This somewhat warmly expressed compliment,—the extravagance of which in an old friend of the subject, may be excused in its good feeling,—reminds us of the consideration really due to a man distinguished not alone as a competitor with our hero for savage glory.
Except as related to oratory, he was a competitor in the same course. The name of Farmer's-Brother was merely arbitrary. He was a warrior in principle and in practice, and he spurned agriculture and every other civilized art, with the contempt of Red-Jacket himself. In the war between France and England, which resulted in the conquest of Canada, he fought against the latter, and probably under the remote command of the great Ottawa "Emperor" of the north. One of his exploits in the contest is still told to the traveler who passes a noted stream not very far from the ancient Fort Niagara, in the vicinity of which it occurred. The particulars come to us authenticated by one to whom they were furnished by the Farmer himself on the site of the adventure.
There, with a party of Indians, he lay in ambush, patiently awaiting the approach of a guard that accompanied the English teams employed between the falls of Niagara and the garrison, which had there lately surrendered to Sir William Johnston. 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 American side of the strait. 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 murmuring 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 that awaited them. Unconscious of danger, the drivers were gaily whistling to their dull ox-teams. Farmer's-Brother and his band, on their arrival at this spot, rushed from the thicket that had concealed them, and commenced a horrid butchery. So unexpected was such an event, and so completely were the English disarmed of their presence of mind, that 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. Stedman, who lived at Schioper, 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 yell of the savages, that they had quited the ground.—It is the rivulet, pouring itself down this precipice, whose name is the only monument that records the massacre. It is said to have been literally colored with the blood of the vanquished.
In the Revolutionary War, Farmer's-Brother evinced his hostility to the Americans upon every occasion that presented itself; and, with the same zeal, he engaged in the late war against his former friends, the English.
Another anecdote of this Chief will show, in more glowing colors, the real savage. A short time before our army crossed the Niagara, Farmer's-Brother chanced to observe an Indian, who had mingled with the Senecas, and whom he instantly recognized as belonging to the Mohawks, a tribe living in Canada, and then employed in the service of the enemy. 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 I shall use, but I am in haste." The young warrior, finding resistance vain, chose to be put to death with a rifle. He was ordered to lie down upon the grass, while, with his left foot upon the breast of the victim, the Chief lodged the contents of his rifle in his head.
With so much of the savage, Farmer's-Brother possessed some noble traits. He was as firm a friend where he promised fidelity, as a bitter enemy to those against whom he contended; and would lose the last drop of blood in his veins sooner than betray the cause he had espoused. He was fond of recounting his exploits, and 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 once paid a visit to General Washington, who presented him with a silver medal. This he constantly wore suspended from his neck; and so precious did he esteem the gift, that he was often heard to declare he would lose it only with his life.
Soon after the battles of Chippewa and Bridgewater, this veteran warrior paid the debt of nature, aged more than eighty years, at the Seneca village, where, as a mark of respect for his distinguished bravery, the fifth regiment of United States Infantry interred him with military honors. [FN]
[FN] See Village Register, American, and other New-York papers of about 1820.—Also, Appendix. V and VI.
Another elder contemporary of Red-Jacket was the Mohawk chief Brandt, "the accursed Brandt" of Gertrude of Wyoming, whom, however, we think it the less necessary to notice at much length, from his being, like the Corn-Planter, only a half-breed. In the French and English war, he rendered some services to the former. In the Revolution, he was commissioned Colonel in the English army, and distinguished himself in the horrid massacre at Wyoming. His services were rewarded by the present of a fine tract of land on the western shores of Lake Ontario. One of his sons, an intelligent, high-minded man, quite civilized, and much esteemed by his American acquaintances, a few years since laudably undertook the vindication of his father's memory from the often repeated charges of treachery and cruelty, but we apprehend with rather more zeal than success. The father deceased in 1807; the son, only a month or two since.