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          FREEMONT SCHOOLHOUSE  _  MOUTH OF LAUGHRY


PAGE 387  George Groves settled here in 1794, the first settler of this
section of country.  From my kind friends, George Laird and Joshua Seth, 
and others, old and respectable residents, I learn that a fearful 
Indian massacre of several persons, by the name of Laughry, gave name to 
the pretty stream now known as Laughry Creek. so also a man by the name of 
Hogan, while quietly fishing at the mouth of Hogan, was shot, tomahawked, 
and scapled; and a Wm. Tanner, the same way precisely, at the mouth of 
Tanner's Creek.  If we could command the origin of all the names in the 
country, what a history, what a book it would be! I farther learned, from 
Mr. Seth, that a young land and his sister, by the name of Willard, were 
captured and carried off by the Indians, over into Kentucky, some sixty 
odd years ago.  After awhile, they commenced cutting out large pieces of 
flesh from the body of the girl - broiling and eating it in her presence;
that they tortured her thus repeatedly for three long, painful days; then, 
with unheard of cruelties, put her to death - tomahawked and scalped her. 
The heart sickens, and the blood fairly curdles in my veins, at the 
recital.  But a terible vengeance awaited them.  The lad effected his 
escape, grew up to be a man, and established himself in a kind of grocery 
and liquor business, at an early day, near the mouth of the creek, where 
who should call upon him but seven Indians, and a pretty young squaw, a 
part or all of whom he immediately recognized as his own captors, and the 
cruel murdereres of his loved and lamented sister; and he resolved, if 
possible, to be avenged; but, as the saying is, "he never let on." Gave 
them all free access to his liquor, and, to his great pleasure, soon found 
that all were in for a drunken spree, except the pretty squaw, who was 
selected to keep watch.  And about midnight they were all dead-drunk, when,
watching his opportunity, he gave the pretty squaw a deadly blow with his 
ax or bludgeon; then hastening down to the creek, he cut a hole in the ice,
and there, one at a time, he, by main strength, drew them down, and thrust 
them in under the ice, to wake up in a watery grave, the poor squaw and 
all; and thus every single soul of them perished.  I leave it for the 
reader to say if that is not quite an Indian story, and altogether 
too good to be lost, as I have it upon good, reliable authority?  The 
country hereabouts was full of bears, wolves, and panthers.  Here a 
colored man, whom I knew well, was murdered several years ago, and the 
deadly and fearful weapon was a scythe - the scene fearful and tragic.



Barb Boese     barbwire@midusa.net