George Peck's WYOMING, 1858 - Pennsylvania - Chapter 8 Contributed for use in the USGenWeb Archives by Judy Banja jbanja@comcast.net USGENWEB ARCHIVES (tm) NOTICE All documents placed in the USGenWeb Archives remain the property of the contributors, who retain publication rights in accordance with US Copyright Laws and Regulations. In keeping with our policy of providing free information on the Internet, these documents may be used by anyone for their personal research. They may be used by non-commercial entities, when written permission is obtained from the contributor, so long as all notices and submitter information are included. These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced in any format for profit. Any other use, including copying files to other sites, requires permission from the contributors PRIOR to uploading to the other sites. The submitter has given permission to the USGenWeb Archives to store the file permanently for free access. http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://www.usgwarchives.net/pa/pafiles.htm ________________________________________________ HTML with illustrations: http://www.usgwarchives.net/pa/1pa/1picts/peckwyo/peck-wyo.htm WYOMING; ITS HISTORY, STIRRING INCIDENTS AND ROMANTIC ADVENTURES. By GEORGE PECK, D.D. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE, 1858 234 WYOMING. VIII. THE CAPTIVE GIRL, FRANCES SLOCUM. MAKING captives, particularly of children, and adopting them as their own, is one of the laws of Indian warfare. Usually the little captive is adopted by a mother who has lost a child. If a son falls in battle, or a daughter perishes by hunger or fatigue, or dies by disease, the vacancy, if possible, is supplied by some pale-faced prisoner, who is imagined to bear some distant resemblance to the lost one. An attachment formed in the mind of a savage female for a beautiful child which she had been accustomed to fondle in time of peace, has led to the capture of the coveted object when war has broken out. But it is probable that the main ground of this species of plunder is a part of the system of cruel vengeance with which the savage heart delights to glut itself for real or supposed wrongs. The uneducated minds of the Indians enter into no analysis of civil society, distinguishing between the innocent and the guilty, but lay to the charge of the whites in general all the wrongs which they may have received at the hands of individuals, and often, by the mode of redress here referred to, strike the innocent - even break the hearts of unoffending mothers. The savage mind condemns in the gross; and for robberies and murders inflicted on them by lawless banditti, heartless speculators, or oppressive governmental expatriation, they hold the white race, generally and singularly, responsible. Hence they take sweet vengeance upon all FRANCES SLOCUM. 235 white individuals or communities, as occasion offers, for their numerous and grievous wrongs. When a boy in our native town, near "the sources of the Susquehanna," in the State of New York, we knew a young man who was with the Indians from the commencement to the close of the Revolutionary war. He was the son of our father's next-door neighbor, and we were a close observer of his manners and habits, seeing him every day, and often spending hours, and even days, in his company. We often listened to his romantic story at our father's fireside, both from him and from his old mother. Daniel M`Allum - ordinarily called Dan M'Allum, and Indian Dan - was stolen when he was two years and a half old from the head of Red Creek, Middlefield. Before the commencement of hostilities between the parent government and the colonies, an old squaw was in the habit of coming from an Indian camp in the swamp, which lay hard by, and spending hours with "Aunt Molly M'Allum," and caressing little Dan, showing him her trinkets, and allowing him to play with them. When the war broke out, the savage woman set her heart on making the child a prize. She was hid in the brush for days, waiting for an opportunity to effect her object. At length the little fellow was taken by his father to "the sugar- bush" in the month of March, and becoming weary, and wishing to go to his mother, he was put into the path to return alone to the house, which was only a few rods distant. The squaw slid from her hiding-place, seized her prey, and bore him away. The mother was at ease until near night, when her husband came in, and, to their great consternation, it was discovered that the child was spirited away, and the agency by which he had disappear- 236 WYOMING. ed was shrewdly suspected. It might be that a wild beast had devoured him, but it was deemed more probable that he had fallen into the hands of the Indians. The woods were scoured, and the cry for help sent through the settlements, but all in vain. The Mohawks, and with them the squaw with her prize, had fled to the north, and the child was given up for lost. At the close of the war he was a stout lad and a perfect Indian. When the prisoners were required to be given up, Dan said his old "Indian mother cried bitterly;" but there was no evading the requisition of the British authorities, and she made her preparations for the separation. She filled a little bag with parched corn and dried venison, and, putting it in his hand, she went with him near to the place where the prisoners were rendezvoused - either on the Mohawk River or at Cherry Valley, we are not certain which - and, pointing him out the way, she flung her blanket over her head, and turned about and ran. He paused, looked after her, and his heart almost came into his mouth. He maintained that no one could have felt deeper sorrow at burying his own mother. He could not endure the separation, and set off at full speed after her. She, however, managed to elude him, and he was found by some one in the path, giving boisterous vent to his sorrow, and was taken to the depot of the prisoners, where his father found him and bore him to his mother. And now another trial awaited the poor boy. The usages of civilization were like the chains of slavery to him. To wear pants and jacket, and sleep upon a bed, and to eat bread, and salt meat cooked in an iron pan - all this was so strange - every thing so unnatural, that he sighed and cried, and said a thousand times FRANCES SLOCUM. 237 over, "Oh that I was again in the wild woods, chasing the deer and the bear, and enjoying the luxury of sleeping upon the ground, under a blanket, with my feet before a great warm fire!" "Dan M`Allum," so long as we knew him, which was until we entered our eighteenth year, exhibited strong traits of Indian character. He was fond of hunting, loved rum, would have his Indian pow-wows, and, when under the influence of the intoxicating draught, his Indian whoop rang through the neighborhood, but excited no terror. Dan was not quarrelsome when sober, and when intoxicated he had neither the power nor tact of a warrior or a bully. When so drunk that he could not stand, he would ride his horse upon a run perfectly erect, and scarcely ever fell from his horse's back. Often have we heard the poor fellow say, apparently from the bottom of his heart, "I wish to God I had never left the Indians, for I was a good Indian, but I shall never make a white man." He finally married and settled, and his character became much modified by the kindly influences of home, and the independence and associations gathering round the husband and the father. When he was no longer regarded as "a fool," "an Indian booby," and the like, his manhood developed, and he became a respectable citizen; but the process of transformation was slow and painful. A curious fact in this case was that the poor Indian captive seemed not to have much affection for his real mother. He never made a secret of the fact that he loved his "Indian mother" the best. He declared that the moment in which she tore herself from him was the most sorrowful moment of his life, and her tears, sobs, and wild shrieks, as she ran away, were the very 238 WYOMING. sorest of his remembrances. Such is habit, such education, such the impressions of childhood. How perfectly imbedded in the human heart is the image of that being whose watchful care and sympathies are associated with our earliest recollections, although it be the image of a wild savage woman! Dan M'Allum is not the hero of our story, but a specimen of a class, the whole of which constitute a series of illustrations of the principles of savage life, and specimens of human nature in its vast generalization. The more particular relations of his Indian life we simply recollect were curious and interesting, but the details are not now sufficiently clear in our mind for record, and, with the brief notice of his case which we have taken, we shall dismiss it, and proceed to another case characterized by a different class of circumstances and a different sequel. Among the enterprising emigrants from the east to the famous Valley of Wyoming was a member of the society of Friends by the name of Jonathan Slocum. The place of his previous residence was Warwick, Rhode Island. He emigrated in 1777, with his wife and nine children. The road through the swamp had now been so far improved as to allow, although with great difficulty, wagons to pass. Mr. Slocum removed with his family and effects in a large covered wagon. He located himself near the fort, on lands a portion of which is now in possession of the family, within the present borough of Wilkesbarre, near the public square. Mr. Slocum, being from principle a noncombatant, considered himself and his family comparatively free from danger from the attacks of the savages. His son Giles, not practicing upon the principles in FRANCES SLOCUM. 239 which he had been trained at home, took up arms with the settlers in defense of their hearths and homes against the anticipated attacks of the Indians and Tories. He was in the famous Indian battle in 1778, and it is supposed that this circumstance was the occasion of the terrible vengeance taken upon the family. The battle had taken place in July, and thenceforward, until the conclusion of peace with England, parties of Indians continued to visit the Valley to steal, make prisoners, kill, and scalp, as opportunity offered. On the second day of November of this year, a party of Delaware Indians visited Wyoming, and directed their way to Mr. Slocum's residence. Nathan Kingsley had been made prisoner by the Indians, and his wife and two sons were taken in by Mr. Slocum, and afforded the protection and comforts of a home. When the Indians came near, they saw the two Kingsley boys grinding a knife before the door. The elder of the lads was dressed in a soldier's coat, which, it is presumed, was the special reason of his being marked as a victim. One of the savages took deadly aim at this young man, and he fell. The discharge of the gun alarmed Mrs. Slocum, and she ran to the door, when she saw the Indian scalping the young man with the knife which he had been grinding. She secreted herself until she saw a stalwart Indian lay hold of her son Ebenezer, a little lad, who, by an injury in one of his feet, had been made lame. The idea that the little fellow would fail to keep up with the party, and would be cruelly butchered, rushed with such force upon the mind of the mother that she forgot all considerations of personal safety, and, running up to the Indian, and pointing at the foot of the boy, she exclaimed, "The child is lame; he can do thee no good." Little Frances, about 240 WYOMING. five years old, had hid, as she supposed, under the stairs, but had been discovered by the Indians. The savage dropped the boy and seized the little girl, and took her up in his arms. All the entreaties of the mother in this case were treated with savage scorn. The oldest daughter ran away with her youngest brother, about two years old, with such speed and in such affright that the savages, after yelling hideously at her, roared out laughing. They took the remaining Kingsley boy and a colored girl, and away they went, little Frances screaming to "mamma" for help, holding the locks of hair from her eyes with one hand, and stretching out the other. There were three Indians in the gang, and each having a prisoner, they fled to the mountain. An alarm was given at the fort, which was not more than a hundred rods from Mr. Slocum's house, but the wily savages escaped with such celerity, and hid themselves so securely, that no traces of them could be found. That was a gloomy evening in the Slocum family. Mr. Slocum was from home when the descent upon his peaceful dwelling was made by the ruthless savages. He returned to see the gory corpse of young Kingsley, and to find Mrs. Slocum writhing in agony on account of poor little Frances, who was in the hands of a band of Indians, whom her phrensied imagination pictured out as so many demons just let loose from Tophet. Mr. Slocum was petrified with horror; but the deep current of his grief, with characteristic self-control, was not allowed to break over all its natural barriers. Sobs and broken sentences gave character to the scene around that desolate hearth. Sleep fled from that family circle. The last look at the innocent little creature, with outstretched hands, and THE CAPTURE OF FRANCES SLOCUM [illustration] FRANCES SLOCUM. 243 streaming eyes, and disheveled locks, and her shrieks of "mamma! mamma!" haunted their imaginations like ghosts of darkness. And then the question, which no human reason could solve, was, "What would become of the child?" Would she be cruelly murdered? or would she be worn out with fatigue? or would she suffer a lingering death from want of comfortable food and clothing? Any supposition which was at all probable seemed worse than death. The heart-stricken family passed a little more than a month in sadness and gloom, not then to find relief to their aching hearts, but to feel another blow from savage hands still more terrible. The venerable historian of Wyoming, Hon. Charles Miner, says: "The cup of vengeance was not yet full. December 16th, Mr. Slocum and Isaac Tripp, Esq., his father-in-law, an aged man, with William Slocum, a youth of nineteen or twenty, were feeding 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 his hiding-place in the mountain. This deed, bold as it was cruel, was perpetrated within the town plot, in the centre of which the fortress 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 father were both stricken down to the grave, murdered and mangled by the merciless Indians. Verily, the annals of Indian atroc- 244 WYOMING. ities, written in blood, record few instances of desolation and woe to equal this." The husband and the father were dead, and their ashes reposed beneath the green turf. Time gradually modified the poignancy of the widow's grief, occasioned by the cruel death of her loved husband and venerated father; but Frances, poor child! she knew not where she was. Suspense more terrible than death hung over her fate. The lapse of time only increased the vividness of the traces of memory relating to the minutest circumstances connected, nearly or remotely, with the sad tragedy of her capture. The mother called up all the little griefs and disappointments which family discipline had inflicted upon her dear child. One circumstance distressed her almost incurably. Frances had a pair of new shoes, and, as a matter of economy, she had been required to lay them up for colder weather. She went away with bare feet, and in that condition would doubtless be obliged to travel rough roads, and perhaps through the frost and snow to make long journeys. "Oh! if the poor little creature only had her shoes!" The little shoes were a source of torture to the soul of the bereaved mother for long and weary years. Time passed, and Mrs. Slocum's sons had become prosperous business men; and peace having been concluded with Great Britain, and every effort made upon the part of Congress to conciliate the Indian tribes, the young men began to meditate serious efforts to recover their sister, or, at least, to ascertain her fate. In 1784, two of the brothers visited Niagara, and made inquiries of the Indians, and offered them liberal rewards if they would give any information concerning their sister. Their mission was without the least shadow of success, no trace of the lost one having been discover- FRANCES SLOCUM. 245 ed. They returned, after an absence of several weeks, with the impression that Frances was dead. They thought it almost impossible that the secret should be kept if Frances were above ground, especially as a reward had been offered for the information which would be exceedingly tempting to the cupidity of the Indians. They did not consider that, when an Indian undertakes to keep a secret, nothing can break the seal of his lips, nor especially the criminality and disgrace of betraying to white men secrets confided by Indians. Little Frances was extensively known among the Canadian and Western Indians, but she was now a treasure which Indians felt a common interest in concealing. Four years subsequently the Slocums were on a search among the Western Indians for several months, Indian agents and traders giving them every facility in their researches, and again offering the large reward of five hundred dollars for any information with regard to their sister's whereabouts, but all to no purpose. In 1789, when a large number of Indians assembled at Tioga Point to make a treaty with Colonel Proctor, and a large number of prisoners were brought in to be surrendered to their friends, Mrs. Slocum made a journey, with great labor, to the place, and, after weeks of examination among the prisoners, found no one she could own as Frances. Still the bereaved mother entertained the idea that her child was alive, and might, after all, be found. The zeal of the brothers in the search did not decline with the lapse of years, and the four brothers undertook another expedition in 1797, and were traveling in the western wilderness, among the Indian settlements, for nearly the whole summer. They conversed with the Indians - offered, as they had done before, the reward 246 WYOMING. of five hundred dollars for any information with regard to their sister: they found captives and examined them, but Frances they neither found nor heard from. A female captive, hearing of the efforts made by the Slocums to recover their lost one, and hoping that she might be recognized as the real Frances, came to Mrs. Slocum, and told her that she was taken prisoner somewhere on the Susquehanna when a child, and she was anxious to find her friends. She knew not the name of her father, she knew not her own name, but she had come to see if she, Mrs. Slocum, was not her real mother. Mrs. Slocum saw at once that it was not Frances, but bade her welcome. "Stay with me," said Mrs. Slocum, "as long as thee pleases; perhaps some one else may extend the like kindness to my dear Frances." The poor stranger, after a few months, finding herself regarded as a mere object of charity, without the sympathies and attachments of natural relationship, left, and the Slocums heard no more of her. Mrs. Slocum went down to the grave without finding the least trace of her lost one, but left with her sons a charge never to give up the search so long as the possibility remained of their recovering their sister, or their learning the circumstances of her story or her fate. Mrs. Slocum's death occurred in 1807. When the mission among the Wyandots became a matter of public interest, and the chiefs Between-the-Logs and Menuncu were converted, the report that Between-the- Logs had a white woman for his wife, the idea of the possibility of her being the lost Frances Slocum induced Mr. Joseph Slocum, attended by a nephew, to visit the mission. In 1826 they made a weary and expensive journey to Upper Sandusky, and found the woman, but were convinced that she was FRANCES SLOCUM. 247 not Frances. They were treated with great hospitality and kindness, and received strong impressions with regard to the influence of Christianity upon the moral character and social condition of the Wyandot Indians. Hope had been fondly cherished in the mind of the Slocums of some light upon the history or fate of Frances for many long years, but all efforts to gain information with regard to her having utterly failed, they began to despair. They had spent time and money; they had performed long and perilous journeys; they had enlisted Indian agents and traders in the object, but not the slightest trace, as yet, had been found of the little captive. The last they knew of her was that she was borne away by a stout Indian, who disappeared among the trees and shrubs, while the shrieks of the child died away in the distance. From that moment an impenetrable cloud of darkness had enshrouded her story, which all efforts had failed to penetrate. The probability of the removal of the veil of mystery from the subject was now becoming so exceedingly faint, if it had not, indeed, wholly passed away, that the search was given over, and the subject ceased to be matter of conversation, excepting as the capture of the child, and the great efforts which had been made for her discovery, were connected with the history of the classic vale. This was the condition of things when a new scene opens to our vision, apparently by accident, but really under the guiding hand of Providence. A train of circumstances brought to light the whereabouts of the long-lost FRANCES SLOCUM. 248 WYOMING. THE DISCOVERY OF FRANCES. Colonel Ewing, a gentleman connected with the public service among the Indians, having acquired the language in use among the Western tribes, and having business with these tribes, made frequent journeys through the wilderness and among the Indian settlements. On one of these journeys he happened to be benighted near what was called "The Deaf Man's Village," on the Missisinewa, a branch of the Wabash. He asked for and received the hospitalities of a respectable Indian dwelling. The mistress of the house was a venerable and respectable-looking Indian woman, to whom great deference was paid by the whole family circle, composed of children and grandchildren. Colonel Ewing was weary and rather indisposed, and, after taking some refreshments, he laid himself down to rest upon some skins in a corner of the room. The family disappeared, with the exception of the venerable head of the circle, and she lingered, being busy with some of her small arrangements for the night. The colonel's attention was attracted by the color of her skin and hair, and, shrewdly suspecting that she was a white woman, he commenced conversation with her. She said she was a white woman, and was carried into captivity by the Indians when a child, and her father's name was Slocum. She had never revealed her history before, for fear that her white relations might come and take her away. But she was now old, and should not stay much longer; and she was willing, if any of them were alive, that they should know where she was. The colonel, presuming that the information which had been communicated to him might be of great im- FRANCES SLOCUM. 249 portance to persons still living, concluded to take measures to make the matter public. He accordingly addressed the following letter to the postmaster of the city of Lancaster, Pennsylvania: "Logansport, Indiana, January 20, 1835. "DEAR SIR, - In the hope that some good may result from it, I have taken this means of giving to your fellow-citizens - say the descendants of the early settlers of the Susquehanna - the following information; and if there be any now living whose name is Slocum, to them, I hope, the following may be communicated through the public prints of your place. "There is now living near this place, among the Miami tribe of Indians, an aged white woman, who a few days ago told me, while I lodged in the camp one night, that she was taken away from her father's house, on or near the Susquehanna River, when she was very young - say from five to eight years old, as she thinks - by the Delaware Indians, who were then hostile toward the whites. She says her father's name was Slocum; that he was a Quaker, rather small in stature, and wore a large-brimmed hat; was of sandy hair and light complexion, and much freckled; that he lived about half a mile from a town where there was a fort; that they lived in a wooden house of two stories high, and had a spring near the house. She says three Delawares came to the house in the daytime, when all were absent but herself, and perhaps two other children: her father and brothers were absent making hay. The Indians carried her off, and she was adopted into a family of Delawares, who raised her and treated her as their own child. They died about forty years ago, somewhere in Ohio. She was then married to a Mi- 250 WYOMING. ami, by whom she had four children; two of them are now living - they are both daughters and she lives with them. Her husband is dead; she is old and feeble, and thinks she will not live long. "These considerations induced her to give the present history of herself, which she would never do before, fearing that her kindred would come and force her away. She has lived long and happy as an Indian, and, but for her color, would not be suspected of being any thing else than such. She is very respectable and wealthy, sober and honest. Her name is without reproach. She says her father had a large family, say eight children in all - six older than herself, one younger, as well as she can recollect; and she doubts not there are yet living many of their descendants, but seems to think that all her brothers and sisters must be dead, as she is very old herself, not far from the age of eighty. She thinks she was taken prisoner before the two last wars, which must mean the Revolutionary war, as Wayne's war and the late war have been since that one. She has entirely lost her mother tongue, and speaks only in Indian, which I also understand, and she gave me a full history of herself. Her own Christian name she has forgotten, but says her father's name was Slocum, and he was a Quaker. She also recollects that it was upon the Susquehanna River that they lived, but don't recollect the name of the town near which they lived. I have thought that from this letter you might cause something to be inserted in the newspapers of your country that might possibly catch the eye of some of the descendants of the Slocum family, who have knowledge of a girl having been carried off by the Indians some seventy years FRANCES SLOCUM. 251 ago. This they might know from family tradition. If so, and they will come here, I will carry them where they may see the object of my letter alive and happy, though old and far advanced in life. "I can form no idea whereabout upon the Susquehanna River this family could have lived at that early period, namely, about the time of the Revolutionary war, but perhaps you can ascertain more about it. If so, I hope you will interest yourself, and, if possible, let her brothers and sisters, if any be alive - if not, their children - know where they may once more see a relative whose fate has been wrapped in mystery for seventy years, and for whom her bereaved and afflicted parents doubtless shed many a bitter tear. They have long since found their graves, though their lost child they never found. I have been much affected with the disclosure, and hope the surviving friends may obtain, through your goodness, the information I desire for them. If I can be of any service to them, they may command me. In the mean time, I hope you will excuse me for the freedom I have taken with you, a total stranger, and believe me to be, sir, with much respect, your obedient servant, "GEO. W. EWING." The letter reached its destination, but the postmaster, considering it a hoax, flung it by, and for two years it lay among a quantity of old letters and papers in the office which were deemed worthless. There was a providence in the discovery of the lost one, and will that providence, which was concerned in the first development, allow the light to die out, and the whole matter to be hid from the vision of those so deeply interested in the revelation? We shall see. The post- 252 WYOMING. master died, and, for some reason -possibly mere curiosity - his wife overhauled the mass of old papers belonging to the office, among which she found and read Colonel Ewing's letter. She was more confiding than her husband in the truthfulness of the tale, and she sent the letter to the editor of the Intelligencer, by whom it was published. Here providence seems to have again interfered, and saved the letter from final oblivion. Another interesting fact worthy of special attention is, that the letter came to hand just in time to make its appearance in an extra number containing some temperance documents, and these were sent to the clergymen generally through that part of the state. One of these fell into the hands of the Rev. Samuel Bowman, a native of Wilkesbarre, and intimately acquainted with the Slocum family. He had from his childhood been accustomed to hear the melancholy story of the captivity of little Frances Slocum, and well knew the efforts which the brothers had made to find her. He immediately mailed one of these papers to her brother, who lived in Wilkesbarre, and the wonderful development which the letter contained flung the whole community into a state of excitement. There was no father or mother living to say "Frances is yet alive, and I will go and see her before I die," but there were brothers, a sister, and a large circle of nephews and nieces, whose hearts leaped for joy at the prospect of at least learning the veritable history of Frances, who had been for sixty years in savage life, but utterly lost to her kindred and friends. A correspondence ensued between Jonathan J. Slocum, Esq., son of Mr. Joseph Slocum, and Colonel Ewing, which speaks for itself, and here follows: FRANCES SLOCUM. 253 "Wilkesbarre, Penn., August 8, 1837. "GEORGE W. EWING, Esq.: "DEAR SIR, - At the suggestion of my father and other relations, I have taken the liberty to write to you, although an entire stranger. "We have received, but a few days since, a letter written by you to a gentleman in Lancaster, of this state, upon a subject of deep and intense interest to our family. How the matter should have lain so long wrapped in obscurity we can not conceive. An aunt of mine - sister of my father - was taken away when five years old by the Indians, and since then we have only had vague and indistinct rumors upon the subject. Your letter we deem to have entirely revealed the whole matter, and set every thing at rest. The description is so perfect, and the incidents (with the exception of her age) so correct, that we feel confident. "Steps will be taken immediately to investigate the matter, and we will endeavor to do all in our power to restore a lost relative who has been sixty years in Indian bondage. "Your friend and obedient servant, "JON. J. SLOCUM." "Logansport, Indiana, August 26, 1837. "JON. J. SLOCUM, Esq., Wilkesbarre: "DEAR SIR, - I have the pleasure of acknowledging the receipt of your letter of the 8th instant, and in answer can add, that the female I spoke of in January, 1835, is still alive; nor can I for a moment doubt but that she is the identical relative that has been so long lost to your family. "I feel much gratified to think that I have been thus instrumental in disclosing to yourself and friends such 254 WYOMING. facts in relation to her as will enable you to visit her and satisfy yourselves more fully. She recovered from the temporary illness by which she was afflicted about the time I spent the night with her in January, 1835, and which was, no doubt, the cause that induced her to speak so freely of her early captivity. "Although she is now, by long habit, an Indian, and her manners and customs precisely theirs, yet she will doubtless be happy to see any of you, and I myself will take great pleasure in accompanying you to the house. Should you come out for that purpose, I advise you to repair directly to this place; and should it so happen that I should be absent at the time, you will find others who can take you to her. Bring with you this letter; show it to James T. Miller, of Peru, Ind., a small town not far from this place. He knows her well. He is a young man whom we have raised. He speaks the Miami tongue, and will accompany you if I should not be at home. Inquire for the old white woman, mother-in-law to Brouriette, living on the Missisinewa River, about ten miles above its mouth. There you will find the long-lost sister of your father, and, as I before stated, you will not have to blush on her account. She is highly respectable, and her name as an Indian is without reproach. Her daughter, too, and her son- in-law, Brouriette, who is also a half-blood, being part French, are both very respectable and interesting people - none in the nation are more so. As Indians they live well, and will be pleased to see you. Should you visit here this fall, I may be absent, as I purpose starting for New York in a few days, and shall not be back till some time in October. But this need not stop you; for, although I should be gratified to see you, yet it will be sufficient to learn that I FRANCES SLOCUM. 255 have furthered your wishes in this truly interesting matter. "The very kind manner in which you have been pleased to speak of me shall be fully appreciated. "There perhaps are men who could have heard her story unmoved, but for me, I could not; and when I reflected that there was, perhaps, still lingering on this side of the grave some brother or sister of that ill-fated woman, to whom such information would be deeply interesting, I resolved on the course which I adopted, and entertained the fond hope that my letter, if ever it should go before the public, would attract the attention of some one interested. In this it seems, at last, I have not been disappointed, although I had long since supposed it had failed to effect the object for which I wrote it. Like you, I regret that it should have been delayed so long, nor can I conceive how any one should neglect to publish such a letter. "As to the age of this female, I think she herself is mistaken, and that she is not so old as she imagines herself to be. Indeed, I entertain no doubt but that she is the same person that your family have mourned after for more than half a century past. "Your obedient humble servant, "GEORGE W. EWING." The way was now plain, and there was no delay in taking measures to visit the locality where, it was now nearly reduced to a certainty, the Slocums would find their long-lost sister. Mr. Isaac Slocum and Mrs. Mary Town resided in Ohio, but not in the same neighborhood. It was arranged by correspondence that Mr. Joseph Slocum should visit Ohio by private conveyance, take Mrs. Town in his carriage, and that 256 WYOMING. they should meet their brother Isaac somewhere near the "Deaf Man's Village," perhaps in the nearest white settlement. Isaac pushed on by public conveyance, and, accompanied by Mr. Miller, the interpreter, went directly to the residence of the old woman described by Colonel Ewing. He found her, to all appearance, a perfect Indian. He had fixed in his mind an infallible mark of distinction. Before she was carried off, her brother Ebenezer had struck her fore-finger on the left hand with a hammer, in the blacksmith's shop, and so injured the bone that the nail was permanently destroyed, and the finger otherwise disfigured. Mr. Slocum accordingly took hold of her hand, and brought her to the light, and saw the mark still remaining, with very little variation from the changes of time. "How came that finger jammed?" asked he, through the interpreter. "My brother struck it with a hammer in the shop, a long time ago, before I was carried away," was the answer. She, however, said but little; she was coy and suspicious, and manifested no confidence in the claims of the stranger to be her brother. Mr. Slocum was satisfied beyond a doubt that he had found the real Frances Slocum, for whom he and his brothers had so long and so often been employed in ineffectual searches. He now returned to a small village nine miles distant, called Peru, and anxiously waited the arrival of his brother Joseph and sister Town. Here he spent several weary days in great anxiety and suspense. At length, after hard toiling most of the way over horrible roads through a new country, the brother and sister arrived. For persons in advanced life they had almost performed miracles of endurance; they were much fatigued, but they did not delay long until they FRANCES SLOCUM. 257 were on the line of march for the house of Frances. On their way they paid their respects to Godfrey, the second chief of the Miamis, who was an exceedingly large man, of fine proportions and noble bearing. The chief received them with great courtesy, and promised them his good offices in the matter of their visit, should they be needed. The party left the chief and hastened on to the point of interest. They entered the decent Indian cabin - constructed of logs, and quite roomy - and found the mistress of the house sitting in her chair. Still she was not disposed to converse freely. She gave a brief account of her family and the circumstances of her capture, but seemed utterly unmoved, and not free from suspicion that there was some plan in operation to take her away or to get her land. The brothers walked the floor with emotions too deep and overwhelming for utterance - the sister wept. Could it be possible that this Indian woman was the dear little Frances, whose sweet smiles lingered in their memory, and which they could scarcely do any other than identify with her still? Has she dear Frances - been metamorphosed into this stoical, iron-hearted Indian woman-old, wrinkled, and cold as an iceberg? But there could be no mistake about it. She said her father's name was Slocum; he was a Quaker, and wore a broad-brimmed hat; he lived near a fort by a great river; she had seven brothers and two sisters; her brother hammered off her finger nail; she was taken from under the staircase; three Indians took her, with a boy and a black girl, a great many winters ago, when she was a little child. The question was settled; this was Frances. She was now a widow. Her husband was a chief. 258 WYOMING. She had two daughters: the younger of the two had lost her husband; the husband of the elder was a half-breed - his father a Frenchman - and his name was Brouriette, who managed the out-door affairs of the family, subject always to the views and feelings of the queen mother-in-law. The family circle scrupulously followed the lead of the venerated head of the household, making no advances, exhibiting no emotion. On this occasion only one tender chord was touched. The long-lost sister had forgotten her own name. She was asked if she thought she could remember it if she should hear it mentioned. Her answer was, "It is a long time; I do not know." "Was it Frances?" Something like emotion instantly agitated her iron-cast features, and, with a smile, she answered in the affirmative, "Franca, Franca." Things changed a little, but by very slow degrees. The hospitalities of the house were never denied to respectable strangers, and, of course, would be offered to the Slocums. When the conversation was concluded, the Indian queen went about her business, apparently with as much indifference as though nothing of interest had happened. The party surveyed the premises, and were pleased to find every thing in excellent order for an Indian residence. Returning from a stroll, they observed the sister seated on the floor, at work at a deerskin, which was nearly ready for use. She was scraping the rough places with a knife, and reducing its rigidity by friction. She paid little attention to the strangers, only answering when addressed through the interpreter. The daughters evidently observed the strangers with interest, but, Indian-like, only cast at them side-glances when they thought they were not observed. FRANCES SLOCUM. 259 The company proposed to the sister to accompany them, with her son-in-law and daughters, to Peru. She could not fully pledge herself to comply with this request until she had consulted Godfrey, the chief. He advised her to comply with the request, assuring her that she would be in no danger from the respectable strangers; that, being her relations, they had certainly visited her with none other than the most friendly intentions. The arrangement was completed, and the party returned. On the Sabbath, the sister, her son-in-law, and two daughters came on horseback, in single file, and presented themselves before the door of the new hotel of the little town, the queen before, the daughters next, and Captain Brouriette bringing up the rear. They were met by the brothers with great cordiality, and requested to alight, and were conducted into the house. Before any intimacy could be entered upon, the strangers must receive a present. The eldest daughter brought something in a clean white cloth and laid it upon the table, which, upon examination, was found to be the hind-quarter of a deer. After a brief explanation through the interpreter, Mrs. Town advanced and took possession of the present, which was the proffered token of friendship, when confidence was established. There was now only one drawback to the circumstances of the meeting, and that was the fact that it was the Sabbath. And was it possible that Frances had lost the idea of the sacredness of the Sabbath? that "she did not know when Sunday came?" Here was an evidence, among many, that Frances Slocum had become an Indian in every thing excepting her parentage, and that she was, in fact, a heathen. Noth- 260 WYOMING. ing else could have been expected, and yet the fact seemed surprising, as it was afflicting, to the Slocums. The best provisions were now made for the entertainment of the Indian party, and Frances was somewhat more free. She listened with interest to a history of the Slocum family, a part of which was the cruel murder of her father soon after her capture, and the deep anxiety of their mother, while she lived, to find her lost child. They assured her that Mrs. Town was the sister who ran away to the fort with her little brother in her arms, and that Mr. Joseph Slocum was that very little brother. In due time preparations were made to take down in writing her Indian history. To this she seemed to have some aversion until the reasons for it were explained by the interpreter. She then proceeded with a brief account of her captivity, and her Indian life down to the present time, which, as it was more fully recited on the occasion of a subsequent visit, we shall reserve for record in connection with that visit. This was a most extraordinary meeting, and excited no little interest in the community. People gathered in and around the house, gaping and listening with amazement. They crowded the doors and windows, and so interrupted the free circulation of the air, that the Indian party, so accustomed to the free air of the woods and the prairies, were almost suffocated. The food, too, seasoned with salt and pepper, was not only unpalatable, but was scarcely endurable. The circumstances, altogether, had an injurious influence upon the health of Frances, and she sought relief in accordance with the habits of savage life. She quietly slipped away, and in five minutes was found with her blanket pulled over her head, lying on the floor of the stoop, FRANCES SLOCUM. 261 fast asleep. The two parties remained at Peru three days. They. had frequent conferences, during which the following questions and answers are reported: "Were you ever tired of living with the Indians?" "No; I always had enough to live on, and have lived well. The Indians always used me kindly." "Did you know that you had white relations who were seeking you for so many years?" "No; no one told me, and I never heard of it. I never thought any thing about my white relations unless it was a little while after I was taken." "We live where our father and mother used to live, on the banks of the beautiful Susquehanna, and we want you to return with us; we will give you of our property, and you shall be one of us, and share all that we have. You shall have a good house, and every thing you desire. Oh, do go back with us!" "No, I can not. I have always lived with the Indians; they have always used me very kindly; I am used to them. The Great Spirit has always allowed me to live with them, and I wish to live and die with them. Your Wah-puh-mone (looking- glass) may be larger than mine, but this is my home. I do not wish to live any better, or any where else, and I think the Great Spirit has permitted me to live so long because I have always lived with the Indians. I should have died sooner if I had left them. My husband and my boys are buried here, and I can not leave them. On his dying-day my husband charged me not to leave the Indians. I have a house and large lands, two daughters, a son-in-law, three grandchildren, and every thing to make me comfortable: why should I go, and be like a fish out of the water?" Brouriette spoke and said: 262 WYOMING. "And I know all about it. I was born at Fort Harrison, about two miles from Terre Haute. When I was ten years old I went to Detroit. I was married to this woman about thirteen years ago. The people about here and at Logansport and at Miamisport have known me ever since the country was settled by the whites. They know me to be industrious, to manage well, and to maintain my family respectably. My mother-in-law's sons are dead, and I stand in their place to her. I mean to maintain her well as long as she lives, for the truth of which you may depend on the word of Captain Brouriette." "What Captain Brouriette says," added the old lady, "is true. He has always treated me kindly, and I am satisfied with him - perfectly satisfied; and I hope my connections will not feel any uneasiness about me. The Indians are my people. I do no work. I sit in the house with these my two daughters, who do the work, and I sit with them." "But will you at least go and make a visit to your early home, and when you have seen us, return again to your children ?" "I can not. I can not. I am an old tree. I can not move about. I was a sapling when they took me away. It is all gone past. I am afraid I should die and never come back. I am happy here. I shall die here and lie in that grave-yard, and they will raise the pole at my grave with the white flag on it, and the Great Spirit will know where to find me. I should not be happy with my white relatives. I am glad enough to see them, but I can not go. I can not go. I have done." "When the whites take a squaw," said Brouriette, with much animation, as if delighted with the decision FRANCES SLOCUM. 263 of the old lady, "they make her work like a slave. It was never so with this woman. If I had been a drunken, worthless fellow, this woman could not have lived to this age. But I have always treated her well. The village is called Deaf Man's Village, after her husband. I have done." The eldest daughter, whose name is Kick-Ice-se-qua, or "cut-finger," assented to all that had been said, and added that "the deer can not live out of the forest." The youngest daughter, O-show-se-quah, or "yellow leaves," confirmed all, and thought that her mother could not go even on a visit, "because," said she, "the fish dies quickly out of the water." The talk closed. The Indian sister was weary and sick, and anxious to return to her wilds, so congenial to her feelings, and so endeared to her heart by many tender associations. There was her home, and there were the graves of her husband and her sons, and there she could enjoy the mode of life which, by long and invincible habit, had become her element, and was necessary to her being. The brothers and sister returned to their homes with mingled emotions of pleasure and pain. They had found their long-lost sister Frances, but they had found and left her an Indian, with almost every trace of Christian civilization erased, both from her soul, body, and being. She looked like an Indian, talked like an Indian, lived like an Indian, seated herself like an Indian, ate like an Indian, lay down to sleep like an Indian, thought, felt, and reasoned like an Indian; she had no longings for her original home, or the society of her kindred; she eschewed the trammels of civilized life, and could only breathe freely in the great unfenced out-doors which God gave to the Red Man. 264 WYOMING. There was, however, this to comfort the Slocums: their sister was not degraded in her habits or her character; there was a moral dignity in her manners entirely above ordinary savage life; her Anglo-Saxon blood had not been tainted by savage touch, but bore itself gloriously amid the long series of trials through which it had passed. She was the widow of a deceased chief; she was rich; all that abundance and respectability could do for a woman in savage life was hers. Such was the former Frances Slocum, of Wyoming, now Ma-con-a-qua, the Indian queen of the Miamis. The problem was settled - the veil of sixty years cast over the history and fate of a captive child was now finally removed. On Mr. Joseph Slocum's return to his family in Wilkesbarre, his relations were listened to with the most intense interest. Every body had a long catalogue of questions to ask about Frances, which he was always ready to answer. He seemed never weary of conversing upon the subject of the captivity - the mysterious history - the visit. But Mr. Slocum was not quite satisfied with that visit; he consequently resolved upon another, and this time he took with him his eldest and youngest daughters. Mr. Slocum and his two daughters - Mrs. Bennet and Harriet, now Mrs. Drake - left home upon this interesting trip September 10th, 1839. Their route was through Montrose, Owego, Ithaca, the Cayuga Lake, and by the Erie Canal to Niagara Falls. Mr. Slocum's memorandum of the journey contains many interesting entries, besides an account of his expenses; Mrs. Bennet kept a regular journal. Both of these are before us, and, so far as facts are concerned, will be strictly followed. FRANCES SLOCUM. 265 After a thorough examination of that great natural curiosity, the Falls, the party took the cars for Buffalo, and thence came, by steam-boat, to Sandusky City. After a short visit at Mr. Isaac Slocum's, who resided a. few miles back in the country, they took another steam-boat for Maumee. Thence they came by stage, via Fort Defiance, to Fort Wayne, through the rain, over horrible roads, heavily loaded: nothing is noted very favorable to the stages or drivers. Here they took passage on a canal packet to Logansport, and thence to Peru, where they arrived September 28th, having been eighteen days on their journey. Mrs. Bennet says, "We found comfortable lodgings at Mr. Brunette's, a temperance house. This place has only been settled four years; the country is rich, but unhealthy." Mr. Miller, the interpreter, called upon them; they spent the Sabbath here. On Monday morning they chartered a wagon, and proceeded to "the Deaf Man's Village." The company consisted of Mr. Slocum, his two daughters, Mr. Miller, and two gentlemen - Mr. Taylor and Mr. Fullweller. " Our charioteer likes a dram: to be sure of a supply, he carried a bottle in his pocket; if he had spent the money in getting his harness mended it would have been better for us:" so says Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Slocum says, "Had some trouble with breaking our harness; got up there about half past twelve o'clock." Having received intelligence of the coming of the party, Brouriette, according to the custom of the Miamis when visited by distinguished guests, came well mounted to meet them. He dismounted and shook hands with them all, and bid them welcome. He then mounted his horse, and galloped off through the woods with great speed to apprise the family of the approach 266 WYOMING. of the company. He spoke broken English, and Mrs. Drake says, "He is a very fine, tall Indian; his head was covered with a handkerchief something like a turban, with nearly a yard of red calico hanging down behind." As he ran his horse through the woods, with his red streamer flying after him, "he made," as she says, "a grotesque appearance." The Slocums and their friends arrived at the residence of Frances September 30. Captain Brouriette met them at the door and brought them into the house. Mrs. Drake says, "We found our aunt seated in a chair, looking very much as represented in the water-colored portrait now in possession of Judge Bennet, with her two daughters standing by her." Mr. Slocum, after the accustomed salutations, told his sister that he had brought his eldest and youngest children to see her. The coldness and reserve of the former visit were now entirely gone, and Frances expressed great joy upon the occasion of again seeing her brother, and particularly that he had brought his daughters so far to see her. The mother and daughters immediately commenced an animated conversation upon the subject of the family resemblances which were observable. The old lady, looking at the ladies earnestly, passed her hand down her cheeks, stopping the motion at the posterior point of her lower jaw. There is an unusual fullness and prominence at that point of the Slocum face. The preparations for dinner were soon commenced. They spread the table with a white cotton cloth, and wiped the dishes, as they took them from the cupboard, with a clean cloth. They prepared an excellent dinner of fried venison, potatoes, shortcake, and coffee. Their cups and saucers were small, and they put FRANCES SLOCUM. 267 MA-CON-A-QUA. [illustration] three or four table-spoonfuls of maple sugar in a cup. They were told by their white visitors, "Our way is not so much sugar." They seemed very anxious to please, and would often ask, " s that right?" The eldest daughter waited on the table, while her mother sat at the table and ate with her white relations. After dinner they washed the dishes, and replaced them upon the shelves, and then swept the floor. The ladies were 268 WYOMING. surprised at these evidences of civilization, and upon asking their aunt why they did these things, she made answer that her mother used to do so, and she had always done it, and learned it to her daughters. It was, therefore, a uniform rule in her house to wipe the dust from the dishes when they were put upon the table, and when the meal was concluded to wash them and return them to the cupboard, and then to sweep the room. In the afternoon all left but Mr. Slocum, his daughters, and Mr. Miller; the last remained till near night, when he returned. They strolled over the premises, and visited the burying-ground. They raise a pole over the grave fifteen or twenty feet high, with a white cloth at the top, which remains until destroyed by time. The premises showed great skill and industry for savage life, and no little order and attention to comfort in its arrangements. The house was "a double hut." A neighboring squaw came in to help do the work, and the Indian daughters kept close to their white cousins, and talked with them incessantly. They supposed candles would be wanted, and, to meet the emergency, the squaw melted some tallow, twisted wicking on a stick, and with a spoon poured the tallow down the wicks until "quite a respectable candle" was produced. For supper they had the breast of a wild turkey stewed with onions - " quite a delicate dish." When they came to retire, "the pillow," all there was in the house, was assigned to Mr. Slocum by the Indian sister. "They pay great respect to age. They had six beds, principally composed of blankets and other goods folded together," says Mrs. Bennet. "They were made of almost every thing," says Mrs. Drake. The visitors FRANCES SLOCUM. 269 slept sweetly, and, after taking "a comfortable breakfast," they commenced their arrangements to return to Peru. After breakfast a white man came to purchase a steer, and brought with him a colored man as an interpreter. He could not trade for the want of the money, as "he might move away," and that would be the last of it. No business transaction takes place in the family without the consent of Frances. She usually makes the bargains herself. The colored man served so well in the capacity of an interpreter that he was retained by Mr. Slocum for the purpose. Frances was more free in her communications through him than she had been through Mr. Miller, and gave many circumstances in her history and recollections which she had not previously given. They seemed anxious to tell their white relatives as much as possible about themselves, and to make as favorable an impression as possible. They had made in the spring "eleven barrels of sugar." "She says she could have a better house, but fears to do it on account of the jealousy of the Indians. She has money; some that has been saved since the treaty of St. Mary's, eighteen years ago. They had cloths and calicoes enough to fill a country store. They have a looking-glass - several splint-bottomed chairs - a great many trinkets hung about the house - beads and chains of silver and polished steel. Some of their dresses are richly ornamented with silver brooches, seven or eight rows of them as close as they can be put together - many silver ear-rings: my aunt had seven pairs in her ears; her daughters perhaps a dozen a piece. They have saddles and bridles of the 270 WYOMING. most costly kind - six men's saddles and one side-saddle. They have between fifty and sixty horses, one hundred hogs, and seventeen head of cattle. They have geese and chickens. Their house is inclosed with a common worm fence, with some outhouses, principally built of logs. A never-failing spring of excellent water is near the door, with a house over it." This is Mrs. Bennet's description, with some items added by Mrs. Drake. From the same sources I give the following description of the family. "My aunt is of small stature, not very much bent; her hair clubbed behind in calico, tied with worsted ferret; her dress a blue calico short-gown, a white Mackinaw blanket, a fold of blue broadcloth around her, red cloth leggins, and buckskin moccasins. Her hair is somewhat gray, her eyes a bright chestnut, clear and sprightly for one of her age, her face very much wrinkled and weather- beaten. She has a scar on her left cheek, which she received at an Indian dance. Her skin is not so dark as would be expected from her age and constant exposure. Her teeth are remarkably good." This extraordinary family had not been without their griefs. The first husband of the youngest daughter had died, and the second had been killed in a fight. The only child of the eldest had been poisoned by a desperate lover, son of Godfrey the chief, because her family would not consent to her marrying him on account of his intemperance and idleness. These sad events had left traces behind them which death alone would efface. At the time the whole family gave themselves up to inconsolable grief. FRANCES SLOCUM. 271 "Lady Cap: Alack the day! she's dead, she's dead, she's dead. Cap: Ha! let me see her. Out, alas ! she's cold; Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Death lies on her, like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. Accursed time! unfortunate old man! Nurse: O, lamentable day! Lady Cap: O, woeful time! Cap: Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak. Lady Cap: Accurs'd, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Most miserable hour that e'er time saw In lasting labor of his pilgrimage! But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, But one thing to rejoice and solace in, And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight." SHAKESPEARE - Romeo and Juliet. The following is from Mrs. Bennet's journal: "The eldest daughter is large and fleshy - I should think would weigh near two hundred pounds. She is active, observing, and intelligent, thirty-four years of age. The youngest is smaller - is quiet and very retiring - is twenty-four years of age. The mother's name is Macon-a-qua, a young bear. The eldest daughter's name is Kich-ke-ne-che- qua, cut finger. The youngest is O-saw-she-quah, yellow leaf. The grandchildren's names are Kip-pe-no-quah, corn-tassel, Wap-pa-na-se-a, a blue corn, Kim-on-sack-quah, young panther." As to the religious notions of Frances, Mrs. Bennet says, "She is well apprised of a heaven and hell, and the necessity of living a sober, honest, and quiet life, and if she does she thinks she will be happy when she dies, having been taught these things by her adopted parents." The heathenism of the Delawares, into whose hands she fell, had been much modified by Christian influences and instructions, through the agency of the 272 WYOMING. Moravian missionaries. It is not at all unlikely that the Christian ideas of a state of future rewards and punishments had made a deep impression upon the general mind of that tribe far beyond what was developed in the form of a profession of Christianity. These ideas, being in harmony with the childish impressions and early instructions of Frances, would be likely to take a deeper hold upon her heart and life than upon those of native Indians. There was a high moral bearing in this adopted Indian mind that well accords with this theory; and how far the Holy Spirit may have wrought these principles into the texture of her soul, and, through them, finally sanctified that soul, is not for us to know. But it would scarcely border upon presumption to entertain a hope of the final happiness of Frances Slocum. To proceed with the visit. It had been arranged that Frances, her eldest daughter, and Captain Brouriette should accompany the visitors to Peru, in the way of an interchange of hospitalities. After breakfast Captain Brouriette left upon some business, promising to meet the company at Peru at three o'clock P. M. The arrangements for proceeding on horseback were nearly completed. Frances had but one side-saddle, and she went to the brink of the river, and took off her moccasins and leggins, waded the river, and went a mile and borrowed another side-saddle, that both of her fair nieces might be accommodated. As for herself, like the Indian women generally, she rode a man's saddle. About noon the horses were all rigged and at the door. When the company were all seated in their saddles, Frances started off, followed by her eldest daughter. Mr. Slocum rode on next, followed by his FRANCES SLOCUM. 273 two daughters, "all in Indian file." They forded the Missisinewa twice and the Wabash once. Just before they arrived at Peru, Frances and her daughter fell behind, wishing her white relatives to take the lead as they entered the village. They arrived a little before three, and, punctual to the minute, Captain Brouriette rode up at three. They were now all seated in the parlor, with Mr. Miller, the interpreter, and visiting proceeded briskly. The Indian portion of the party were now more observing than ever, and did not try to conceal their preferences for many of the usages of the whites. They would neither eat nor do scarcely any thing else until they saw how their white friends did it. They spoke of many things they saw upon the table, and said they must get some like them. Harriet had knitting, and the Indian daughter would scarcely allow her to lay it down until she had learned "the stitch." She said she would knit herself a pair of stockings, "they were so comfortable." At night the ladies all retired to the same room. Here Frances and her daughter closely observed the garments of the ladies, and, so far as was physically practicable, tried them on. The bulky young Indian woman, by shrewd signs, intimated that if she had stays to wear she would be small too. When their curiosity was gratified, the queen Ma-con-a-qua and her daughter lay down upon the floor, not listening for a moment to the solicitations of the ladies to take a bed, and in a few minutes were sound asleep. We will now proceed to give the history of Frances as she gave it, piecemeal, during the two visits. She said that before her father removed to Wyoming they lived by a great water. They had a large house, and she thought her father had sold it, as she 274 WYOMING. saw a great heap of paper money counted out on the table. In a few days there was a large new wagon brought up, and they were all put into it like a flock of quails or chickens. The wagon had a sail or tent over it. They used to peep out sometimes, and her brother, who rode on one of the horses, would strike at them with his great whip. He called her "red-head," and told her to keep her head in, or it would get knocked off against the trees. She said, they would take us out and feed us, and then put us back again under the tent. She remembered her mother - remembers seeing her spin: she was a large woman, and she would make her mind, and make her work. She tells this to her girls: when she was small, her mother would make her wash up the dishes as soon as they had done eating, and she taught them the same thing. When they came to Wyoming they lived by a long river near a fort. On being asked if they had any black people in the family, she said they had, and the Indians took a black girl before they took her. THE CAPTIVITY. We will now proceed to the story of the captivity of Frances Slocum as related by herself. "Three Delaware Indians came suddenly to our house. They killed and scalped a man near the door. A boy ran into the house, and he and I hid under the staircase. The Indians came into the house and went up stairs. They took some loaf-sugar and some bundles of other things. They carried us through the bushes. I looked back, but saw no one except my mother. They carried us over the mountains - it seemed to me a long way - to a cave where they had left their blankets and some other things. There was a bed of leaves, FRANCES SLOCUM. 275 and here we staid all night. We reached this place while it was yet light. I was very tired, and I lay down on the ground, and cried until I fell asleep. "The next morning we set off early, and we traveled many days in the woods before we came to an Indian village. When we stopped at night, the Indians would make a bed of hemlock boughs, and make up a great fire at their feet which would last all night. They roasted their meat by sticking a stick into it, and holding it to the fire. They drank at the brooks and springs, and made me a little cup of birch bark to drink out of. The Indians were very kind to me; when they had any thing to eat, I always had the best; when I was tired, they carried me in their arms; and in a short time I began to feel better, and stopped crying. I do not know where the Indian village was which we first stopped at; we only staid there a few days." It was probably Sheshequin. "Very early one morning two of the same Indians took a horse, and set the boy and me on it, and set off upon a journey. One Indian went before, and the other behind, driving the horse. We traveled a long way, when we came to the village where these Indians belonged. I now found that one of them was an Indian chief whom they called Tack-horse. I do not know what that name means." The name, it is probable, has allusion to some fact in the chief's history while he mingled with the whites, for we shall subsequently see that he had quite a sprinkling of civilization in his character. Her story proceeds: "Early one morning Tack-horse took me and dressed my hair in the Indian fashion, and painted my face. He then dressed me up, and put on me beautiful wampum beads, and made me look very fine. I was much pleased with the wampum. 276 WYOMING. "We then lived on a hill not far from a river" - probably the Genesee River. "I was now adopted by Tack-horse and his wife in the place of one they had lost a short time before, and they gave me her name. When the Indians lose a child, they often adopt some one in its place, and treat that one in all respects as their own. This is the reason why they so often carry off the children of white people. "It was now the fall of the year, for chestnuts had come. There were a great many Indians here, and here we remained all winter. The Indians were furnished with ammunition and provisions by the British. In the spring we went to Sandusky, and staid there through the summer, but in the fall we came back, and we lived one year at Niagara. I recollect that the Indians were afraid to cross above the Falls on account of the rapidity of the water. I also recollect that they had a machine by which they raised goods from below the Falls, and let things down." This was, no doubt, a tackle erected by the English. "We went from Niagara near Detroit, where we lived three years. My adopted father made chairs, which he sold; he also played on the fiddle, and frequently went into the white settlements and played, and received pay for it. My adopted mother made baskets and brooms, which she sold. The British made them presents of ammunition and food, which they had to go after in the night. "In the spring we went down to a large river - Detroit River - where the Indians built a great many bark canoes. When they were finished we went up Detroit River, where we remained three years. "There had been war between the British and Americans, and the American army had driven the FRANCES SLOCUM. 277 Indians around the fort where I was adopted. In their fights, the Indians used to bring home scalps. I do not know how many. When peace was made between the British and Americans, we lived by hunting, fishing, and raising corn. The reason why we staid here so long was that we heard the Americans had destroyed all our villages and corn-fields." Frances had now been among the Indians eight years, and was thirteen years of age. She had been tenderly treated, and taught that the white people were enemies to the Indians. She had adopted the Indians for her people, and had a dread of being recaptured and taken back among the whites. She was taught the use of the bow and arrow, and became expert in all the wild sports and athletic exercises of the squaws. She was a successful hunter. She would mount an Indian pony, and gallop through the woods with almost the speed of the wild deer, and with the spirit of the most romantic princess of the Western forests. "Soft was the light that filled her eye, And grace was in her every motion; Her tone was touching, like the sigh When young love first becomes devotion. Among a savage people, still She kept from savage moods apart, And thought of crime and dream of ill Had never swayed her maiden heart." Pocahontas, by W. G. SIMMS. "She'd often wander in the wood, or roam The wilderness in quest of curious flowers, Or nest of bird unknown, till eve approach'd, And hemm'd her in the shade." LOGAN. But let us proceed with our story. 278 WYOMING. REMOVES TO FORT WAYNE. "After three years, my family and another Delaware family removed to Fort Wayne, after Wayne's victory. I do not know where the other Indians went. This was now our home, and I suppose we lived there thirty years. We lived on Eel River, three miles from Fort Wayne. I was there at the time of Harmer's defeat. At the time when this battle was fought, the women and children were all made to run north. I do not know whether the Indians took any prisoners, or brought home any scalps at this time. After the battle they all scattered and returned to their homes. I then returned to Fort Wayne again. The Indians who returned from this battle were Delawares, Potawatomies, Shawnees, and Miamis." "There stood the Indian hamlet, there the lake Spread its blue sheet that flashed with many an oar; Where the brown otter plunged him from the brake, And the deer drank: as the light gale flew o'er, The twinkling maize-field wrestled on the shore. And while that spot, so wild, and lone, and fair, A look of glad and innocent beauty wore, And peace was in the earth and in the air, The warrior lit the pile, and bound his captive there. "Not unavenged, the foeman from the wood Beheld the deed; and when the midnight shade Was stillest, gorged his battle-axe with blood; All died: the wailing babe, the shrieking maid; And in the flood of fire that scathed the glade; The roofs went down; but deep the silence grew, When on the dewy woods the day-beam played; No more the cabin smokes rose wreathed and blue, And ever by their lake lay moored the light canoe." BRYANT. "I was always treated kindly by the Delawares; FRANCES SLOCUM. 279 and while I lived with them I was married to a Delaware by the name of Little Turtle. He afterward left me and went west of the Mississippi. I would not go with him. My old mother staid here, and I chose to stay with her. My adopted father could talk English, and so could I while he lived. It has now been a long time since I forgot it all. "The Delawares and Miamis were then living together as one people. I was afterward married to a Miami, a chief, whom the white people called 'The Deaf Man.' His Indian name was She-poe-ken-ah. We came to this reserve about twenty- four years ago. I had no children by my first husband, but by the last one I had four - two boys and two girls. My boys died while they were young; my girls are still living, and are here with me." At the period of the last visit her husband had been dead six years. As to the Indian wars, she says: "I can not tell much about the Indian wars with the whites, which were so common and so bloody. I well remember a battle and a defeat of the Americans at Fort Washington, which is now Cincinnati. I remember how Wayne and 'Mad Anthony' drove the Indians away, and built the fort. The Indians then scattered all over the country, and lived upon game, which was very plenty. After this they encamped on Red River. After peace was made we all returned to Fort Wayne, and received provisions from the Americans, and there I lived a long time. I had removed with my family to the Missisinewa River some time before the battle of Tippecanoe. The Indians who fought in that battle were Kickapoos, Potawatomies, and Shawnees. - The Miamis were not there. I heard of the battle on the Missisinewa; but my hus- 280 WYOMING. band could not hear, and never went into the wars, and I did not know much about it." The day after their arrival at Peru, Frances was prevailed upon to have her likeness taken. An artist was sent for from Logansport, but, for some reason, he did not arrive as was expected, and the consequence was that the adieu was not so formal as it would have been. Frances went home with Brouriette and her daughter, expecting to return, and, after having her portrait taken, to bid the visitors a formal farewell. After waiting two or three days, the party became weary and set off for home. Arrangements were, however, made for the portrait, and the painting was executed. Subsequently another was taken, and both are in the possession of her friends in Wilkesbarre. Before leaving, Frances made a serious effort to prevail upon her brother to come and live with her. Not to be outdone by her brothers, who had made her such liberal offers if she would come and live with them, she told Mr. Slocum that, if he would come to her village and live, she would give him half of her land, and this would have been no mean present. Her sincerity and earnestness in this proposition were affecting. No arrangement could be made by which the brother and sister - so long separated, and to each other as dead, and now so mysteriously brought together and united in affection - could spend their remnant of life in the same neighborhood. They both bowed submissively to what was evidently the order of Providence, and tried to adjust their feelings to the separation. The Indian daughter took a fancy to Harriet Slocum, dressed her in beads and wampum, and said she looked like her daughter, who had been cruelly pois- FRANCES SLOCUM. 281 oned. "Would I not make a nice squaw?" asked Harriet. "Yes, beautiful squaw; will you be in the place of my daughter, and live with me?" On being told that her friends could not spare her, she was satisfied. She seemed sensible that she was asking too much; but, could the boon have been granted, it would have been most grateful to her heart. Frances, Brouriette, and his wife finally gave their white relatives the parting hand, expressing their high gratification with the visit and the affection which they had manifested for them in coming so far to see them. But, before the final adieu, Captain Brouriette gave Mr. Slocum the most ample assurances that he would take good care of his mother-in-law while she lived. He said he had never left her but once, and that was because of a disagreement with his brother-in-law, who was a drunken, lazy Indian, and would do nothing for himself or any one else. He was now dead, and they lived in the utmost harmony. They shook hands and parted, expecting to meet in a day or two; but this was the final adieu. - Mr. Slocum and his daughters returned from this most interesting visit via Indianapolis, Cincinnati, and Pittsburg. They brought home many little remembrances of their Indian relatives. ACT OF CONGRESS IN FAVOR OF FRANCES. When arrangements were being made by the government to settle the Indians of Indiana west of the Mississippi, Mr. Slocum did not forget his sister. He petitioned Congress in her behalf, and succeeded in enlisting powerful support. Hon. B. A. Bidlack took charge of the bill, and John Quincy Adams made one 282 WYOMING. of his strong speeches in its support, and it became a law. The bill provided that one mile square of the reserve, embracing the house and improvements of Frances Slocum, should be granted in fee to her and her heirs forever. She remembered the kindness, and went down to the grave, in a goodly old age, with the gratitude of a warm heart, and wishing many blessings upon her good brother. LAST DAYS OF FRANCES SLOCUM. The Miamis had removed West, in accordance with the policy of the government. Frances Slocum was surrounded by white settlers, of whom she naturally entertained suspicions which were not calculated to promote the comfort and quiet of her latter days. She was, in fact, suspicious that she and her family might at last be robbed of the home to which the government had given them a title. She sent word to her brother Joseph to come and protect her from the frauds which she apprehended were likely to be practiced upon her. As the best that could be done for her, a son of Isaac Slocum took charge of her business. But all her old associates were gone, and a new order of things was established around her. Despairing of the return of the scenes of the past, she sighed for release from the associations and vices of civilization. Contrasting the freedom and the romance of savage life with the thirst of gain and the overreaching policy of a white frontier settlement, she thought she had truly fallen upon evil times, and was really weary of life. The prestige of her character and her name had departed with her tribe, and she was looked upon simply as a favored old Indian woman, whose claims to equal rights with her white neighbors were entitled to very little respect. FRANCES SLOCUM. 283 During her last sickness, which was brief, Frances Slocum refused all medical aid, declaring that, as her people were gone, and she was surrounded by strangers, she wished to live no longer. She departed this life March 9th, 1847. She had Christian burial, a prayer being made at her house, and her remains conducted to the grave by a clergyman. Her daughter, the wife of Captain Brouriette, overcome with toil and grief, followed her mother to the Spirit-land four days subsequently. Frances Slocum sleeps upon a beautiful knoll near the confluence of the Missisinewa and the Wabash, by the side of her chief and her children, where her ashes will rest in peace until the morning of the resurrection. The tenacity with which she clung to that spot, and her obstinate refusal to leave it for the association of civil society, is one of the prominent facts in her wonderful story.