Simon Girty took part in this memorable conflict, and during the retreat dashed into the woods and took prisoner—Abe Moffat! This he would never have accomplished had Abe not labored under the greatest disadvantages. He had broken the lock of his rifle so as to be unable to fire it, and was singled out by Girty, who being mounted ran him down before he had the slightest chance of concealing himself. Giving him in charge of several Indians, Girty again took to the woods and captured two more whites. Upon arranging them, it was found that there were over forty. Among these was Colonel Crawford himself. A council was immediately held, and the whole were painted black, and condemned to the stake! We shall dwell upon the fate of but two of these—Colonel Crawford and Abe Moffat. At the village resided the Indian chief, Wingenund. This chief had been known to Crawford sometime before, and had been on terms of true friendship with him, and kindly entertained by him at his own house; and such act of kindness, all red men remember with gratitude. Wingenund does not appear to have been present when the preparations were made for burning of the prisoners, but resided not far from the village and had retired to his cabin that he might not see the sentence of his nation executed upon one calling him his friend; but Crawford requested that he might be sent for, cheering his almost rayless mind with the faint hope that he would interfere and save him. Accordingly Wingenund soon appeared in the presence of the bound and naked white men. He was asked by Crawford whether he knew him, when the Indian said he believed he did, and then asked: “Are you not Colonel Crawford?” “I am,” replied the colonel. The chief displayed much agitation and embarrassment. “Do you not recollect the friendship that always existed between us?” said Crawford. “Yes,” said the chief, “I remember that you have been kind to me and we have often drank together.” “I hope the same friendship continues,” said Crawford. “It would, of course, were you where you ought to be.” “And why not here?” urged the colonel. “I hope you would not desert a friend in time of need. Now is the time for you to exert yourself in my behalf, as I should do for you were you in my place.” “I cannot. The King of England himself, were he to come to this spot, with all his wealth and influence, could not interfere. The blood of the innocent Moravians, more than half of them women and children, cruelly and wantonly murdered, calls too loudly for revenge!” “My fate, then, is fixed,” said the wretched man, “I must prepare to meet death in its worst form.” Wingenund, shedding tears, and deeply affected, then withdrew.