Chapter 4

"'Come out and meet your enemy like a man!' exclaimed Humphries, 'and don't crawl, like a snake, into a hollow tree, and wait for his heel. Come out, you skunk! You shall have fair fight, and your own distance. It shall be the quickest fire that shall make the difference of chances between us. Come out, if you're a man!' Thus he raved at him; but a fiendish laugh was the only answer he got. He next tried to cut his legs with his knife, by piercing the bark; but a bend of the tree, on which Blonay rested, prevented him. He then selected from some fallen limbs one of the largest, which he carried to the tree and thrust into the hollow, trying to wedge it between the inner knobs on which the feet of the half-breed evidently were placed. But Blonay soon became aware of his design, and opposed it with a desperate effort. Baffled for a long time by his enemy, Humphries became enraged, and, seizing upon a jagged knot of light wood, he thrust it against one of the legs of Blonay. Using another heavy knot as a mallet, he drove the wedge forward against the yielding flesh, which became awfully torn and lacerated by the sharp edges of the wood. Under the severe pain, the feet were drawn up, and Humphries was suffered to proceed with his original design. The poor wretch, thus doomed to be buried alive, was now willing to come to any terms, and agreed to accept the offer to fight; but Humphries refused him, exclaiming, 'No, you don't, you cowardly skunk! you shall die in your hole, like a varmint as you are; and the tree which has been your house shall be your coffin. There you shall stay, if hard chunks and solid wood can keep you, until your yellow flesh rots away from your bones. You shall stay there until the lightning rips open your coffin, or the autumn winds tumble you into the swamp.' So saying, he left him, and went back to the camp--left him to die in the old woods, where no help could ever come; and in this wild and awful manner--buried alive--perished the savage half-breed."

"That was an awful death, indeed," exclaimed Mrs. Harmar. "That Humphries must have been a very disagreeable fellow."

"And why so?" enquired Higgins. "The men in those parts of the country were forced to be as fierce as their foes. Humphries was one of the cleverest fellows I ever knew."

"A man after your own heart," remarked Smith. "A warm friend and a warm foe. I know you, Higgins."

"You should know me, Smith, or no man should," replied Higgins, evidently profoundly satisfied with himself.

"Many a time have we messed together," added Smith; "ay, and many a time have we hunted in company for the food we made a mess of."

"Those times are gone," said old Harmar mournfully. "Those times are gone."

"I wonder where?" put in Mrs. Harmar's youngest, looking up in her face for an answer. She smoothed his hair, and shook her head.

STORY OF THE DEATH OF COLONEL LOVELACE.

"Speaking of awful deaths," said Morton, "reminds me of a scene I witnessed at Saratoga, which I may as well tell you about, as young Mr. Harmar seems anxious to hear anything relating to the war of independence. You know there was an unconscionable number of tories up there in New York State about the time of Burgoyne's invasion. Some of them were honest, good sort of men, who didn't happen to think just as we did: they kept at home, and did not lift their arms against us during the war, though some of them were pretty hardly used by their whig neighbors. Another set of the tories, however, acted upon the maxim that 'might makes right.' They were whigs when the royal power was weak, and tories when they found it strong. Though raised in the same neighborhood with the staunch whigs, these men turned robbers and murderers, and lost all virtuous and manly feelings. Colonel Tom Lovelace was one of this class: He was born and raised in the Saratoga district, and yet his old neighbors dreaded him almost as much as if he had been one of the fierce Senecas. When the war commenced, Lovelace went to Canada, and there confederated with five men from his own district, to come down to Saratoga, and kill, rob, or betray his old neighbors and friends. There's no denying Lovelace was a bold, wary, and cunning fellow, and he made the worst use of his qualities. He fixed his quarters in a large swamp, about five miles from the residence of Colonel Van Vechten, at Dovegat, and very cunningly concealed them.

"Soon after, the robberies and captures around that neighborhood became frequent. General Schuyler's house was robbed, and an attempt was made, by Lovelace and his companions, to carry off Colonel Van Vechten. But General Stark, who was in command of the barracks north of Fish Creek, was too wide awake for him. He got wind of the scheme, and gave the Colonel a strong guard, and so Lovelace was balked, and compelled to give up his design. Captain Dunham, who commanded a company of militia in the neighborhood, found out the tory colonel's place of concealment, and he determined to attempt his capture. Accordingly, he summoned his lieutenant, ensign, orderly, and one private, to his house; and, about dusk, they started for the swamp, which was two miles distant. Having separated to reconnoitre, two of them, named Green and Guiles, got lost; but the other three kept together, and, about dawn, discovered Lovelace and his party, in a hut covered over with boughs, just drawing on their stockings. The three men crawled cautiously forward till near the hut, when they sprang up with a shout, levelled their muskets, and Captain Dunham sang out, 'Surrender, or you are all dead men!' There was no time for parley; and the tory rascals, believing that our men were down on them in force, came out one by one, without arms, and Dunham and his men marched them off to General Stark's quarters. The rascals were all tried by court-martial, as spies, traitors, and robbers; and Lovelace was sentenced to be hung, as he was considered too dangerous to be allowed to get loose again. He made complaint of injustice, and said he ought to be treated as a prisoner of war; but our general could not consent to look upon such a villain as an honorable soldier, and his sentence was ordered to be carried into effect three days afterwards. I was then with a company of New York volunteers, sent to reinforce General Stark, and I was enabled to gratify my desire to witness the execution of a man I detested. The gallows was put up on the high bluff a few miles south of Fish Creek, near our barracks. When the day arrived, I found that our company was on the guard to be posted near the gallows. It was a gloomy morning, and about the time the tory colonel was marched out to the gallows, and we were placed in position at the foot of the bluff, a tremendous storm of wind and rain came on. It was an awful scene. The sky seemed as black as midnight, except when the vivid sheets of lightning glared and shot across it; and the peals of thunder were loud and long. Lovelace knelt upon the scaffold, and the chaplain prayed with him. I think if there was anything could change a man's heart, it must have been the thought of dying at such a time, when God himself seemed wrathful at the deeds of men.

"I expected to be delighted with seeing such a man hung; but I tell you, my friends, I felt very differently when the time came, and I saw the cruel tory kneeling on the scaffold, while the lightning seemed to be quivering over the gallows. I turned away my head a moment, and when I looked again, the body of Lovelace was suspended in the air, and his spirit had gone to give its account to its God."

The account of this terrible scene had deeply interested the company; and the animated manner of Morton impressed even the children with a feeling of awe.

"Why didn't they postpone the hanging of the man until there was a clear day?" enquired Mrs. Harmar.

"Executions are never postponed on account of the weather, my dear," replied her husband. "It would be rather cruel than otherwise thus to delay them."

"I've heard of that Lovelace before," remarked old Harmar. "I judged that he was a bold villain from some of his outrages, and I think he deserved his death."

"For my part," said Higgins, "I hated the very name of a tory so much, during the war, that I believe I could have killed any man who dared to speak in their defence. All that I knew or heard of were blood-thirsty scoundrels."

STORY OF THE MURDER OF MISS M'CREA.

"If you were at Saratoga, Mr. Morton, perhaps you know something about the murder of Miss M'Crea," said Mrs. Harmar.

"Oh, yes! I know the real facts of the case," replied Morton. "I got them from one who was acquainted with her family. The real story is quite different from the one we find in the histories of the war, and which General Gates received as true."

"Then set us right upon the matter," remarked young Harmar.

"Do," added Wilson. "I've heard the story through two or three twistings, and I'm only satisfied that the lady was killed."

"Well," commenced Morton, "what I now tell you may depend on as the truest account you can receive. No one but Heaven and the Indians themselves witnessed the death of the young girl; and our only evidence of a positive nature is the declaration of those who were supposed to be her murderers. But to the story.

"Jane M'Crea, or Jenny M'Crea, as she is more generally known, was the daughter of a Scotch clergyman, who resided in Jersey City, opposite New York. While living with her father, an intimacy grew up between the daughter of a Mrs. M'Niel and Jenny. Mrs. M'Niel's husband dying, she went to live on an estate near Fort Edward. Soon after, Mr. M'Crea died, and Jenny went to live with her brother near the same place. There the intimacy of former years was renewed, and Jenny spent much of her time at the house of Mrs. M'Niel and her daughter. Near the M'Niel's lived a family named Jones, consisting of a widow and six sons. David Jones, one of the sons, became acquainted with Jenny, and at length this friendship deepened into love. When the war broke out, the Jones's took the royal side of the question; and, in the fall of 1776, David and Jonathan Jones went to Canada, raised a company, and joined the British garrison at Crown Point. They both afterwards attached themselves to Burgoyne's army; David being made a lieutenant in Frazer's division. The brother of Jenny M'Crea was a whig, and, as the British army advanced, they prepared to set out for Albany. Mrs. M'Niel was a loyalist, and, as she remained, Jenny remained with her, perhaps with the hope of seeing David Jones.

"At length Jenny's brother sent her a peremptory order to join him, and she promised to comply the next day after receiving it. On the morning of that day, (I believe it was the 27th of July,) a black servant boy belonging to Mrs. M'Niel discovered some Indians approaching the house, and, giving the alarm, he ran to the fort, which was but a short distance off. Mrs. M'Niel, Jenny, a black woman, and two children, were in the house when the alarm was given. Mrs. M'Niel's eldest daughter was at Argyle. The black woman seized the two children, fled through the back door into the kitchen, and down into the cellar. Jenny and Mrs. M'Niel followed; but the old woman was corpulent, and before they could descend, a powerful Indian seized Mrs. M'Niel by the hair and dragged her up. Another brought Jenny out of the cellar. But the black woman and the children remained undiscovered. The Indians started off with the two women on the road towards Burgoyne's camp. Having caught two horses that were grazing, they attempted to place their prisoners upon them. Mrs. M'Niel being too heavy to ride, two stout Indians took her by the arms, and hurried her along, while the others, with Jenny on horseback, proceeded by another path through the woods. The negro boy having alarmed the garrison at the fort, a detachment was sent out to effect a rescue. They fired several volleys at the party of Indians; and the Indians said that a bullet intended for them mortally wounded Jenny, and she fell from her horse; and that they then stripped her of her clothing and scalped her, that they might obtain the reward offered for those things by Burgoyne.

"Mrs. M'Niel said that the Indians who were hurrying her along seemed to watch the flash of the guns, and fell down upon their faces, dragging her down with them. When they got beyond the reach of the firing, the Indians stript the old lady of everything except her chemise, and in that plight carried her into the British camp. There she met her kinsman, General Frazer, who endeavored to make her due reparation for what she had endured. Soon after, the Indians who had been left to bring Jenny arrived with some scalps, and Mrs. M'Niel immediately recognised the long bright hair of the poor girl who had been murdered. She charged the savages with the crime, but they denied it, and explained the manner of her death. Mrs. M'Niel was compelled to believe their story, as she knew it was more to the interest of the Indians to bring in a prisoner than a scalp.

"It being known in camp that Lieutenant Jones was betrothed to Jenny, some lively imagination invented the story that he had sent the Indians to bring her to camp, and that they quarrelled, and one of them scalped her. This story seemed to be confirmed by General Gates' letter to Burgoyne, and soon spread all over the country, making the people more exasperated against the British than ever. Young Jones was horror-stricken by the death of his betrothed, and immediately offered to resign his commission, but they would not allow him. He bought Jenny's scalp, and then, with his brother, deserted, and fled to Canada."

"Did you ever hear what became of him?" enquired Mrs. Harmar.

"Yes; he was living in Canada the last time I heard of him," replied Morton. "He never married; and, from being a lively, talkative fellow, he became silent and melancholy."

"Poor fellow! It was enough to make a man silent and melancholy," remarked young Harmar. "I can imagine how I would have felt if deprived of her I loved, in as tragical a manner." "Don't--don't mention it, my dear!" exclaimed his wife, sensibly affected at the thought of her being scalped.

"It was a horrible transaction," remarked Wilson; "and it had a stirring effect upon our people. I can recollect when I first heard the story with all its embellishments; I felt as if I could have eaten up all the red varmints I should chance to meet."

"General Gates's version of the affair answered a good purpose," said Higgins. "It roused our people to great exertions to defeat the designs of a government which employed those savages."

"King George's government thought it had a right to make use of every body--rascals and honest men--to effect its design of enslaving us; but we taught 'em a thing or two," added Morton, with a gratified smile.

STORY OF THE DEFENCE OF SHELL'S BLOCK-HOUSE.

"I suppose," said young Harmar, "that, while you were up in New York, you heard of many bloody affairs with the Indians and tories."

"Many a one," replied Morton. "Many a one, sir. I could interest you for days in recounting all I saw and heard. The poor whigs suffered a great deal from the rascals--they did. Those in Tryon county, especially, were always exposed to the attacks of the savages. I recollect an affair that occurred at a settlement called Shell's Bush, about five miles from Herkimer village.

"A wealthy German, named John Shell, had built a block-house of his own. It was two stories high, and built so as to let those inside fire straight down on the assailants. One afternoon in August, while the people of the settlement were generally in the fields at work, a Scotchman named M'Donald, with about sixty Indians and tories, made an attack on Shell's Bush. Most of the people fled to Fort Dayton, but Shell and his family took refuge in the block-house. The father and two sons were at work in the field when the alarm was given. The sons were captured, but the father succeeded in reaching the block-house, which was then besieged. Old Shell had six sons with him, and his wife loaded the muskets, which were discharged with sure aim. This little garrison kept their foes at a distance. M'Donald tried to burn the block-house, but did not succeed. Furious at the prospect of being disappointed of his expected prey, he seized a crowbar, ran up to the door, and attempted to force it; but old Shell fired and shot him in the leg, and then instantly opened the door and made him a prisoner. M'Donald was well supplied with cartridges, and these he was compelled to surrender to the garrison. The battle was now hushed for a time; and Shell, knowing that the enemy would not attempt to burn the house while their captain was in it, went into the second story, and began to sing the favorite hymn of Martin Luther, when surrounded with the perils he encountered in his controversy with the Pope."

"That was cool," remarked Higgins.

"Bravely cool," added old Harmar.

"Oh, it was necessary to be cool and brave in those times," said Morton. "But to go on with my story; the respite was very short. The tories and Indians were exasperated at the successful resistance of the garrison, and rushed up to the block-house. Five of them thrust the muzzles of their pieces through the loop-holes; but Mrs. Shell seized an axe, and, with well-directed blows, ruined every musket by bending the barrels. At the same time, Shell and his sons kept up a brisk fire, and drove the enemy off. About twilight, the old man went up stairs, and called out in a loud voice to his wife, that Captain Small was approaching from Fort Dayton, with succor. In a few minutes, he exclaimed, 'Captain Small, march your company round on this side of the house. Captain Getman, you had better wheel your men off to the left, and come up on that side.' This, you see, was a stratagem. The enemy were deceived, took to their heels, and fled through the woods, leaving eleven men killed and six wounded. M'Donald was taken to Fort Dayton the next day, where his leg was amputated; but the blood flowed so freely that he died in a few hours. On his person was found a silver-mounted tomahawk, which had thirty-two scalp notches on the handle, to show how he had imitated the savages."

"But what became of the two sons who were captured by the tories and Indians?" inquired young Harmar.

"They were carried to Canada," replied Morton. "They afterwards asserted that nine of the wounded tories died on the way. But some of the Indians were resolved to have revenge for their defeat, and they lurked in the woods near Shell's house. One day they found the wished-for opportunity, and fired upon Shell and his boys while they were at work in the field. One of the boys was killed, and Shell so badly wounded that he died soon after, at Fort Dayton."

"Revenge seems a part of an Indian's nature," remarked young Harmar.

"Yes," said Higgins, "they will pursue one who has injured them in any way until he has paid for it."

"Our people suffered much from them during the Revolution," added Higgins, "and they want no instruction in regard to their character."

STORY OF BATE'S BEVENGE.

"I recollect," said old Harmar, "after our line went south, under General Wayne, just after the surrender of Cornwallis, I met some of the men who had passed through Green's campaign. They were the bitterest kind of whigs--men who had seen their houses burnt over their heads, and who could have killed and eaten all the tories they should meet. They told me many wild stories of the black doings of those traitorous rascals."

"Tell us one of them, won't you?" entreated Mrs. Harmar.

"Come, father, spin us one of those yarns, as the sailors say," added her husband. The children also became clamorous for 'a story,' and the old veteran was compelled to comply.

"Well, you shall hear. A man named Joe Bates told me how he had been used by the enemy, and how he had been revenged. He joined the southern army when Greene first took command of it, leaving his wife and two children at his farm on the banks of the Santee River. His brother, John Bates, promised to take care of the family and the farm. You see, John used to help Marion's band whenever he could spare the time--he was so anxious to do something for the good of his country, and he didn't know how else he could do it than by going off on an occasional expedition with Marion. Well, some how or other, Major Wernyss, the commander of the royalists in the neighborhood, got wind of John's freaks, and also of those of some other whig farmers, and he said he would put a stop to them. So he sent a detachment of about twenty-five men to burn the houses of the people who were suspected of being the friends of Marion. John Bates heard of their coming, and collected about ten or a dozen whigs to defend his house. He hadn't time to send the wife of Joe and his children away to a safer place, or else he thought there was no better place. However it was, they remained there. The house was barred up, and everything fixed to give the red-coats a warm reception, should they attempt to carry out their intention. The time they chose for it was a moonlight night. The neighbors could see their houses burning from the upper windows of the one where they were posted, and they kept muttering curses and threats of vengeance all the time."

"Why didn't each man stay at home, and take care of his own house?" enquired Mrs. Harmar.