All the workers might have spared themselves their trouble. If they were thinking of their cows, the crack of the Indian rifles soon ended that care. The food was enough and to spare; not a morsel of it did they ever eat. The journey of a month dwindled to a tramp of an hour; and as to the precious children-- Captain William Wells had come, with thirty friendly Indians (Miamis) to guard and help them through their long, lonely tramp to Detroit. He was a white man, the uncle of the commandant's young wife (Rebekah Wells Heald), but had been stolen when a boy by the Indians and brought up by them; had married a chief's daughter and had fought on their side until, years ago, this same young niece had gone to him and persuaded him to come back to his own kith and kin. So any fears the helpless settlers might have felt at first could now surely be put aside--Wells was so strong, so brave, so well acquainted with the Indians! He could doubtless keep them in order, either by policy or by force. But if all was well, why had Captain Wells blackened his face--that is, put on the Indian sign of war and death--before starting that morning? All accounts agree that he did so, and usually it is taken as having been a sign of consciousness of impending death. Mrs. Helm[A] seems to have regarded it in this light. The question can never be settled, but to me it seems to have been an act of policy; an effort to identify himself with his Miamis and other friendly Indians. Wau-Bun adds the gruesome and almost incredible story that the start out was made to the music of the dead march! As Mrs. Helm was on horseback with the column she must have known, and we can but take her word for it. [A] Margaret Helm, wife of Lieutenant Helm, and step-daughter of old John Kinzie, has hitherto been the main--almost the only--source of knowledge about the massacre. She told the story twenty years after its occurrence, to Mrs. John H. Kinzie, who embodied it in her romantic narrative "Wau-Bun," published about twenty-two years later still. The large herd of beef-cattle was left to the savages. This was probably the most precious gift of all put in their hands by the abandonment of the post. The liquor, if it had been left, would have been their bane, and the fire-arms the mere instruments of mutual destruction. The clothes must wear out, the flour be eaten up, the tools and furniture useless, the paints and gew-gaws a fleeting joy; but the herd! This would be self-sustaining, self-perpetuating, a perennial fount of blessing and mine of wealth. Here were food, clothing, shoes for this year and all years to come. No tribe or nation of their race had ever possessed such a treasure. How did they avail themselves of it? Wau-Bun answers: The fort had become a scene of plunder to such as remained after the troops moved out. The cattle had been shot down as they ran at large and lay dead or dying around. This work of butchery had commenced just as we were leaving the fort.