Biography of Frances Slocum, the lost sister of Wyoming. A complete narrative of her captivity and wanderings among the Indians

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BIOGRAPHY

Chapter I

MEANING OF THE WORD WYOMING AND DESCRIPTION OF THE VALLEY — INDIAN INVASION AND MASSACRE — THE SLOCUM FAMILY — CAPTURE OF FRANCES — GRIEF OF THE MOTHER.

/f^ip^HE scene of our story is laid in the lovely valley of y I ( Wyoming, Pennsylvania, on the east bank of the North Branch of the Susquehanna River, and the thrilling incidents connected with it had their beginning late in the autumn of 1778. But before proceeding, and in order that the reader may have a clear understanding as to the location of this beautiful and historic region, it is deemed best to describe its geographical position.

Chapman, in his history of this region in 1818, says that Wyoming is a corruption of the name given to the locality by the Indians. They called it Maugh-waw-wame. The word is compounded of maugh-waw, large, and wame, plains. The name, then, signifies The Large Plains. The Delawares pronounced the first syllable short, and the German missionaries, in order to come as near as possible to the Indian pronunciation, wrote the uame M'chweuwami. The early settlers, finding it difficult to pronounce the word correctly, spoke it Wauwaumie, then Wiawumie, then Wiomic, and, finally, Wyoming.

The valley of Wyoming lies northeast and southwest; is twenty-one miles in length, and an average of three miles in breadth. The face of the country is considerably diversified. The bottom lands along the river overflow in time of high water. The plains are in some places perfectly level, and in others rolling. The soil is exceedingly productive, being suited to all kinds of grain and grass. The valley lies immediately over the great Wyoming anthracite coal basin, which yields thousands of tons of coal annually, and is a source of great wealth to the owners. Several railroads also pass through it.

Two ranges of mountains hem in the valley, the eastern range being of an average height of iooo feet, and the western about 800. The eastern range is precipitous and generally barren, but is strikingly diversified with clefts, ravines and forests, and presents a most picturesque and lovely view. The western range is rapidly yielding to the process of cultivation.

There are several charming points of view which invite the attention of the lovers of the beautiful and the grand in nature: Prospect Rock, east of the city of Wilkes-Barre, * being easiest of access from the town, and the most frequently visited, is the most celebrated in the annals of travel. From this point the valley, with the slope of the west mountain, presents the appearance of a beautiful ascending plain, with the remotest border merged in the clouds, or bounded by the blue sky. A more charming landscape cannot be imagined. The view from the mountain on the west side gives you a more extensive prospect of the northern and southern extrem-

* The city of Wilkes-Barre is in 41 deg. 14 min. 40.4 sec. north latitude, and is the capital of the populous county of Luzerne. It derives its name from the celebrated John Wilkes and Col. Barre, who were members of the British Parliament during the Revolutionary struggle, and took a decided stand in favor of America against the measures of the British ministry.

ities of the valley. At this point you have a fair view of the northern gap through which the Susquehanna forces its way — of the Lackawanna Valley, Pittston, Wyoming, Wilkes- Barre, Kingston, Newport, and Jacob's Plains. Campbell's Ledge, at the head of the valley, has long been a favorite point of view for the romantic and athletic. The ascent is laborious, but the sublimity of the scene amply rewards the toil of the traveler.

From whatever point the valley is surveyed, the noble Susquehanna is one of the many beautiful objects that present themselves to the eye. Such are its windings, and such the variety which characterize its banks, that you have no extended view of it. It is only seen in sections, varied in size and form by the position occupied. Now it hides itself among the bowers of willow, sycamore, and maple, which fringe and beautify its borders, and now it throws open its mirror bosom to the kisses of the sunlight, reflecting the forms of beauty and grandeur of the surrounding scenery.

Such is a picture of this magnificent valley, whose grandeur and loveliness have afforded a theme for poets and historians from the earliest times. So long as the Indians occupied the country, it was one of their favorite dwelling places, and they sadly and sorrowfully bade adieu to its glories and beauties when compelled to leave it. White settlers came as early as 1762, and commenced making improvements. They were driven away; came again, and finally effected a permanent lodgement after passing through a baptism of blood.

On the 3d of July, 1778, the savages, smarting under monstrous wrongs, and goaded on to deeds of violence by the British and Tories, swooped down on the settlements in great force, and the bloody battle and massacre of that hot July afternoon followed, in which the whites suffered a disastrous defeat.* The carnage, considering the numbers engaged, was dreadful. As nearly as could be ascertained, about 200 perished in the battle and the butchery which followed during the night, while the loss of the invaders was comparatively trifling. The deeds of atrocity committed afterwards were of the most cruel and brutal character — a shame to civilization and an ineffaceable disgrace to Col. Butler, the Tory, who commanded the British troops and their red-skinned allies. The slain and the butchered prisoners were scalped, because these bloody trophies brought a stated price in British gold on being handed over to the authorities. Stockade forts and houses were reduced to ashes, the crops destroyed, stock driven off, and every effort made by the invaders to efface all traces of civilization, and leave the beautiful valley a "howling wilderness. ' '

Such was the condition of affairs after the bloody battle of Wyoming. It was indeed a cheerless and disheartening outlook to those who had escaped the horrors of the massacre, and that a panic should ensue is not strange. Nearly all the settlers who could get away took flight, and the roads or paths leading through the wilderness in the direction of the Delaware River were crowded with fugitive women and children, and the sufferings they endured are the saddest recorded in the annals of our Indian wars. The men who escaped were

* A monument 62 feet in height stands on the battle ground. It is a plain obelisk in the dark gray stone of the valley. The names of 171 who perished in the battle and afterwards, are cut in a marble tablet, and a vault beneath the base contains their bones. One hundred years after — July 3, 1878 — the anniversary of the battle was observed in the presence of 60,000 people. President Hayes, several cabinet officers and governors of States were present. The Delaware, Lackawanna and Western Railroad, between Scranton and Northumberland, 85 miles, runs through a portion of the grounds.

collected together to guard the rear of the 'fleeing 1 column, and save what property they could from the vandal hands of the remorseless invaders.

Among the few who remained was the family of Jonathan Slocum. They had settled on the east side of the river, some miles away from the scene of the battle, and on what is now a portion of the site of the rich, populous and flourishing city of Wilkes-Barre. The battle, it must be remembered, took place on the west side of the river, and it should be borne in mind that the enemy did not cross the stream to molest the fort where many of the settlers had collected. Reinforcements, too, were expected, a knowledge of which doubtless deterred the enemy from crossing the river, and they soon hurried away in the direction of Tioga Point (now Athens) with the trophies of their victory.

Jonathan Slocum, whose ancestors came from England at an early date, was born in Kent County, Rhode Island, May i, 1735. He married Ruth Tripp, February 23, 1757, and for several years they resided in their native State. They were both members of the Society of Friends, the "Protestants of the Puritans."*

Some time during the year 1777 Mr. Slocum, with his wife and nine children, emigrated from Rhode Island and settled on a tract of land lying near Wilkes-Barre Fort. Previous to his location here, however, he had visited the place as early as 1771, acquired land, and made preparations for the removal of his family. At that time Connecticut settlers were pouring in, and a few Rhode Islanders, attracted by reports of the fertility of the soil and the beauty of the country, joined the immigrants. The Slocum family removed to their new home in a covered wagon, and as the roads were

*See "History of the Slocums in America." p. 28,

IO FRANCES SLOCUM,

bad and many streams had to be crossed, the journey was a long and tiresome one. Isaac Tripp, the father of Mrs. Slocum, came with them; Of the ten children comprising this remarkable and historic family, all were born in Rhode Island but one. The following epitome of their history is made up from Dr. Charles K. Slocum's great work on the genealogy and History of the Slocums in America. They were named as follows :

I. — Giles, b. 5 Jan., 1759; m. Sarah Ross; d. 14 Nov. 1826, in Columbia Co., N. Y. He took part in the battle of Wyoming, and was one of the few who escaped the cruel slaughter by swimming to an island in the river, rolling in the sand and hiding under a fallen tree, covered by bushes. He was a member of the Society of Friends; a farmer earlier in life; later an innkeeper (?) and merchant. Left two sons and one daughter.

II. — Judith, b. Oct. — , 1760; m. Hugh Forsman, a farmer; d. 11 Mar. 1 8 14 in Cincinnati. Her husband was a subaltern in Capt. Hewitt's company during the Wyoming massacre, and was one of the fifteen of that corps who escaped the slaughter, and he was the only one who brought in his gun. She left several children.

III. — William, b. 6 Jan. 1762; married Sarah Sawyer; d. Oct. 20, 1 8 10, near Pittston. He was wounded in the heel b}^ a musket ball 16 Dec. 1778, at the time his father and grandfather Tripp were killed by Indians on the site of Wilkes-Barre. Was elected Sheriff of Luzerne Coumy in 1695, when it included Wyoming, Susquehanna, Lackawanna and part of Bradford. He held the office until 1799, when he retired to his farm, and in 1806 was elected a Justice of the Peace. He was classed among the prominent and influential men of his' county. Left four sons and five daughters.

IV. — Kbenezer, b. 10 Jan. 1766; m. Sarah Davis, d. 5 July 1810, sudden^, of apoplexy, in the street while on a visit to Wilkes- Barre. In 1798 he purchased an interest in a grist mill in Deep Hollow, now included within the limits of Scranton. Built a saw mill and a distillery. Afterwards his brother Benjamin became associated with him, and together they constructed an iron

THE LOST SISTER.

1 1 forge in the early part of 1800, and another distillery in 181 1. They carried on an extensive business. The firm was dissolved in 1826. Mr. Slocum was Justice of the Peace in 1821 of the district which included the present Pittston, Providence and Exeter townships. He was successful in business and accumulated in addition to other property, 1,800 acres of land, all located within the present limits of Scranton, and nearly all of it was underlaid with coal. He left thirteen children, nine sons and four daughters.

V. — Mary, b. 22 Dec. 1768; m. Joseph Towne, a farmer; resided in Ohio near Circleville; d. 5 April, 1844. hdl several children.

VI. — Benjamin, b. 7 Dec. 1770; m, Phebe La France. Resided with his brother Ebenezer at Slocum Hollow; in 181 1 was appointed Postmaster of Providence, which was the first postoffice in Lackawanna Valley, In 1826 he settled on a farm which included the land now occupied by the borough of Tunkhannock, and there he died July 5, 1832. He left four children, one son and three daughters. The son, Thomas Truxton, who succeeded to the farm, gave two acres of land on which to build the court house when Tunkhannock became the seat of justice of Wyoming County.

VII. — Frances, b. March — , 1773; d. March 9, 1849. The Indian captive, and the subject of this narrative. She married an Indian war chief of the Miamis, named She-pan-can-ah, (deaf man) and left two daughters, Ke-ke-se-qua and O-zah-wah-shing-qua.

VIII. — Isaac, b. 4 March, 1775: m. 1st Elizabeth Patrick; 2d Mrs. Lydia Norton. First settled on a farm which included the site of Tunkhannock, where he lived until 1823 ; then removed to Sandusky Count}', Ohio. Died near Bellevue Aug. 26, 1858. He was an active and prominent citizen, held several military commissions, and served as postmaster. He took a deep interest in his captive sister, and frequently visited her. Maj. Slocum outlived all his father's family. He left twelve children, eight sons and four daughters.

IX. — Joseph, b. 9 April, 1776; m. Sarah Fell; d. 27 Sept. 1855. He was a blacksmith and farmer; was chosen the first Captain of the "Wyoming Blues" military company in 1805, and was commissioned Associate Judge of Luzerne County in 1840, and filled that office three or four years very acceptably. The township of Slocum in Luzerne County, and Slocum postoffice were named in his honor. Judge Slocum was an excellent citizen and greatly respected. He left seven children, two sons and five daughters.

X. — Jonathan, b. 12 Sept., 1778; m. Martha Underwood; d. Sept. — , 1842. ' Was a farmer and resided late in life near Havana, Schuyler County, N. Y. He left ten children, eight sons and two daughters.

Giles Slocum, the eldest son, who was a young man of nineteen at the time of the invasion, shouldered his gun and took part in the battle. This act of hostility, it is believed, attracted the attention of the savages, and caused them to wreak vengeance on the family.

Mr. Slocum, on account of his non-combative principles and the many acts of kindness he had bestowed on the Indians, considered himself and family comparatively free from danger. His father-in-law, Mr. Isaac Tripp, also a Quaker, entertained the same opinion, as he had frequently befriended the Indians, and they had on more than one occasion, during raids, avoided molesting him. The entertainment of these opinions evidently were among the reasons why they did not fly after the battle. And possibly they would not have been molested had Giles not taken part in the bloody conflict of July 3, 1778, and escaped the carnage. * The Indians were quick to discern, and being of a savage and revengeful nature, at once concluded that deception was being practiced by the Slocums, else Giles would not have taken up arms against them; and they at once determined to seek revenge.

After the massacre straggling bands of Indians continued to visit the valley in search of scalps and plunder, until the

* He escaped to Monockonock Island in the river, where he concealed himself until it was safe to cross to the main land, on the east side, and finally made his way to his father's house, conclusion of peace with England. On the 2d of November, 1778, three Delaware Indians stealthily came into the valley and, watching a favorable opportunity, approached the Slocum residence. Mr. Slocum and his father-in-law were away from home at the time. Mrs. Slocum was there, with several of her children around her, and two boys named Kingsley. Some time previously Nathan Kingsley had been made prisoner by the Indians, and his wife and two sons were taken in by Mr. Slocum and afforded the comforts of a home. The house stood just in the edge of the woods, and when the Indians approached they saw the two Kingsley boys at the door engaged in grinding a knife. Dr. Peck informs us that the elder of the boys, Nathan by name, wore a soldier's coat, which, it is presumed, was a special reason of his being marked as a victim. One of the Indians quickly drew up his gun and shot the young man dead. The discharge of the gun quickly brought Mrs. Slocum to the door, when she was horrified at seeing a stalwart savage scalping the young man with the knife which he had been grinding. Taking in the situation at a glance, Mrs. Slocum and several of the children fled into the woods,* while Mary, one of the daughters, seized her brother Joseph, aged about two years, and rushed out of the back door. The Indians shouted loudly after her and laughed to see the speed with which she ran, and the tenacity with which she held on to her infant brother. The chroniclers of the period fail to inform us what became of Mrs. Kingsley, the mother of the murdered boy, but it is inferred that she escaped from the house on the alarm being given, and saved her life, and her husband was afterwards restored to her. f

* Todd's Lost Sister of Wyoming, p. 91.

t Nathan Kingsley was one of the first settlers in Wyalusing. He was a native of Connecticut, and belonged to one of the most noted families in that State. He was a man of wealth and influence in that early day. He i4

Little Frances, according to a tradition still preserved among the Miami Indians of Indiana, endeavored to secrete herself under the stairway leading to the loft. In the meantime the Indians entered the house, which they quickly ransacked, and then prepared to depart. On descending the stairway one of the savages saw the feet of the child protruding from her hiding place, and seizing them quickly drew her forth. The surviving Kingsley boy, Bbenezer Slocum, aged about twelve years, and little Frances, were taken prisoners,* and the Indians prepared to depart before any alarm could be given. Mrs. Slocum breathlessly watched the proceedings from the thicket, and trembled with fear lest she should see the tomahawk buried in the heads of her children ; but when she saw them about to leave, carrying her boy and little Frances, her motherly instincts overcame all fear and she rushed from her

occupied the old log house now standing on the lands of Mrs. Welles, a few rods east of the railroad and north of the depot. This house was built about 1768, and was for a time occupied by a brother of the celebrated missionary Heckewelder. It is, without doubt, the oldest house in the [Bradford] county. Here Kingsley, by means of great watchfulness and prudence, lived for some time unmolested by the Indians, but at length, in June, 1778, was captured by them and taken to Niagara. After a confinement of several months he was released, and returned to Wyalusing, whither his family had fled before his capture. It was during his captivity (Nov. 2, 1778,) that his son, Nathan Kingsley, Jr., was killed, and another son carried into captivity. * * * Mr. Kingsley had but one son left, Wareham, who, long after his return, married into the Turrell family, and went to Connecticut, where he died. After troubles in the valley in a measure ceased, Mr. Kingsley returned to Wyalusing, where he lived for several years. Unfortunately the old man acquired intemperate habits and became very poor, so that he became a town charge and his keeping was sold to James Armstrong, who removed west, where Kingsley died, it is said, by the falling of a tree, about the year 1800. — Craft's Hist. Wyalusing, p. 56.

Mr. Kingsley returned to his old home in 1785. He built a distillery near where Mr. Welles' stone quarry now is. He was a Justice of the Peace and Judge of the Court in 1787, and in his old age was taken west, where he died. His wife, Roccelana, died in Wyalusing, but the exact date has not been ascertained.— Hist. Bradford Co., p. 443.

* Some of the early writers assert — Miner among them— that a colored girl, seventeen years of age, was taken at the same time from the Slocum

THE LOST SISTER.

hiding place, and her countenance in unutterable language told the savages that she was the mother, and with tears streaming from her eyes she implored them to spare her children. They scorned her tears and scoffed at her supplications with fiendish glee. She frantically pointed to her son Ebenezer, who was lame, fearing that if he failed to keep up with them he would be cruelly butchered. This idea rushed with such force on her mind that she forgot all fear, and running up to the Indian who was dragging him away, pointed at the feet of the boy and exclaimed : "The child is lame; he can do thee no good ! ' ' This appeal caused the Indian to release the boy; but he instantly seized little Frances, and throwing her over his shoulder, rushed after his companions. Mrs. Slocum begged piteously for her daughter, but in vain. The child stretched out one hand imploringly towards her mother, while with the other she brushed away the luxuriant auburn ringlets which fell over her face, and as the tears streamed from her eyes she frantically called on her mother to save her. The Indian dashed into the bushes, and that was the last Mrs. Slocum ever saw of her child ! But the image of that piteous face was so indelibly impressed on the memory of the mother that she never forgot it, and to the day she descended to the grave she always recalled the sad circumstance with sorrow and deep lamentation.

house. But after careful inquiry among the Miami Indians of Indiana, I find that they have no tradition of such a capture, but deny it in toto. Neither did Frances refer to such a circumstance. Miner, however, says that she was afterwards seen by prisoners in the family of Col. John Butler, at Niagara, who had purchased her from the Indians. If such a person was captured it might have occurred at another time and place.

Chapter II

THE SEARCH FOR THE LOST CHILD BEGINS — HER FRIENDS GET NO CLUE — FIRST RECORD OF HER AT JOHNSTOWN — STUPIDITY OF COL. PROCTOR — DEATH OF THE MOTHER.

^HE three Indians, with Frances and the boy, Wareham Kingsley, fled rapidly into the forest, and ^ before the terrified mother and her children could clearly comprehend what had happened, they were lost to sight. The noise and excitement of the capture had attracted attention at Wilkes-Barre Fort, situated only a few hundred rods west of the Slocum residence, and an alarm was immediately given, but the wily savages traveled so swiftly that the pursuing party could find no trace of them, and the chase was soon given up. In the meantime the grief of the mother, when she fairly came to realize the situation, was almost unbearable. The captured child was a favorite one, and the pet of the family. Her exact age is unknown,* as the day in March, 1773, when she was born, has been lost; but as she was carried into captivity November 2, 1778, she must have been about four years and seven months old. A tender age, indeed, to be torn away from a comfortable home and cast into the wilderness on the approach of winter in this northern latitude; but Providence, as the sequel will show, stretched forth His strong arm to shield and protect this defenceless child.

* See quotation giving the names and ages of the family, on p. 11.

Jonathan Slocum, the father, was away from home when the terrible calamity came upon his household. On his return he beheld the bloody corpse of the murdered young man lying at his door, and found his wife prostrated with grief at the loss of their little Frances. In a state of mind bordering on frenzy she related the story of the capture, and in piteous sobs bewailed the sad fate of her child. It is needless to add that the husband and father, on learning the situation, was almost paralyzed with horror, and he scarcely knew what to say or do. Reflecting a moment, however, he resolved, with characteristic self-control, not to allow the current of his grief to break over all its natural barriers, accepted the situation and humbly bowed to the stern decree of fate. Not so with the mother. She could not give up her child — she could not sever the maternal tie — and with deep sobs and broken sentences gave expression to the most profound and overwhelming grief. It was a sad and impressive scene around that desolate hearth as the gloom of night settled down. Sleep fled from that family. Mrs. Slocum could not banish from her sight the last look and plaintive appeal of the innocent child, as with outstretched hands, streaming eyes and disheveled locks, she disappeared from her view; and her frantic shrieks of ^mammal mamma /" rang in her ears and haunted her imagination like a demon of darkness. And then the question, which no human reason could solve at that terrible moment of agony, was: "What would become of the child ?" Would she be cruelly murdered in the forest and her body become food for the wolves ? or would she be worn out with fatigue and left to die a lingering death for want of food and comfortable clothing? Such terrible imaginations haunted her mind and she could not dispel them. The father, as he sat with his head bowed in silent grief and listened to the i8 sobs of his wife and children, presented a picture that is vividly drawn by the poet :

' ' T was eve — a little circle sat

Around the cottage hearth; Youth's voice and rose-bud lips were there,

But not its tones of mirth.

' ' But few and low were all the words

Of that lone fireside ring; It seemed as though their spirits dwelt

Upon some fearful thing.

' ' Had death been in that forest home

To call the loved away ?

Was it for this that mother wept

From eve till break of day ?

" No; though they missed the baby voice

And little dimpled hand: Death in his quiver hath no dart

Like that which pierced that band.

' ' They missed her when the morning came

To wake the voice of birds; She was not there to mock their song

With her soft and simple words.

"She was not there with acorn cups

Beside the woodland rill, Calling aloud to hear her voice

Re-echo from the hill.

"They had been there — the forest men!

And from her mother's breast They tore the darling of her love —

The warbler from her nest.

' ' When evening came, the circle met

And wept with anguish sore; They hoped — threw hope away, and then

Retired to dream it o'er.

' ' And in the chambers of the soul One picture memory laid —

THE LOST SISTER.

A child — one hand among her curls; The other stretched for aid!"

Time dragged heavily in the stricken household. No tidings of the lost child could be obtained, notwithstanding searching parties went in the direction taken by the savages and scoured the country carefully. They had done their work quickly and well, and left no trace of their flight behind.

Owing to the condition of the times it was not safe for scouting parties to venture far into the wilderness, because the Indians lurked in the thickets ready to pounce upon them with the agility and fierceness of beasts of prey. The settlers, too, had not fairly recovered from the terror and consternation caused by the battle and massacre of July 3d, and as so many members of families had been slain, and the western side of the valley devastated, it is not strange, perhaps, that greater efforts were not made at the time for the rescue of the stolen child.

A little more than a month had passed and the heartstricken family had not recovered from the blow, when another more crushing was delivered, and a deeper gloom settled on the stricken household. The relentless savages were not yet satisfied. The distinguished 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* was wounded, speared and toma-

* Little is known of the history of Isaac Tripp. As early as 1768 or '69, he and Joseph Slocum, father of Jonathan, came to the valley. In 1774 he purchased a large tract of land which embraced Capoose Meadow, now inhawked; 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 atrocities, written in blood, record few instances of desolation and woe to equal this. ' '