Some found shelter with the Irish and French peasants, for although on the whole Loyalist both these nationalities had quickly-moved sympathies. One of the escaping “officers” threw himself on the protection of a big Irish woman. “Are yez a Patriarch?” He told her he was a Patriot. “Thin it’s yourself is safe enough; just hide in the cellar and kape aisy.” It is said her husband was in Prince’s employ to deliver all such up; “but bad luck to me if ivvir he sets his eye on wan o’ thim.” This peasant is said to have kept four such refugees for six weeks, so well cared for that when they arrived in Detroit they were “hale, fat and hearty as porkers.” “Now, my lads,” he remarked to his guests, “you have a taste of how the English use us poor Irish.” “Bad luck to thim,” chimed in his wife; “my own dear fader was twelve years hid in a rock for the fear av thim after the battle of Vinegar Hill, and it’s meself carried his vittles till he died.” As for Baptiste, his fine address was equal to the occasion. One hunted creature, some troopers in hot pursuit, burst into a neat little cabin where the Frenchman had risen but madame had not. Taking in the situation at a glance, he clapped a night-cap on the patriot’s head, popped him into bed beside the astonished wife, and when the soldiers entered, with elbows well in and palms extended he shrugged his ignorance of any rebels--no one but his two women-kind, _les voilà!_ He gave the searchers directions towards the bush, and in a short time had his patriot in a canoe, well out in the river, bound for Detroit. Next morning a large concourse of people, the officers of the militia, Captain Sparkes’ company and a division of Captain Bell’s under Ensign Powell, all in full uniform and with arms reversed, preceded the corpse of the murdered Hume to the churchyard. The Grenadier company of the 34th, drawn up before the Court House, presented arms, so remaining until the procession had passed. The moaning of the wind, the naked branches of the trees above the open grave, the falling snow, were in unison with the sadness of the onlookers; “Suffer us not for any pain of death to fall away from Thee” came with a new meaning to the hearers’ hearts; the words of the ever beautiful ritual for the burial of the dead rose and fell from the rector’s lips on the wintry atmosphere; “dust to dust, ashes to ashes,” a volley of musketry, and the family name of Hume was extinct. His fortune of some £20,000, derived from his mother, passed to distant relatives.