Slover, when captured, was taken round to various Indian towns, and saw a number of his companions, as well as other white prisoners, tomahawked or tortured to death.  He was examined publicly about many matters at several Great Councils—­for he spoke two or three different Indian languages fluently.  At one of the councils he heard the Indians solemnly resolve to take no more prisoners thereafter, but to kill all Americans, of whatever sex and age; some of the British agents from Detroit signifying their approval of the resolution. [Footnote:  Slover asserts that it was taken in consequence of a message sent advising it by the commandant at Detroit.  This is doubtless untrue; the commandant at Detroit did what he could to stop such outrages, although many of his more reckless and uncontrollable subordinates very probably pursued an opposite course.  The ignorant and violently prejudiced backwoodsmen naturally believed all manner of evil of their British foes; but it is singular that writers who ought to be well informed should even now continue to accept all their wild assertions as unquestioned facts.  The conduct of the British was very bad; but it is silly to describe it in the terms often used.  The year after their escape Slover dictated, and Knight wrote, narratives of their adventures, which were together published in book form at Philadelphia in 1783.  They are very interesting.]

    Slover’s Escape.

At last he was condemned to be burned, and was actually tied to the stake.  But a heavy shower came on, so wetting the wood that it was determined to reprieve him till the morrow.  That night he was bound and put in a wigwam under the care of three warriors.  They laughed and chatted with the prisoner, mocking him, and describing to him with relish all the torments that he was to suffer.  At last they fell asleep, and, just before daybreak, he managed to slip out of his rope and escape, entirely naked.

Catching a horse, he galloped away sitting on a piece of old rug, and guiding the animal with the halter.  He rode steadily and at speed for seventy miles, until his horse dropped dead under him late in the afternoon.  Springing off, he continued the race on foot.  At last he halted, sick and weary; but, when he had rested an hour or two, he heard afar off the halloo of his pursuers.  Struggling to his feet he continued his flight, and ran until after dark.  He then threw himself down and snatched a few hours’ restless sleep, but, as soon as the moon rose, he renewed his run for life, carefully covering his trail whenever possible.  At last he distanced his enemies.  For five days he went straight through the woods, naked, bruised, and torn, living on a few berries and a couple of small crawfish he caught in a stream.  He could not sleep nor sometimes even lie down at night because of the mosquitoes.  On the morning of the sixth day he reached Wheeling, after experiencing such hardship and suffering as none but an iron will and frame could have withstood.