Produced by Robert Connal, David Moynihan, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
A NARRATIVE OF THE LIFE OF MRS. MARY JEMISON,
Who was taken by the Indians, in the year 1755, when only about twelve
years of age, and has continued to reside amongst them to the present
time.
CONTAINING
An Account of the Murder of her Father and his Family; her sufferings;
her marriage to two Indians; her troubles with her Children; barbarities
of the Indians in the French and Revolutionary Wars; the life of her
last Husband, &c.; and many Historical Facts never before published.
_Carefully taken from her own words, Nov._ 29th, 1823.
TO WHICH IS ADDED,
An APPENDIX, containing an account of the tragedy at the Devil's Hole,
in 1783, and of Sullivan's Expedition; the Traditions, Manners, Customs,
&c. of the Indians, as believed and practised at the present day, and
since Mrs. Jemison's captivity; together with some Anecdotes, and other
entertaining matter.
By James E. Seaver.
PREFACE.
That to biographical writings we are indebted for the greatest and
best field in which to study mankind, or human nature, is a fact duly
appreciated by a well-informed community. In them we can trace the
effects of mental operations to their proper sources; and by comparing
our own composition with that of those who have excelled in virtue, or
with that of those who have been sunk in the lowest depths of folly and
vice, we are enabled to select a plan of life that will at least afford
self-satisfaction, and guide us through the world in paths of morality.
Without a knowledge of the lives of the vile and abandoned, we should
be wholly incompetent to set an appropriate value upon the charms, the
excellence and the worth of those principles which have produced the
finest traits in the character of the most virtuous.
Biography is a telescope of life, through which we can see the extremes
and excesses of the varied properties of the human heart. Wisdom
and folly, refinement and vulgarity, love and hatred, tenderness and
cruelty, happiness and misery, piety and infidelity, commingled with
every other cardinal virtue or vice, are to be seen on the variegated
pages of the history of human events, and are eminently deserving the
attention of those who would learn to walk in the "paths of peace."
The brazen statue and the sculptured marble, can commemorate the
greatness of heroes, statesmen, philosophers, and blood-stained
conquerors, who have risen to the zenith of human glory and popularity,
under the influence of the mild sun of prosperity: but it is the
faithful page of biography that transmits to future generations the
poverty, pain, wrong, hunger, wretchedness and torment, and every
nameless misery that has been endured by those who have lived in
obscurity, and groped their lonely way through a long series of
unpropitious events, with but little help besides the light of nature.
While the gilded monument displays in brightest colors the vanity of
pomp, and the emptiness of nominal greatness, the biographical page,
that lives in every line, is giving lessons of fortitude in time of
danger, patience in suffering, hope in distress, invention in necessity,
and resignation to unavoidable evils. Here also may be learned, pity
for the bereaved, benevolence for the destitute, and compassion for the
helpless; and at the same time all the sympathies of the soul will be
naturally excited to sigh at the unfavorable result, or to smile at the
fortunate relief.
In the great inexplicable chain which forms the circle of human events,
each individual link is placed on a level with the others, and performs
an equal task; but, as the world is partial, it is the situation
that attracts the attention of mankind, and excites the unfortunate
vociferous eclat of elevation, that raises the pampered parasite to such
an immense height in the scale of personal vanity, as, generally, to
deprive him of respect, before he can return to a state of equilibrium
with his fellows, or to the place whence he started.
Few great men have passed from the stage of action, who have not left in
the history of their lives indelible marks of ambition or folly,
which produced insurmountable reverses, and rendered the whole a mere
caricature, that can be examined only with disgust and regret. Such
pictures, however, are profitable, for "by others' faults wise men
correct their own."
The following is a piece of biography, that shows what changes may be
effected in the animal and mental constitution of man; what trials may
be surmounted; what cruelties perpetrated, and what pain endured, when
stern necessity holds the reins, and drives the car of fate.
As books of this kind are sought and read with avidity, especially by
children, and are well calculated to excite their attention, inform
their understanding, and improve them in the art of reading, the
greatest care has been observed to render the style easy, the language
comprehensive, and the description natural. Prolixity has been
studiously avoided. The line of distinction between virtue and vice
has been rendered distinctly visible; and chastity of expression and
sentiment have received due attention. Strict fidelity has been observed
in the composition: consequently, no circumstance has been intentionally
exaggerated by the paintings of fancy, nor by fine flashes of rhetoric:
neither has the picture been rendered more dull than the original.
Without the aid of fiction, what was received as matter of fact, only
has been recorded.
It will be observed that the subject of this narrative has arrived at
least to the advanced age of eighty years; that she is destitute of
education; and that her journey of life, throughout its texture, has
been interwoven with troubles, which ordinarily are calculated to impair
the faculties of the mind; and it will be remembered, that there are
but few old people who can recollect with precision the circumstances
of their lives, (particularly those circumstances which transpired
after middle age.) If, therefore, any error shall be discovered in the
narration in respect to time, it will be overlooked by the kind reader,
or charitably placed to the narrator's account, and not imputed to
neglect, or to the want of attention in the compiler.
The appendix is principally taken from the words of Mrs. Jemison's
statements. Those parts which were not derived from her, are deserving
equal credit, having been obtained from authentic sources.
For the accommodation of the reader, the work has been divided into
chapters, and a copious table of contents affixed. The introduction will
facilitate the understanding of what follows; and as it contains matter
that could not be inserted with propriety in any other place, will be
read with interest and satisfaction.
Having finished my undertaking, the subsequent pages are cheerfully
submitted to the perusal and approbation or animadversion of a candid,
generous and indulgent public. At the same time it is fondly hoped that
the lessons of distress that are portrayed, may have a direct tendency
to increase our love of liberty; to enlarge our views of the blessings
that are derived from our liberal institutions; and to excite in our
breasts sentiments of devotion and gratitude to the great Author and
finisher of our happiness.
THE AUTHOR.
_Pembroke, March_ 1, 1824.
INTRODUCTION.
The Peace of 1783, and the consequent cessation of Indian hostilities
and barbarities, returned to their friends those prisoners, who had
escaped the tomahawk, the gauntlet, and the savage fire, after their
having spent many years in captivity, and restored harmony to society.
The stories of Indian cruelties which were common in the new
settlements, and were calamitous realities previous to that, propitious
event; slumbered in the minds that had been constantly agitated by them,
and were only roused occasionally, to become the fearful topic of the
fireside.
It is presumed that at this time there are but few native Americans that
have arrived to middle age, who cannot distinctly recollect of sitting
in the chimney corner when children, all contracted with fear, and there
listening to their parents or visitors, while they related stories of
Indian conquests, and murders, that would make their flaxen hair nearly
stand erect, and almost destroy the power of motion.
At the close of the Revolutionary war; all that part of the State of
New-York that lies west of Utica was uninhabited by white people, and
few indeed had ever passed beyond Fort Stanwix, except when engaged in
war against the Indians, who were numerous, and occupied a number of
large towns Between the Mohawk river and lake Erie.
Sometime elapsed after this event, before the country about the lakes
and on the Genesee river was visited, save by an occasional land
speculator, or by defaulters who wished by retreating to what in those
days was deemed almost the end of the earth, to escape the force of
civil law.
At length, the richness and fertility of the soil excited emigration,
and here and there a family settled down and commenced improvements
in the country which had recently been the property of the aborigines.
Those who settled near the Genesee river, soon became acquainted
with "The White Woman," as Mrs. Jemison is called, whose history they
anxiously sought, both as a matter of interest and curiosity. Frankness
characterized her conduct, and without reserve she would readily gratify
them by relating some of the most important periods of her life.
Although her bosom companion was an ancient Indian warrior, and
notwithstanding her children and associates were all Indians, yet it was
found that she possessed an uncommon share of hospitality, and that her
friendship was well worth courting and preserving. Her house was the
stranger's home; from her table the hungry were refreshed;--she made
the naked as comfortable as her means would admit of; and in all her
actions, discovered so much natural goodness of heart, that her admirers
increases in proportion to the extension of her acquaintance, and
she became celebrated as the friend of the distressed. She was the
protectress of the homeless fugitive, and made welcome the weary
wanderer. Many still live to commemorate her benevolence towards them,
when prisoners during the war, and to ascribe their deliverance to the
mediation of "The White Woman."
The settlements increased, and the whole country around her was
inhabited by a rich and respectable people, principally from
New-England, as much distinguished for their spirit of inquisitiveness
as for their habits of industry and honesty, who had all heard from
one source and another a part of her life in detached pieces, and
had obtained an idea that the whole taken in connection would afford
instruction and amusement.
Many gentlemen of respectability, felt anxious that her narrative
might be laid before the public, with a view not only to perpetuate the
remembrance of the atrocities of the savages in former times, but to
preserve some historical facts which they supposed to be intimately
connected with her life, and which otherwise must be lost.
Forty years had passed since the close of the Revolutionary war, and
almost seventy years had seen Mrs. Jemison with the Indians, when Daniel
W. Banister, Esq. at the instance of several gentlemen, and prompted
by his own ambition to add something to the accumulating fund of useful
knowledge, resolved, in the autumn of 1823, to embrace that time, while
she was capable of recollecting and reciting the scenes through which
she had passed, to collect from herself, and to publish to an accurate
account of her life.
I was employed to collect the materials, and prepare the work for the
press; and accordingly went to the house of Mrs. Jennet Whaley in the
town of Castile, Genesee co. N.Y. in company with the publisher, who
procured the interesting subject of the following narrative, to come to
that place (a distance of four miles) and there repeat the story of her
eventful life. She came on foot in company with Mr. Thomas Clute, whom
she considers her protector, and tarried almost three days, which time
was busily occupied in taking a sketch of her narrative as she recited
it.
Her appearance was well calculated to excite a great degree of sympathy
in a stranger, who had been partially informed of her origin, when
comparing her present situation with what it probably would have been,
had she been permitted to have remained with her friends, and to have
enjoyed the blessings of civilization.
In stature she is very short, and considerably under the middle size,
and stands tolerably erect, with her head bent forward, apparently from
her having for a long time been accustomed to carrying heavy burdens in
a strap placed across her forehead. Her complexion is very white for
a woman of her age, and although the wrinkles of fourscore years are
deeply indented in her cheeks, yet the crimson of youth is distinctly
visible. Her eyes are light blue, a little faded by age, and naturally
brilliant and sparkling. Her sight is quite dim, though she is able to
perform her necessary labor without the assistance of glasses. Her cheek
bones are high, and rather prominent, and her front teeth, in the
lower jaw, are sound and good. When she looks up and is engaged in
conversation her countenance is very expressive; but from her long
residence with the Indians, she has acquired the habit of peeping from
under eye-brows as they do with the head inclined downwards. Formerly
her hair was of a light chestnut brown--it is now quite grey, a little
curled, of middling length and tied in a bunch behind. She informed me
that she had never worn a cap nor a comb.
She speaks English plainly and distinctly, with a little of the
Irish emphasis, and has the use of words so well as to render
herself intelligible on any subject with which she is acquainted. Her
recollection and memory exceeded my expectation. It cannot be reasonably
supposed, that a person of her age has kept the events of seventy years
in so complete a chain as to be able to assign to each its proper time
and place; she, however, made her recital with as few obvious mistakes
as might be found in that of a person of fifty.
She walks with a quick step without a staff, and I was informed by Mr.
Clute, that she could yet cross a stream on a log or pole as steadily as
any other person.
Her passions are easily excited. At a number of periods in her
narration, tears trickled down her grief worn cheek, and at the same
time, a rising sigh would stop her utterance.
Industry is a virtue which she has uniformly practised from the day of
her adoption to the present. She pounds her samp, cooks for herself,
gathers and chops wood, feeds her cattle and poultry, and performs
other laborious services. Last season she planted, tended and gathered
corn--in short she is always busy.
Her dress at the time I saw her, was made and worn after, the Indian
fashion, and consisted of a shirt, short gown, petticoat, stockings,
moccasins, a blanket and a bonnet. The shirt was of cotton and made at
the top, as I was informed, like a man's without collar or sleeves--was
open before and extended down about midway of the hips.--The petticoat
was a piece of broadcloth with the list at the top and bottom and the
ends sewed together. This was tied on by a string that was passed over
it and around the waist, in such a manner as to let the bottom of the
petticoat down half way between the knee and ankle and leave one-fourth
of a yard at the top to be turned down over the string--the bottom of
the shift coming a little below, and on the outside of the top of
the fold so as to leave the list and two or three inches of the cloth
uncovered. The stockings, were of blue broadcloth, tied, or pinned on,
which reached from the knees, into the mouth of the moccasins.--Around
her toes only she had some rags, and over these her buckskin moccasins.
Her gown was of undressed flannel, colored brown. It was made in old
yankee style, with long sleeves, covered the top of the hips, and was
tied before in two places with strings of deer skin. Over all this,
she wore an Indian blanket. On her head she wore a piece of old brown
woollen cloth made somewhat like a sun bonnet.
Such was the dress that this woman was contented to wear, and habit had
rendered it convenient and comfortable. She wore it not as a matter of t
necessity, but from choice, for it will be seen in the sequel, that her
property is sufficient to enable her to dress in the best fashion, and
to allow her every comfort of life.
Her house, in which she lives, is 20 by 28 feet; built of square timber,
with a shingled roof, and a framed stoop. In the centre of the house is
a chimney of stones and sticks, in which there are two fire places. She
has a good framed barn, 26 by 36, well filled, and owns a fine stock
of cattle and horses. Besides the buildings above mentioned, she owns a
number of houses that are occupied by tenants, who work her flats upon
shares. Her dwelling, is about one hundred rods north of the Great
Slide, a curiosity that, will be described in its proper place, on the
west side of the Genesee river.
Mrs. Jemison, appeared sensible of her ignorance of the manners of the
white people, and for that reason, was not familiar, except with those
with whom she was intimately acquainted. In fact she was (to appearance)
so jealous of her rights, or that she should say something that would be
injurious to herself or family, that if Mr. Clute had not been present,
we should have been unable to have obtained her history. She, however,
soon became free and unembarrassed in her conversation, and spoke with
degree of mildness, candor and simplicity, that is calculated to remove
all doubts as to the veracity of the speaker. The vices of the Indians,
she appeared disposed not to aggravate, and seemed to take pride in
extoling their virtues. A kind of family pride inclined her to withhold
whatever would blot the character of her descendants, and perhaps
induced her to keep back many things that would have been interesting.
For the life of her last husband, we are indebted to her cousin, Mr.
George Jemison, to whom she referred us for information on that subject
generally. The thoughts of his deeds, probably chilled her old heart,
and made her dread to rehearse them, and at the same time she well knew
they were no secret, for she had frequently heard him relate the whole,
not only to her cousin, but to others.
Before she left us she was very sociable, and she resumed her naturally
pleasant countenance, enlivened with a smile.
Her neighbors speak of her as possessing one of the happiest tempers and
disposition, and give her the name of never having done a censurable act
to their knowledge.
Her habits, are those of the Indians--she sleeps on skins without a
bedstead, sits upon the floor or on a bench, and holds her victuals on
her lap, or in her hands.
Her ideas of religion, correspond in every respect with those of the
great mass of the Senecas. She applauds virtue, and despises vice. She
believes in a future state, in which the good will be happy, and the bad
miserable; and that the acquisition of that happiness, depends primarily
upon human volition, and the consequent good deeds of the happy
recipient of blessedness. The doctrines taught in the Christian
religion, she is a stranger to.
Her daughters are said to be active and enterprizing women, and her
grandsons, who arrived to manhood, are considered able, decent and
respectable men in their tribe.
Having in this cursory manner, introduced the subject of the following
pages, I proceed to the narration of a life that has been viewed with
attention, for a great number of years by a few, and which will be
read by the public the mixed sensations of pleasure and pain, and with
interest, anxiety and satisfaction.
LIFE OF MARY JEMISON.
CHAPTER I.
Nativity of her Parents.--Their removal to America.--Her Birth.--Parents
settle in Pennsylvania.--Omen of her Captivity.
Although I may have frequently heard the history of my ancestry, my
recollection is too imperfect to enable me to trace it further back than
my father and mother, whom I have often heard mention the families
from whence they originated, as having possessed wealth and honorable
stations under the government of the country in which they resided.
On the account of the great length of time that has elapsed since I was
separated from my parents and friends, and having heard the story of
their nativity only in the days of my childhood, I am not able to state
positively, which of the two countries, Ireland or Scotland, was the
land of my parents birth and education. It, however, is my impression,
that they were born and brought up in Ireland.
My Father's name was Thomas Jemison, and my mother's before her marriage
with him, was Jane Erwin. Their affection for each other was mutual, and
of that happy kind which tends directly to sweeten the cup of life; to
render connubial sorrows lighter; to assuage every discontentment and to
promote not only their own comfort, but that of all who come within the
circle of their acquaintance. Of their happiness I recollect to have
heard them speak; and the remembrance I yet retain of their mildness
and perfect agreement in the government of their children, together
with their mutual attention to our common education, manners, religious
instruction and wants, renders it a fact in my mind, that they were
ornaments to the married state, and examples of connubial love, worthy
of imitation. After my remembrance they were strict observers of
religious duties; for it was the daily practice of my father, morning
and evening, to attend, in his family, to the worship of God.
Resolved to leave the land of their nativity they removed from their
residence to a port in Ireland, where they lived but a short time before
they set sail for this country, in the year 1742 or 3 on board the ship
Mary William, bound to Philadelphia, in the state of Pennsylvania.
The intestine divisions, civil wars, and ecclesiastical rigidity and
domination that prevailed those days, were the causes of their leaving
their mother country and a home in the American wilderness, under the
mild and temperate government of the descendants of William Penn; where
without fear they might worship God, and perform their usual avocations.
In Europe my parents had two sons and one daughter, whose names were
John, Thomas and Betsey; with whom, after having put their effects
on board, they embarked, leaving a large connexion of relatives and
friends, under all those painful sensations, which are only felt when
kindred souls give the parting hand and last farewell to those to whom
they are endeared by every friendly tie.
In the course of their voyage I was born, to be the sport of fortune
and almost an outcast to civil society; to stem the current of adversity
through a long chain of vicissitudes, unsupported by the advice of
tender parents, or the hand of an affectionate friend; and even without
the enjoyment from others, of any of those tender sympathies that are
adapted to the sweetening of society, except such as naturally flow from
uncultivated minds, that have been calloused by ferocity.
Excepting my birth, nothing remarkable occurred to my parents on their
passage, and they were safely landed at Philadelphia. My father being
fond of rural life, and having been bred to agricultural pursuits, soon
left the city, and removed his family to the then frontier settlements
of Pennsylvania, to a tract of excellent land lying on Marsh creek. At
that place he cleared a large farm, and for seven or eight years enjoyed
the fruits of his industry. Peace attended their labors; and they had
nothing to alarm them, save the midnight howl of the prowling wolf, or
the terrifying shriek of the ferocious panther, as they occasionally
visited their improvements, to take a lamb or a calf to satisfy their
hunger.
During this period my mother had two sons, between whose ages there was
a difference of about three years: the oldest was named Matthew, and the
other Robert.
Health presided on every countenance, and vigor and strength
characterized every exertion. Our mansion was a little paradise.
The morning of my childish, happy days, will ever stand fresh in my
remembrance, notwithstanding the many severe trials through which I have
passed, in arriving at my present situation, at so advanced an age.
Even at this remote period, the recollection of my pleasant home at my
father's, of my parents, of my brothers and sister, and of the manner in
which I was deprived of them all at once, affects me so powerfully, that
I am almost overwhelmed with grief, that is seemingly insupportable.
Frequently I dream of those happy days: but, alas! they are gone; they
have left me to be carried through a long life, dependent for the
little pleasures of nearly seventy years, upon the tender mercies of the
Indians! In the spring of 1752, and through the succeeding seasons, the
stories of Indian barbarities inflicted upon the whites in those days,
frequently excited in my parents the most serious alarm for our safety.
The next year the storm gathered faster; many murders were committed;
and many captives were exposed to meet death in its most frightful
form, by having their bodies stuck full of pine splinters, which were
immediately set on fire, while their tormentors, exulting in their
distress, would rejoice at their agony!
In 1754, an army for the protection of the settlers, and to drive back
the French and Indians, was raised from the militia of the colonial
governments, and placed (secondarily) under the command of Col. George
Washington. In that army I had an uncle, whose name was John Jemison who
was killed at the battle at the Great Meadow or Fort Necessity. His wife
had died some time before this, and left a young child, which my mother
nursed in the most tender manner, till its mother's sister took it away,
a few months after my uncle's death. The French and Indians, after the
surrender of Fort Necessity by Col. Washington, (which happened the same
season, and soon after his victory over them at that place,) grew more
and more terrible. The death of the whites, and plundering and burning
their property, was apparently their only object: But as yet we had not
heard the death-yell, nor seen the smoke of a dwelling that had been lit
by an Indian's hand.
The return of a new-year's day found us unmolested; and though we knew
that the enemy was at no great distance from us, my father concluded
that he would continue to occupy his land another season: expecting
(probably from the great exertions which the government was then making)
that as soon as the troops could commence their operations in the
spring, the enemy would be conquered and compelled to agree to a treaty
of peace.
In the preceding autumn my father either moved to another part of his
farm, or to another neighborhood, a short distance from our former
abode. I well recollect moving, and that the barn that was on the place
we moved to was built of logs, though the house was a good one.
The winter of 1754-5 was as mild as a common fall season, and the spring
presented a pleasant seed time, and indicated a plenteous harvest. My
father, with the assistance of his oldest sons, repaired his farm as
usual, and was daily preparing the soil for the reception of the seed.
His cattle and sheep were numerous, and according to the best idea of
wealth that I can now form, he was wealthy.
But alas! how transitory are all human affairs! how fleeting are riches!
how brittle the invisible thread on which all earthly comforts are
suspended! Peace in a moment can take an immeasurable flight; health
can lose its rosy cheeks; and life will vanish like a vapor at the
appearance of the sun! In one fatal day our prospects were all blasted;
and death, by cruel hands, inflicted upon almost the whole of the
family.
On a pleasant day in the spring of 1755, when my father was sowing
flax-seed, and my brothers driving the teams, I was sent to a neighbor's
house, a distance of perhaps a mile, to procure a horse and return with
it the next morning. I went as I was directed. I was out of the house
in the beginning of the evening, and saw a sheet wide spread approaching
towards me, in which I was caught (as I have ever since believed) and
deprived of my senses! The family soon found me on the ground, almost
lifeless, (as they said,) took me in, and made use of every remedy in
their power for my recovery, but without effect till day-break, when my
senses returned, and I soon found myself in good health, so that I went
home with the horse very early in the morning.
The appearance of that sheet, I have ever considered as a forerunner
of the melancholy catastrophe that so soon afterwards happened to
our family: and my being caught in it I believe, was ominous of my
preservation from death at the time we were captured.