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an error too important to remain uncontradicted. Below Wintermoot's, near the head of the Valley, it is not known that there was a single tory house or family. Individuals, labouring men, or hunters, there were a few, probably mingling with the inhabitants from policy. Above Wintermoot's, extending to Wyalusing, the tory families were scattered, their settlements being recent, holding but a partial intercourse, no sympathy existing between them and the Connecticut inhabitants. On a careful examination of a list found among the papers of Col. Butler, containing sixty-one names, three only are from New England. The names are of a different people. Wintermoots, Larraways, Van Alstines, Secords, etc., from the Mohawk, Kinderhook, Minnisink, and West Chester, New York. There is good reason to believe, on the breaking out of hostilities with Great Britain, that her comprehensive policy, which, while with gigantic grasp it embraced great interests, yet allowed nothing, however comparatively trivial or minute, to escape attention, foreseeing the necessity of cutting off all friendly communication between the zealous whig people of Wyoming and the Indians, and with views to ulterior measures, caused these tory families to remove, and take up the position they held. Gordon says: “ An unusual number of strangers had come among them under various pretences.” Certainly there was no disposition of the same number of most devoted partisans, that could have enabled them to render so much service. But this matter has been adverted to before.

Soon after Col. Hartley's return from the successful expedition just related, he was recalled from Wyoming, and a garrison left of about an hundred men, including Captain Spalding, and Captain Morrison's Companies, and Captain Franklin's Wyoming Volunteers, consisting of all the militia, who had returned to the Valley. Armed parties laboured in the fields, the necessity of sowing, though late, as much grain as possible, being apparent.*

* Fifteen years after the battle, a number of Indians, among whom were several chiefs of distinction, passed through Wyoming, on their way to Philadelphia, on business with the Government. Apprehending danger, they sent word to Wilkesbarre, and an escort of respectable citizens turned out to accompany them into the town. In the evening a council was held, in the Court Roum, where mutually pacific assurances were given. It is not surprising, considering their cruel conduct during the war, that the Indians entertained fears for their safety. On their return, passing on the opposite side of the river from the battle ground, the old braves showed much excitement, talking and gesticulating, with great emphasis and spirit, as they seemed to be pointing out to the younger savages the position, and incidents of the conflict. I met Red Jacket at Washington in 1827 or 8, and strove to lead him to talk of Wyoming, but on that subject his lips were hermetically sealed.

Following almost immediately on the footsteps of Hartley's men, bands of marauding Indians again made their appearance. Surrounded as Wyoming is by mountains, whereon broken ledges of rocks afford innumerable places of shelter, parties would lie concealed, reconnoiter, and suddenly striking a blow, retire to their hiding places, where it was impossible to trace them.

On the 2d of October, four of Captain Morrison's men were attacked on the west side of the river, three of whom were killed, and one escaped. Monotonous and melancholy, as the record may appear, duty bids us to follow it out. Oct. 14th.-William Jameson, returning home from Wilkesbarre, was shot near where the canal crosses the road below Careytown. Being wounded he fell from the horse, and attempted to gain the woods, but was pursued, tomahawked and scalped. A valuable young man in the prime of life, being twentysix years of age. He had been in the battle, and escaped, and his scalp was therefore a doubly valuable prize to the Indians.

November 7.--Mr. John Perkins was killed in Plymouth; a victim also, most gratifying to the revengeful savage, as Mr. Perkins had a son in Spalding's Independent Company. William Jackson, and Mr. Lester, taken from the mill at Nanticoke, were marched three miles up into Hanover, and then shot down. An aged man, spoken of as “old Mr. Hageman,” a prisoner, escaped with six wounds, and survived, although the food he took oozed from a spear wound in his side. November 9th.--Captain Carr and Philip Goss, in attempting to fly in a canoe, were shot below Wapwallopen, and left; the latter dead, the other dying on the shore. Robert Alexander and Amos Parker, were about the same time found murdered in the lower part of the Valley.

Late in the fall, Isaac Inman was murdered in Hanover. We have stated the gallant array of determined men that family presented on the day of battle; and the shot of Israel, laying an Indian dead, thereby saving the life of a neighbour closely pursued, and nearly exhausted. The sweet hour of revenge had now come. Isaac said he was sure he heard wild-turkeys; he would take his rifle, and try to get one.

This was in the afternoon. Not long after a gun was heard, but Isaac did not return. A heavy snow fell that night, and lay till Spring, when his body was found, shot, scalped, and a war club by his side, by its marks indicating the tribe that had done the deed.

Even a more distressing tragedy than we have recorded, was enacted near Nescopeck, on the 19th. A whole family were butchered-John Utley, Elisha Utley, and Diah Utley, were attacked. The two first were shot down, and soon despatched. Diah, the youngest, fled to the river, and swam over to the west side, (near Beach Grove,) but an Indian had crossed before him in a canoe, and struck bim with a tomahawk as he reached the shore. He plead for his life, but there was no mercy shown. The savages then entered the house, and having murdered and scalped the aged mother, placed her as in sport, in a chair, and so left her. The Utley family were from the east side of the Connecticut river, in Hartford county. An eye witness of the scene that was presented the next morning, represents the remains of the slaughtered sons, and the ghastly appearance of the mother, as enough to awaken horror and pity in a breast of marble.

Jonathan Slocum, a man with a large family, a member of Friend's Society, had always been with characteristic benevolence, kind to the Indians. At first the savages left him unmolested, but probably learning that his son Giles was in the battle, the family were marked for vengeance. A respectable neighbour, Nathan Kingsley, had been made prisoner, and taken into the Indian country, leaving his wife and two sons to the charity of the neighbours. Taking them home, Mr. Slocum bade them welcome, until Mr. Kingsley should be liberated, or some other mode of subsistence present. On the 2d of November, the two boys being engaged grinding a knife, a rifle shot, and cry of distress, brought Mrs. Slocum to the door, where she beheld an Indian scalping Nathan, the eldest lad, fifteen years of age, with the knife he had been sharpening. Waving her back with his hand, he entered the house, and took up Ebenezer Slocum, a little boy. The mother stepped up to the savage, and reaching for the child, said : “He can do you no good, see, he is lame.” With a grim smile, giving up the boy, he took Frances her daughter, aged about five years, gently in his arms, and seizing the younger Kingsley by the hand, hurried away to the mountains ; two savages who were with him, taking a black girl, seventeen years old.* This was within an hundred rods of the Wilkesbarre fort. An alarm was instantly given, but the Indians eluded pursuit, and no traces of their retreat could be found.

The cup of vengeance was not yet full. December 16th, (or about forty days, allowing time for the war party to go to the Indian country with their prisoners, recruit themselves, and return,) Mr. Slocum, and

* The coloured girl was afterwards seen by prisoners, in the family of Col. John Butler, at Niagara, who had purchased her of the Indians.

Isaac Tripp, Esq., his father-in-law, an aged man, with William Slocum, a youth of nineteen, or twenty, were foddering cattle from a stack in the meadow, in sight of the fort, when they were fired upon by Indians. Mr. Slocum was shot dead; Mr. Tripp wounded, speared, and tomahawked; both were scalped. William, wounded by a spent ball in the heel, escaped, and gave the alarm, but the alert and wily foe had retreated to their hiding place in the mountain. This deed, bold as it was cruel, was perpetrated within the town plot, in the centre of which the fort was located. Thus in little more than a month, Mrs. Slocum had lost a beloved child, carried into captivity; the doorway had been drenched in blood by the murder of an inmate of the family; two others of the household had been taken away prisoners; and now, her husband and her father were both stricken down to the grave, murdered and mangleil by merciless Indians! Verily the annals of Indian atrocities, written in blood, record few instances of desolation and woe to equal this.

I shall make no apology for anticipating more than half a century, in my narrative, to give a brief account of the lost sister, the little captive, Frances Slocum, so that the whole may be presented in one connected chain. The widowed mother heard nothing from her child. Peace came, and prisoners returned, but no one had seen, or could tell aught respecting her. As to those whom she knew were dead, they were at rest; the lamp of hope, as to them, had ceased to burn; and she bowed, as years passed away, in melancholy, but calm resignation, for those who could not return. But not so as to Frances; she might survive. She did live the cherished object of intensest love in the imagination of her fond mother, rendered ten-fold dearer by the blighting sorrows that crushed her house, when they were parted. Her first waking thought in the morning was for her lost one; her last, on retiring to rest, was for her child, her lost child. After the conclusion of peace, and intercourse with Canada was opened, two of her brothers, then amongst the most intelligent and enterprising young men in the Valley, led by their own sense of propriety and affection, and urged by a mother's tears, determined, if living, to find Frances, and restore her to home and friends. Connecting business with their search, they traversed the Indian settlements, and went as far as Niagara, making careful inquiries for Frances. The Indians, whom they saw, and inquired of in great numbers, did not know, or more probably would not reveal, the place of her location. High rewards, sufficient to tempt Indian cupidity, were offered in vain, and the brothers came to the conclusion that

she must be dead, probably slain by her merciless captors; or, surely she would have been heard of; some one must have seen her!

Still, still, the fond mother saw in her dreams the cherished object of her love. Playful-smiling, as in infancy, she appeared before her. Frances was not in the grave; she knew she was not. Her afflicted soul clung to the idea of recovering her daughter, as the great and engrossing object of life. At length news came. A woman answering to the description was found, and claimed to be the child of Mrs. Slocum. About the proper age, she had been taken away captive when very young; knew not her parents, nor her own name, but had been carried off from the Susquehanna river. Mrs. Slocum took her home, and treated her with all possible tenderness and care. But soul did not answer to soul; the spirit did not respond to spirit; that secret and mysterious sympathy which exists between a mother and her offspring, did not draw them together. It might be her daughter, Mrs. Slocum said, but it did not seem so to her. “Yet the woman should be ever welcome.” The unfortunate person, no impostor, an orphan indeed, simple and upright in intention, felt a persuasion in her own mind that these were not her relations, and taking presents, voluntarily returned to her Indian friends. At length time obliterated the last ray of hope, and Mrs. Slocum, at an advanced age, descended to the grave.

In August, 1837, fifty-nine years after the capture, a letter appeared in the Lancaster Intelligencer, written by G. W. Ewing, of Logansport, Indiana, dated January 20, 1835, a year and a half previous, stating :-" There is now living near this place, among the Miami tribe of Indians, an aged white woman, who, a few days ago told me that she was taken away from her father's house, on, or near the Susquehanna river, when she was very young. She says her father's name was Slocum; that he was a quaker, and wore a large brimmed hat; that he lived about half a mile from a town where there was a fort. She has two daughters living. Her husband is dead-she is old and feeble, and thinks she shall not live long. These considerations induced her to give the present history of herself—which she never would before, fearing her kindred would come and force her away. She has lived long, and happy as an Indian-is very respectable, and wealthy, sober, and honest-Her name is without reproach.”

The sensation produced by this letter throughout Wyoming, can scarcely be imagined. “Is it Frances? Can she be alive? How wonderful!" Not an idle hour was lost. Her brother, Joseph Slocum,

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