I went on toward home, and when I got in sight I discovered that they had become uneasy, for the most of them were looking out towards Detroit. When they saw me they raised a great yell, and received me and my bag of bread with great joy.
Some time shortly after this the old man dressed himself up in the finest kind of Indian style, for he was a Chief. He greased his face, and then pounded and rubbed charcoal on it until he was as black as a negro. He then painted my face red, and we started together to town, he walking in front. As we passed along the streets the people were very free in making their remarks upon us. "There goes a mulato," said one, &c., &c. I seemed to pay but little attention to what was said, but followed my old Indian about from place to place.
In a few days they sent me over to Sandwich, to exchange skins for boiled cider. I succeeded; and they drank it hot, that it might produce the greater effect; their only design seeming to be to produce intoxication. They are liberal with every thing they possess but rum. I once saw an Indian give another a dram, and being afraid that he would take too much, he first measured it in his own mouth, and then put it into a tin cup for his friend to drink.
Whilst we were here I saw Indians take medicine. I did not ascertain what kind of medicine it was, only it was something which they gathered from the woods. They boiled it down until it became thick and black. They dug a hole in the ground—furnished themselves with a kettle of warm water and a piece of inner bark—after they took two or three portions of this stuff, they laid down flat upon the ground, with their mouths over this hole, and commenced vomiting. They would then drink large draughts of warm water, thrust the piece of bark down their throats and vomit again. This course they would sometimes pursue for hours together, until one would think that they were almost dead; but they would leave off this vomiting business and go about as though nothing had disturbed them. I heard nothing of any sickness before this medicinal course was commenced, from which I inferred that they took medicine in the spring season whether sick or well.
Not far from our encampment was the grave of an Indian who had been buried several weeks. An old squaw raised an alarm, saying that he had been heard to make a noise. The Indians ran with all haste to the grave—I went too to see what was to be done—but although they listened with their ears upon the ground, and then stamped with their feet, and scratched in the earth, the Indian lay still and dead in his grave.
I learned from the preparations in camp that the squaws were soon to go out to the Indian towns and raise corn, and that I was to go with them. I resolved that I would not go, if my escape should cost me my life. I began immediately to think and plan some method of escape; but every way appeared to be hedged up; there were Indian camps in every direction; there was some faint prospect of success down the river. I also thought of risking myself in the hands of the British, but, as I before said, I could not trust them; and it was well for me that I did not, as I afterwards, to my sore affliction, found them haughty and very inhuman to American prisoners. I wish this censure to rest only upon the British officers, as many of the soldiers would have treated us kindly if it had been in their power.
Just at this crisis, however, an half Indian, who spoke English, came to our camp. I took this opportunity of communicating to the Indians my desire of being sold to the inhabitants of Detroit, who were purchasing prisoners from the Indians, Here I run a great risk—I knew not that they would not instantly kill me for making such a request. No sooner had the half Indian told my wishes, than every eye was fixed upon me; some seemed astonished, and others angry, because I would think of leaving after having been adopted into the family. They soon made signs that I might go, and the old man began to look out for a purchaser. Some of them treated me cooly from that time until I left. A Frenchman came to our camp, and offered a young horse for me—we went several miles down the river to see the horse—the Indian and Frenchman talked a long time—the Frenchman showed several other horses—the Indian did not fancy any of them, and there was no trade. I felt disappointed, being very anxious to be swapped off. On the next day another Frenchman came to camp riding a snug little pony, with mane and tail roached and trimmed. This horse took the old man's eye, and they soon closed the bargain. The long desired hour had come at last. I felt that I was again free from the hand of the wild savage. I packed up the few tattered rags of clothing which were mine, and prepared to leave; but after all, savages as they were, I was sorry when I bid them a final farewell. The wife of the man who took me prisoner had always been kind—she aided greatly to lessen my sufferings—she had often fed me, and when under the rigors of a northern winter, in the wilderness, had thrown a blanket upon my shivering frame at night; she had restrained the young men from imposing upon me, as they would do by taking my food, and my place at the fire. After Mr. J. B. Cecott, the man who bought me, and I left the camp, the Indians stood and looked after us as long as they could see us. Mr. Cecott took me to his own house, gave me a suit of clothes, and introduced me to his family. Now I felt that home was much nearer, being again among a civilized people who could speak the English language.
And here let me pause a moment to remark—as I am about to leave the Indians, never I hope to spend another winter with them under the same circumstances—that the few months of captivity with this people, were, taken altogether, the most cheerless and solitary of any part of my life of which I have any recollection. Though many years have rolled by since the events transpired, the impression they made upon my mind is almost as fresh as ever.
Several things contributed to render the scene more gloomy. I lost the day of the month, and also the day of the week; every day seemed alike. No person can have an idea, unless they are placed in the same predicament, how it changes the face of things to lose all those divisions of time that we have been accustomed to observe from our childhood. But this was not all; to render the hours more tedious and solitary, there was not one, of all the families that belonged to our company, that could either speak English, or understand one word of it. And thus, day after day, and week after week, passed over without uttering a solitary word, unless sometimes, when a little distance from camp, I would say a word or two just to hear the sound of my own voice; and it would seem so strange to me, that it would almost startle me. And, in addition to all this, I was almost eaten up by vermin; sometimes almost starved; and shut out from all civilized society; almost literally buried in the snows of Michigan; and in order to prevent actual starvation, the Indians were compelled to remove from place to place, where it was supposed the hunting would be better. This subjected us to greater inconvenience, and often to great suffering from cold, having to clear away the snow, which was very deep.
But the uncertainty, and the improbability, of being released, being constantly upon me, and there appeared not the least gleam of hope until it was announced, by the preparations I saw making in the spring, to go to Detroit.