachary Taylor, a young captain in the army, afterwards President of the United States, commanded at Fort Harrison on the Wabash, a short distance above the site of the present city of Terre Haute. Friendly Miamis had warned him of the hostile disposition of the neighboring tribes, and he was on his guard. The garrison consisted of about fifty men, not more than a dozen of whom were, owing to a prevailing fever, fit for duty. Taylor himself was just recovering from an attack of bilious fever.

At midnight on September 4th he was aroused by the guns of his sen

tinels. Every man was ordered to his post, and some of the sick volunteered for the emergency. The lower block-house, containing all the supplies for the garrison, had been set on fire by the savages. It was soon consumed, thus making an opening for the foe, and for a time the destruction of the whole fortification seemed imminent. A smart fire was all the

time kept up by the savages. The garrison, weakened by sickness and exhaustion, were dismayed, and for a moment regarded all as lost and gave way to despair. Two of the stoutest and most trusted of the soldiers leaped the palisades and attempted to escape. Everything depended upon the presence of mind, courage, and energy of the commander. The flames had reached the barracks when he shouted,

"Pull off the roofs nearest the block-house, pour on water, and all will be well!"

His voice reanimated the men; they put forth a degree of strength