“THANK you for telling us about Putnam, grandma,” said Elsie. “I think
he was an American to be proud of. Now if you are not too tired, won’t
you tell us the story of Jane McCrea? I know a little of it, and would
like to know more.”
“I am very willing to tell you the little I know about her,” replied
Mrs. Travilla, in her kindly, pleasant tones. “She was the daughter of
a Scotch Presbyterian minister, of Jersey City, opposite New York. In
that city—New York—lived a family of the name of Campbell. A daughter
of theirs and Jennie had become very intimate. Mr. Campbell died at
sea and his widow married a Mr. McNeil. He, too, was lost at sea, and
she removed with her family to an estate owned by him at Fort Edward.
Jane had a brother living near there. Mr. McCrea, the father, was a
widower, and when he died she went to live with her brother, and, being
so near the McNeils, the intimacy was renewed and she spent much of her
time in Mrs. McNeil’s house. Mrs. Jones, a widow with six sons, lived
near the McCreas, and one of them, named David, became Jennie’s lover.
When the war broke out he and his brothers became Tories, and in the
autumn of 1776 David and his brother, Jonathan, went to Canada, and
when Burgoyne collected his forces at St. Johns, at the foot of Lake
Champlain, David and Jonathan Jones were among them. Jonathan was made
captain and David a lieutenant in the division under General Fraser,
and at the time we are speaking of they were with the British army
near Sandy Hill. Jennie’s brother was a Whig, and prepared to remove
to Albany; but Mrs. McNeil was a staunch Loyalist, a cousin of General
Fraser, and intended to remain at Fort Edward. Jennie was at Mrs.
McNeil’s, and lingered there even after it was known that the British
were near, and her brother had sent her repeatedly urgent requests to
join him where he was—five miles farther down the river, and be ready
to flee when necessity should compel. But she lingered, probably with
the faint hope of seeing her lover again. At last her brother sent a
peremptory order for her to join him, and she promised to go down to
the spot where he was in a large bateau, which was expected to leave
with several families the next day.
“But Jennie had waited too long. Early the next morning a black servant
boy belonging to Mrs. McNeil espied some Indians stealthily approaching
the house, and, giving the alarm, he fled to the fort, about eight rods
distant.
“Jennie’s young friend, Mrs. McNeil’s daughter, was away from home at
the time, and the family there just then consisted of only Mrs. McNeil,
Jennie, two small children and a black female servant.
“The kitchen stood a few feet from the house, and when the alarm was
given the colored woman snatched up the children, fled with them to
the kitchen, and from there, through a trap-door, into the cellar.
“Mrs. McNeil and Jennie followed. Jennie, young and able to move
briskly, reached the trap-door first; but Mrs. McNeil, being old and
corpulent, could not move rapidly, and before she could get down into
the cellar the Indians were in the house, and a powerful savage seized
her by the hair and dragged her up. Another went into the cellar and
brought out Jennie, but the darkness of the cellar favored the colored
woman and the children. It would seem the Indians did not see them, so
left them in their hiding place unharmed.
“The Indians started off on the road to Sandy Hill, taking Mrs. McNeil
and Jennie with them; that was the road to Burgoyne’s camp.
“When they came to the foot of a hill, where the road forked, they
caught two horses that were grazing, and tried to mount their prisoners
upon them. Mrs. McNeil was too heavy to be lifted on the horse easily,
so told the Indians by signs that she could not ride. Then two stout
ones of them took her by the arms and hurried her up the road over the
hill, while the others, with Jennie on the horse, went along the road
running west of a tree.
“The negro boy who ran to the fort gave the alarm, and a small
detachment was immediately sent out for the rescue of the captured
ones. They fired several volleys at the Indians without hitting them.
Lossing, whose version of the sad story I am giving you, goes on to
tell that Mrs. McNeil said that the Indians who were hurrying her up
the hill seemed to watch the flash of the guns, and several times
threw her upon her face, at the same time falling down themselves, and
she distinctly heard the balls whistle above them. The firing ceased
when they had got to the second hill from the village. They stopped
there and stripped her of all her garments except her chemise; then
they led her, in that plight, into the British camp. Her cousin,
General Fraser, was there, and she reproached him bitterly for sending
his ‘scoundrel Indians’ after her. He said he did not know of her
being away from New York City, and he took every pains to make her
comfortable. She was so large that not a woman in the camp had a gown
big enough for her, so Fraser lent her his camp coat for a garment, and
a pocket handkerchief to take the place of her stolen cap.
“Very soon after she was taken into the camp, two parties of Indians
came in with fresh scalps, one of which Mrs. McNeil at once recognized
by the long glossy hair as that of Jennie McCrea. She was horror
struck and boldly charged them with the murder of the poor girl. They,
however, stoutly denied it. They said that while hurrying her along the
road, on horseback, near the spring west of the pine-tree, a bullet
intended for them from one of the American guns mortally wounded the
poor girl, and she fell from the horse. They had lost a prisoner for
whom they had expected a reward, and the next best thing was to take
her scalp and bear it in triumph to the camp and get the promised
reward for such trophies.
“Mrs. McNeil always believed their story to be true, as she knew they
had been fired upon by the detachment from the fort, and that it was
far more to their interest to take a prisoner to the British camp than
a scalp, as they would get the larger price for the former. Burgoyne
had told the Indians they should be paid for prisoners whom they took,
but called to account for scalps.”
“So it seems Burgoyne wasn’t all bad,” commented Eric. “And I think it
must have been a good deal more trouble to get that big fat old woman
into the camp alive than it would have been to get the young girl there
without killing her.”
“Was her lover there in that camp, grandma?” asked Elsie.
“No; Lieutenant Jones was not there, but it was known that she was
betrothed to him, and the story got about that he had sent the Indians
for her, that they quarrelled on the way concerning the reward he had
offered, and murdered her to settle the dispute.
“The story grew in horror as it passed from one to another, and
produced a deep and widespread indignation, increased by a published
letter from Gates to Burgoyne charging him with allowing the Indians to
butcher with impunity defenceless women and children.
“Burgoyne denied it, declaring that the case of Jane McCrea was the
only one act of Indian cruelty he had heard of. That assertion is hard
to believe, for the savages murdered a whole family—a man, his wife,
three children, a sister-in-law and three negroes, near Fort Edward
on the same day that Jennie lost her life. And they were Tories; but,
afraid of the savages, were getting ready to flee to Albany. On that
fatal morning a younger daughter of Mr. Gilmer went to help Mrs. Allen
with her preparations to move, and, staying longer than had been
expected, her father sent a negro boy down for her. He soon came back
screaming, ‘They are all dead—father, mother, young missus and all.’
And it was too true. That morning, while they were at breakfast, the
Indians had burst in upon them and killed every one.”
“And what did the Gilmers do about it, grandma?” asked Ned.
“Hurried away to Fort Edward, going very cautiously for fear of meeting
Indians. And they did see some of the party who had plundered Mrs.
McNeil’s house in the morning. They had emptied the straw from the
beds and filled the ticks with various things which they had stolen.
And Mrs. McNeil’s daughter, who was with the Gilmers, saw her mother’s
looking-glass tied upon the back of one of the Indians.”
“And did those folks get safely to Fort Edward, grandma?” asked Ned.
“They did,” replied Mrs. Travilla, then went on with her story. “The
story of Jennie McCrea’s massacre became known all over the civilized
part of this land and in Europe. Burke, says Lossing, used it with
powerful effect in the British House of Commons. Burgoyne summoned the
Indians to council, and demanded the surrender of the one who bore
off the scalp of Jennie McCrea, to be punished as a murderer; but from
policy he pardoned him, lest the Indians should be so offended if he
punished him that they would cease to help the British in their efforts
to conquer the Americans.
“It had been said that Lieutenant Jones had sent his Jennie a letter
by the Indians, and them as an escort to take her to the British camp.
But he denied it all, and indeed he had no need to send for her, as the
Americans were retreating, leaving only a small guard at Fort Edward,
and in a day or two the British would have full possession of the fort,
so that he and his Jennie might have had a safe personal interview.”
“Is there anything more known about Lieutenant Jones, grandma?” asked
Elsie.
“Lossing tells us that he had an interview with some connections of
his family, and learned from them that he lived in Canada, to be an
old man, and died there. The death of his Jennie was a dreadful blow
to him, and he never recovered from it. He had been gay and very
talkative when quite young, but after that sad event he was melancholy
and taciturn. He never married, and went into society as little as he
could without neglecting business. Every year he kept the anniversary
of Jennie’s death—he would shut himself in his room and refuse to see
any one. His friends felt for him and were careful not to speak of the
Revolution in his presence. He bought Jennie’s scalp and kept it as a
cherished possession.”
“Grandma, was Jennie buried? And if so, is it known where?” asked Elsie.
“Yes; Lossing tells that a picket-guard of one hundred men, under
Lieutenant Van Vechten, was stationed on the hill a little north of
the pine-tree on that day that we have been talking about, and at the
moment when the house of Mrs. McNeil was attacked and plundered, and
she and Jennie were carried off, other parties of Indians, belonging
to the same expedition, came rushing through the woods from different
points and fell upon the Americans. Several were killed and their
scalps borne off. The party that went out from the fort in pursuit
found their bodies. Jennie and the officer were found lying near
together, close by the spring, and only a few feet from the pine-tree.
They were stripped of clothing. They were carried immediately to the
fort—the Americans at once evacuated it—and the body of Jennie was
sent down the river in the bateau in which she was to have gone to her
brother. It seems that he was very fond of her, and took charge of her
mutilated corpse with the deepest grief. It was buried at the same time
and place with that of the lieutenant, on the west bank of the Hudson,
near the mouth of a small creek about three miles below Fort Edward.”
“Did the Indians kill Mrs. McNeil, grandma?” asked Ned.
“No; she lived a good many years, and her grave can be seen in the
village cemetery near the ruins of the fort. Lossing says that in the
summer of 1826 the remains of Jennie were taken up and put in the same
grave with her. A plain white marble slab, with only the name Jane
McCrea on it, marks the spot.”