chosen by a military commander for defense against the wily savages. In his report to the secretary of war, Governor Harrison thus describes it: "I found the ground destined for the encampment not altogether such as I could wish it. It was, indeed, admirably calculated for the encampment of regular troops that were opposed to regulars, but it afforded great facility to the approach of savages. It was a piece of dry oak land, rising about ten feet above the level of a marshy prairie in front, and nearly twice that height ahove a similar prairie in the rear, through which and near to this bank ran a small stream clothed with willows and brushwood. Toward the left flank this beach of land widened considerably, but became gradually narrower in the opposite direction, and at the distance of one hundred and fifty yards from the right flank terminated in an abrupt point."

The camp of the sixth of November was arranged by the governor in the form of an irregular parallelogram, caused by the formation of the ground, Front, rear, and flanks were well protected, the men directed to sleep on their arms, and every precaution taken against surprise. The commander understood the foe with whom he had to deal, and placed no reliance on their professions of friendship. He ordered that in case of an attack, the outer line should hold its position until relieved; the cavalry to act as a reserve. A guard consisting of one hundred and twenty men, was disposed about the camp, while all not on duty sought repose. Night passed in quietness, and at four o'clock in the morning Governor Harrison arose. As he was arranging his dress a single gun was fired by a sentry on the picket line, who had discovered the stealthy foe cautiously approaching the camp. Horrid yells from hundreds of savage throats pierced the early morning air, while a shower of bullets flew among the sleeping soldiers. A fierce onslaught followed, directed against the northeast angle of the camp, and several warriors penetrated the lines, never to return. Like veterans of a hundred battles the militia coolly met and repulsed the assault. The governor mounted his horse and ceaselessly directed the movements of the troops. The camp fires had been extin、guished on the first alarm, as they served to guide the aim of the savages, and the only light was that given by the waning moon, which had just risen in the east. The night had developed a drizzling rain, and the morning was misty and lowering. Little could be done beside preventing an advance of the enemy, until daylight should reveal their position. Early in the action Major Jo Daviess had fallen, mortally wounded, in an attempt to dislodge a body of Indians. When daylight came, a charge was ordered, and the Indians were driven from the field. An advance was then made upon the Prophet's town, which was found deserted; provisions and cooking utensils were captured, as well as large quantities of stores, which, with the wigwams, were burned and otherwise destroyed.

The American loss in the battle of Tippecanoe amounted to one hundred and eight killed and wounded. During the fight the Prophet remained on an eminence at some distance, where he was engaged in incantations and juggling ceremonies. The result of the defeat was the decadence of his influence, and the temporary frustration of the deep-laid plans of Tecumseh. The Prophet, deserted by his followers, sought refuge with a small band of Wyandots. Soon he departed to the northwest, and among remote tribes recruited some ten thousand warriors to the cause of Tecumseh, who became an adherent of the British. His absence from the field of Tippecanoe is explained by his journey to the south, where he still remained.

In his message to Congress of December 18, 1811, in mentioning the battle of Tippecanoe and its effect upon the Indian tribes in Indiana Territory, President Madison thus complimented Governor Harrison and the troops under his command:

"While it is to be lamented that so many valuable lives have been lost in the action which took place on the ninth ultimo, Congress will see with satisfaction the dauntless spirit and fortitude victoriously displayed by every description of troops engaged, as well as the collected firmness which distinguished their commander on an occasion requiring the utmost exertion of valor and discipline."

In addition to the commendation of the President, the legislatures of Kentucky and Indiana also formulated resolutions of thanks to Governor Harrison for the eminent services rendered the country in dispersing the menacing savages. The former passed the following resolution:

"That in the late campaign against the Indians on the Wabash, Governor Harrison has, in the opinion of this legislature, behaved like a hero, a patriot and a general; and that, for his cool, deliberate, skillful and gallant conduct in the late battle of Tippecanoe, he deserves the warmest thanks of the Nation,"

A. R. WILDMAN,

AMONG THE OTCHIPWEES.

III.

The Northern tribes have nothing deserving the name of historical records. Their hieroglyphics or pictorial writings on trees, bark, rocks and sheltered banks of clay relate to personal or transient events. Such representations by symbols are very numerous but do not attain to a system.

In

Their history prior to their contact with the white man has been transmitted verbally from generation to generation with more accuracy than a civilized people would do. Story-telling constitutes their literature. their lodges they are anything but a silent people. When their villages are approached unawares, the noise of voices is much the same as in the camps of parties on pic-nic excursions. As a voyageur the pure blood is seldom a success, and one of the objections to him is a disposition to set around the camp-fire and relate his tales of war or of the hunt, late into the night. This he does with great spirit, "suiting the action to the word" with a varied intonation and with excellent powers of description. Such tales have come down orally from old to young many generations,but! are more mystical than historical. The faculty is cultivated in the wigwam! during long winter nights, where the same story is repeated by the patri archs to impress it on the memory of the coming generation. With the wild man memory is sharp, and therefore tradition has in some cases a semblance to history. In substance, however, their stories lack dates, the subjects are frivolous or merely romantic, and the narrator is generally given to embellishment. He sees spirits everywhere, the reality of which is accepted by the child, who listens with wonder to a well-told tale, in which he not only believes, but is preparing to be a professional story-teller himself.

Indian picture-writings and inscriptions, in their hieroglyphics, are seen everywhere on trees, rocks and pieces of bark, blankets and flat pieces of wood. About three miles above Odanah, on Bad River, is a vertical bank of clay, shielded from storms by a dense group of evergreens. On this smooth surface are the records of many generations, over and across each

other, regardless of the rights of previous parties. Like most of their writings, they relate to trifling events of the present, such as the route which is being traveled; the game killed; or the results of a fight. To each message the totem or dodem of the writer is attached, by which he is at once recognized. But there are records of some consequence, though not strictly historical.

Before a young man can be considered a warrior, he must undergo an ordeal of exposure and starvation. He retires to a mountain, a swamp, or a rock, and there remains day and night without food, fire or blankets, as long as his constitution is able to endure the exposure. Three or four days is not unusual, but a strong Indian, destined to be a great warrior, should fast at least a week. One of the figures on this clay bank is a tree with nine branches and a hand pointing upward. This represents the vision of an Indian known to one of my voyagers, which he saw during his seclusion. He had fasted nine days, which naturally gave him an insight of the future, and constituted his motto, or chart of life. In tract No. 41 (1877), of the Western Reserve Historical Society, I have represented some of the effigies in this group; and also the personal history of Kundickan, a Chippewa, whom I saw in 1845, at Ontonagon. This record was made by himself with a knife, on a flat piece of wood, and is in the form of an autobiography. In hundreds of places in the United States such inscriptions are seen, of the meaning of which very little is known. Schoolcraft reproduced several of them from widely separated localities, such as the Dighton Boulder, Rhode Island; a rock on Kelley's Island, Lake Erie, and from pieces of birch bark, conveying messages or memoranda to aid an orator in his speeches.

The "Indian rock" in the Susquehanna River, near Columbia, Pennsylvania; the God Rock, on the Allegheny, near Brady's Bend; inscriptions on the Ohio River Rocks, near Wellsville, Ohio, and near the mouth of the Guyandotte, have a common style, but the particular characters are not the same. Three miles west of Barnsville, in Belmont County, Ohio, is a remarkable group of sculptured figures, principally of human feet of various dimensions and uncouth proportions. Sitting Bull gave a history of his exploits on sheets of paper, which he explained to Dr. Kimball, a surgeon in the army, published in facsimile in Harper's Weekly, July, 1876. Such hieroglyphics have been found on rocky faces in Arizona, and on boulders in Georgia.

While pandemonium was let loose at La Pointe towards the close of the

payment we made a bivouac on the beach, between the dock and the mission house. The voyageurs were all at the great finale which constitutes the paradise of a Chippewa. One of my local assistants was playing the part of a detective on the watch for whisky dealers. We had seen one of them on the head waters of Brunscilus River, who came through the woods up the Chippewa River. Beyond the village of La Pointe, on a sandy promontory called Pointe au Froid, abbreviated to Pointe au Fret or Cold Point, were about twenty-five lodges, and probably one hundred and fifty Indians excited by liquor. For this, diluted with more than half water, they paid a dollar for each pint, and the measure was none too large-neither pressed down nor running over. Their savage yells rose on the quiet moon-lit atmosphere like a thousand demons. A very little weak whisky is sufficient to work wonders in the stomach of a backwoods Indian, to whom it is a comparative stranger. About midnight the detective perceived our traveler from the Chippewa River quietly approaching the dock, to which he tied his canoe and went among the lodges. To the stern there were several kegs of fire-water attached, but weighted down below the surface of the water. It required but a few minutes to haul them in and stave in the heads of all of them. Before morning there appeared to be more than a thousand savage throats giving full play to their powerful lungs. Two of them were staggering along the beach toward where I lay, with one man by my side. He said we had better be quiet, which, undoubtedly, was good advice. They were nearly naked, locked arm in arm, their long hair spread out in every direction, and as they swayed to and fro between the water line and the bushes, no imagination could paint. a more complete representation of the demon. There was a yell to every step-apparently a bacchanalian song. They were within two yards before they saw us, and by one leap cleared everything, as though they were as much surprised as we were. The song, or howl, did not cease. It was kept up until they turned away from the beach into the mission road, and went on howling over the hill toward the old fort. It required three days for half-breed and full-blood alike to recover from the general debauch sufficiently to resume the oar and pack. As we were about to return to the Penoka Mountains, a Chippewa buck, with a new calico shirt and a clean blanket, wished to know if the Chemokoman would take him to the south shore. He would work a paddle or an oar, Before reaching the head of the Chegoimegon Bay there was a storm of rain. He pulled off