The wounded prisoners, we have already remarked, were not included in the stipulation made on the battle-field, as the _Indians understood it_. On reaching, therefore, the Pottawatomie camp, a scene followed which beggars description. A wounded soldier, lying on the ground, was violently assaulted by an old squaw, infuriated by the loss of friends or excited by the murderous scenes around her--who, seizing a pitchfork, attacked the wretched victim, now helpless, and exposed to the burning rays of the sun, his wounds already aggravated by its heat, and he writhing in torture. During the succeeding night, five other wounded prisoners were tomahawked. Those unwounded remained in the wigwams of their captors. The work of plunder being now completed, the fort next day was set on fire. A fair and equal distribution of all the finery belonging to the garrison had apparently been made, and shawls and ribands and feathers were scattered about the camp in great profusion. After suffering many hardships, Mrs. Helm, Mrs. Heald, and the surviving male prisoners were ransomed and sent back to their friends. A few of them, however, were not set at liberty until after the battle of the Thames. THE TWO FRIENDS. In August, 1786, Mr. Francis Downing, then a lad, was living in a fort, where subsequently some iron works were erected by Mr. Jacob Myers, which are now known by the name of Slate Creek works. About the 16th, a young man belonging to the fort, called upon Downing, and requested his assistance in hunting for a horse which had strayed away on the preceding evening. Downing readily complied, and the two friends traversed the woods in every direction, until at length, towards evening, they found themselves in a wild valley, at a distance of six or seven miles from the fort. Here Downing became alarmed and repeatedly assured his elder companion, (whose name was Yates,) that he heard sticks cracking behind them, and was confident that Indians were dogging them. Yates, being an experienced hunter, and from habit grown indifferent to the dangers of the woods, diverted himself freely at the expense of his young companion, often inquiring, at what price he rated his scalp, and offering to ensure it for sixpence. Downing, however, was not so easily satisfied. He observed, that in whatever direction they turned, the same ominous sounds continued to haunt them, and as Yates still treated his fears with the most perfect indifference, he determined to take his measures upon his own responsibility. Gradually slackening his pace, he permitted Yates to advance twenty or thirty steps in front of him, and immediately after descending a gentle hill, he suddenly sprung aside and hid himself in a thick cluster of whortleberry bushes. Yates, who at that time was performing some woodland ditty to the full extent of his lungs, was too much pleased with his own voice, to attend either to Downing or the Indians, and was quickly out of sight.