We are, and always were (and I hope always will be), anything but a "military nation." 1813 opened very gloomily for the United States; but, as our quiet country has shown in several times of trial, it takes some disaster to wake up Americans to the claims of the land they love and the government they themselves have made. Bunker Hill was a defeat, in form, but the patriots only fell back a little way; then halted and quietly remarked: "We have several more hills to sell at the same price," the price being such a loss as the British army had rarely met. The war of 1812 began with the loss of Mackinaw and Detroit on land and the frigate Chesapeake at sea; but Scott at Chippewa and Lundy's Lane, Harrison at the Thames and Jackson at New Orleans caused all land reverses to be forgotten; while Perry's victory on Lake Erie, together with a splendid cluster of triumphs on the ocean, gave our navy a lustre which it has never lost or suffered to become tarnished. Curiously enough, Mr. Kinzie, our own Chicago pioneer, was a witness to the finish of the glorious day at Put-in-bay, in announcing which Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry added to our war-cries the immortal words, "We have met the enemy and they are ours." Here is Mrs. Kinzie's narrative of the captivity of her father-in-law, embodying his experiences at that time: CAPTIVITY OF JOHN KINZIE. It had been a stipulation of General Hull at the surrender of Detroit that the inhabitants of that place should remain undisturbed in their homes. Accordingly the family of Mr. Kinzie took up their quarters with their friends in the old mansion which many will still recall as standing on the northeast corner of Jefferson Avenue and Wayne Street. The feelings of indignation and sympathy were constantly aroused in the hearts of the citizens during the winter that ensued. They were almost daily called upon to witness the cruelties practiced upon American prisoners brought in by their Indian captors. Those who could scarcely drag their wounded, bleeding feet over the frozen ground, were compelled to dance for the amusement of the savages, and these exhibitions sometimes took place before the government house, the residence of Colonel McKee. Some of the British officers looked down from their windows at these heart-rending performances; for the honor of humanity we will hope such instances were rare.