“It was about mid-day, when, with my arms tightly bound, we set off for Upper Sandusky, where, as I had previously been informed by Girty, I was condemned to suffer before the assembled tribes of the different nations, who would there shortly meet to receive their annual presents from the British.  Our march, very fatiguing to myself, was without incident worthy of note, until one night we arrived at a small village on the Scioto river, where one of my guards, who could speak a little English, informed me resided the celebrated Mingo chief, Logan.  A thought suddenly flashed across my brain.  I had often heard of Logan, as the great and good chief, humane in his principles, and friendly to the whites—­particularly those who were signally unfortunate—­and it occurred to me, that could I gain an interview, I might perhaps prevail upon him to assist me in making my escape; and accordingly I at once expressed to my informant my desire of beholding one so celebrated.  To my great delight, he replied that it was in Logan’s cabin I was to pass the night—­such being the private orders, as I afterwards learned, of Black Hoof—­who had, it seems, from some cause unknown to myself, formed the design of saving my life; and had sent by the Indian in question, a verbal request to Logan, to use all his influence to this effect.

“As we entered the village, we were immediately surrounded by men, women and children, who stared hard at me, but offered no violence.  In a few minutes we gained Logan’s hut, in the door of which I observed standing an old, noble-looking warrior, with a commanding form, and mild, benevolent countenance, who proved to be the chief himself.  To him one of my guards now addressed a few words in Indian; and uttering a grunt, and looking closely at me some seconds, he moved aside, and we all passed in.  Here I soon had a good supper of homminy provided me, whereof I did not partake lightly, having been from sunrise to sunset without tasting a morsel of food.  Immediately after I had finished my repast, Logan approached me, and, in tolerable good English, said: 

“‘White man, where from?’

“I motioned toward the east, and answered: 

“‘From sunrise—­away beyond the big mountains.’

“Logan shook his head sadly, and replied, with a sigh: 

“’Ah! so all come.  Poor Indian get run over—­he no place lay he head.  But how you come all tied so?’

“In answer, I entered into a full explanation of all that had occurred respecting the proceedings of Girty, from first to last.  Logan listened throughout with great attention, shook his head, and rejoined: 

“’Ah!  Simon Girty bad man—­berry.  Me always think so.  Me sorry for you.  Me do all me can for you.  You shall sleep here.  Me promise you nothing.  Me tell you more sometime—­to-morrow mebby!’

“With this he rose and left the cottage, and I saw him no more that night.