There, with a party of Indians, he lay in ambush, patiently awaiting the approach of a guard that accompanied the English teams employed between the falls of Niagara and the garrison, which had there lately surrendered to Sir William Johnston. The place selected for that purpose is now known by the name of the Devil's Hole, and is three and a half miles below the famous cataract upon the American side of the strait. The mind can scarcely conceive a more dismal looking den. A large ravine, occasioned by the falling in of the perpendicular bank, made dark by the spreading branches of the birch and cedar, which had taken root below, and the low murmuring of the rapids in the chasm, added to the solemn thunder of the cataract itself, conspire to render the scene truly awful. The English party were not aware of the dreadful fate that awaited them. Unconscious of danger, the drivers were gaily whistling to their dull ox-teams. Farmer's-Brother and his band, on their arrival at this spot, rushed from the thicket that had concealed them, and commenced a horrid butchery. So unexpected was such an event, and so completely were the English disarmed of their presence of mind, that but a feeble resistance was made. The guard, the teamsters, the oxen and the wagons, were precipitated into the gulf. But two of them escaped; a Mr. Stedman, who lived at Schioper, above the falls, being mounted on a fleet horse, made good his retreat; and one of the soldiers, who was caught on the projecting root of a cedar, which sustained him until assured, by the distant yell of the savages, that they had quited the ground.--It is the rivulet, pouring itself down this precipice, whose name is the only monument that records the massacre. It is said to have been literally colored with the blood of the vanquished. In the Revolutionary War, Farmer's-Brother evinced his hostility to the Americans upon every occasion that presented itself; and, with the same zeal, he engaged in the late war against his former friends, the English. Another anecdote of this Chief will show, in more glowing colors, the real savage. A short time before our army crossed the Niagara, Farmer's-Brother chanced to observe an Indian, who had mingled with the Senecas, and whom he instantly recognized as belonging to the Mohawks, a tribe living in Canada, and then employed in the service of the enemy. He went up to him, and addressed him in the Indian tongue--"I know you well--you belong to the Mohawks--you are a spy--here is my rifle--my tomahawk--my scalping-knife. I give you your choice which I shall use, but I am in haste." The young warrior, finding resistance vain, chose to be put to death with a rifle. He was ordered to lie down upon the grass, while, with his left foot upon the breast of the victim, the Chief lodged the contents of his rifle in his head.