On the British flagship there was a pet bear, and when the victors stepped on board they found it eagerly lapping up the blood from the deck.
The British commander had repeated the silly performance of nailing his colors to the mast, which never has any other effect than to sacrifice lives that might have been saved if the signal of surrender, when surrender became necessary, could have been displayed instantly.
On Captain Barclay's vessel were three Indians, whom he placed in the tops, or cross-trees, with rifles in their hands, to pick off the American officers, that kind of work being exactly suited to their taste. But as the first part of the action was fought at long cannon-range, beyond the reach of rifle-shot, they found themselves in danger from numerous large balls that went tearing through the rigging, and at the same time totally unable to murder anybody on the distant vessels. Indians have always stood in mortal terror of artillery. So they descended to the deck; but here they found it still more dangerous, and finally the disgusted braves retreated down the hatchway. When the Americans came on board, they found them hidden in the hold. This is probably the only instance of Indians taking part, or attempting to take part, in modern naval warfare. But they have a legend of a great Indian naval battle that took place on the waters of this same lake two hundred years before.
The Senecas—so runs the story—who inhabited the southern and eastern shores of Ontario and the St. Lawrence, had declared war against the Wyandots, who inhabited the northern and western shores. A Wyandot chief, gambling with a Seneca, had won his wife; but the Seneca refused to give her up. Shortly afterward she eloped with the Wyandot, and they escaped to the country of the Pottawatomies, in Michigan. This was the cause of the war, which the Senecas began by crossing the St. Lawrence, surprising a Wyandot village, and cruelly murdering a large number of the inhabitants.
Finally the whole Wyandot nation fled before their enemies, passed along the northern shore of Lake Ontario, crossed the peninsula north of Lake Erie, and after great suffering and serious losses escaped by crossing St. Clair River on cakes of floating ice.
The next summer the Senecas planned a naval expedition against the Wyandots, to be fitted out at the eastern end of Lake Erie, near the present site of Buffalo, pass up the lake and through Detroit River, and rescue the stolen squaw and exterminate the tribe. But the Wyandots had early information of this design, and several of the tribes inhabiting the peninsula of Michigan joined with them in preparations to repel the threatened invasion.
The war-canoes built by the Senecas were "dug-outs," hewn from the trunks of large trees. The Wyandots and their allies prepared a fleet of birch-bark canoes, which were much lighter, swifter, and more easily manoeuvred, and went down the lake to meet their enemy. They coasted along the northern shore as far as North Point, where they waited to make a reconnoissance. The Wyandot who had carried off the woman crossed the lake alone, climbed a tall tree overlooking the rendezvous of the Senecas, and counted their craft and noted their preparations. Then he passed by a wide circuit around their encampment, swam the Niagara below the Falls, and the next day rejoined the fleet of the allies, to whom he was able to give all necessary information as to the number and equipment of their enemy.
They set sail—or rather pulled paddles—at once. But when in full sight of the Senecas, pretended to be frightened, and retreated. The Senecas gave a war whoop, launched their heavy canoes, and pad-died after them as fast as possible. When the allies had thus drawn their antagonists far away from the shore, they suddenly turned upon them, and a bloody and merciless battle ensued, which lasted for several hours. Indian after Indian was cut down, or gradually hacked to pieces, or knocked overboard. Some of the canoes were run down; others were grappled together while their occupants fought hand-to-hand. The lighter boats of the allies were a great advantage, and finally the Senecas were defeated. The dead and the badly wounded were then thrown overboard, while the prisoners were reserved for torture. One Seneca was found to have concealed himself in the bottom of a canoe, feigning death that he might escape captivity. The victors cut off his nose and ears, and knocked out his teeth, and in that disgraceful plight sent him home to bear the news of the disaster to his tribe. On the bank of Niagara River the captured canoes were piled up for a funeral pyre, and a hundred of the wounded Senecas were tied and laid upon it, Fire was set to it. and as one and another escaped when his shackles were burned off, he was shot down with arrows or brained with a war-club. When the victims were all reduced to ashes, the allies celebrated their victory with a feast and dance, and then returned home. Such was the legend told by Walk-in-the-Water, a Wyandot chief, when he heard of Perry's victory, which he thought was a small affair in comparison with the exploit of his ancestors.
By the capture of the British fleet, the lakes were cleared of the enemy, and but one more movement was necessary in order to restore to the United States all that had been lost by Hull's surrender. How successfully that movement was executed will be shown in the next chapter.