Years ago, when I was a small boy, some one pointed out to me the “old
white woman’s spring,” and told me a part of the story of Mary Jemison.
In the year 1742 or 1743 an Irishman named Thomas Jemison, with his wife
and three children, left his own country for America, on a ship called the
_William and Mary_. On the voyage a little girl was born into the family,
to whom they gave the name of Mary. She had a light, clear skin, blue
eyes, and yellow or golden hair. After landing at Philadelphia, the family
soon moved to Marsh Creek (Pennsylvania), which was then in the far West
and quite in the Indian country. There Thomas Jemison had a farm, built a
comfortable house, and by industry prospered. In the new home two younger
children were born, both boys.
In 1754 they moved to a new farm, where they lived in a log house. Here
they spent the winter. Spring came, and every one was busy in the fields.
It was the time of the French and Indian wars against the English. A
number of attacks had been made upon settlers. One day Mary was sent to a
neighbor’s for a horse; she was to spend the night, returning in the
morning. At that time some strangers were living at Mary’s house—a man,
his sister-in-law, and her three little children. Mary had secured the
horse for which she had been sent, and had ridden home in the early
morning. As she reached the house, the man took the horse and rode off to
get some grain, taking with him his gun, in case he should see some game.
Every one about the house was busy. Mary, years afterward, told the story
of what then took place:
“Father was shaving an ax-helve at the side of the house; mother was
making preparations for breakfast; my two oldest brothers were at work
near the barn; and the little ones, with myself and the woman and her
three children, were in the house. Breakfast was not yet ready, when we
were alarmed by the discharge of a number of guns that seemed to be near.
Mother and the woman before mentioned almost fainted at the report, and
every one trembled with fear. On opening the door, the man and horse lay
dead near the house, having just been shot by the Indians. I was afterward
informed that the Indians discovered him at his own house with his gun,
and pursued him to father’s, where they shot him as I have related. They
first secured my father, and then rushed into the house and without the
least resistance made prisoners of my mother, brothers, and sister, the
woman, her three children, and myself.... My two brothers Thomas and John,
being at the barn, escaped.”
The party which had seized them was composed of six Shawnee Indians and
four Frenchmen. The first day was terrible. They were kept rapidly
marching until night; they had no food or water during the whole day. One
Indian went behind the party with a whip, with which he lashed the little
ones to make them keep up with the party. At night there was no fire and
they had no covering. They were afoot again before daylight, but as the
sun rose, stopped and ate breakfast. The second night they camped near a
dark and dreary swamp, and here they were given supper, but were too tired
and sad to care much for food. After supper, an Indian stripped off Mary’s
shoes and stockings and began putting moccasins upon her. The same thing
was done to the woman’s little boy. Noticing this, Mary’s mother believed
the Indians intended to spare the two children. She said to the girl:
“My dear little Mary, I fear the time has arrived when we must be parted
forever. Your life, I think, will be spared; but we shall probably be
tomahawked here in this lonesome place, by the Indians. Alas! my dear, my
heart bleeds at the thought of what awaits you; but if you leave us,
remember your name, and the names of your father and mother. Be careful
and not forget your English tongue. If you shall have an opportunity to
get away from the Indians, don’t try to escape; for if you do, they will
find and destroy you. Don’t forget, my little daughter, the prayers that I
have learned you; say them often; be a good child, and God will bless you.
May God bless you, my child, and make you comfortable and happy.”
Just then an Indian took Mary and the little boy by the hand and led them
away. As they parted, the mother called out to the child, who was crying
bitterly, “Don’t cry, Mary! Don’t cry, my child! God will bless you!
Farewell, farewell!”
The Indian took the children into the woods, where they lay down to sleep.
The little boy begged Mary to try to escape, but she remembered her
mother’s warning. The next morning the other Indians and the Frenchmen
rejoined them, but their white captives were not with them. During the
night, in that dark and dismal swamp, Mary’s father and mother, Robert,
Matthew, and Betsey, the woman, and two of her children had been killed,
scalped, and fearfully mangled. When they camped again, Mary saw with
horror the Indians at work upon the scalps of her parents.
A fourth and fifth day the party journeyed on, and then, driven by bad
weather, camped for three nights in one place. Finally the party came near
Fort Du Quesne, where Pittsburg now stands. They had been joined by other
Indians who had a young white man prisoner. When they reached this place,
the Indians carefully combed the hair of the three prisoners, and painted
their faces and hair with red as Indians do.
The next morning after they reached the fort, the little boy and young man
were given to the French. Mary was given to two young Seneca women. By
them she was taken to their town some distance down the Ohio River. Here
they washed her and dressed her nicely in Indian clothing. They publicly
adopted her in place of a brother who had just been killed. These women
and their brothers were kind to Mary, treating her as their real sister,
and she came to love them dearly. She was with them for three winters and
two summers on the Ohio River, when, at their wish, she married a Delaware
Indian named Shenanjie. He was a good husband, but died when they had been
married but two or three years.
We will tell but one more incident in Mary’s life. Not long after marrying
Shenanjie, she moved with her sisters and their brothers to the Genesee
Valley in New York. The wars were now over. Mary was a young widow with a
little son. The King of England offered a bounty to any one who would find
white prisoners among the Indians and bring them in to the forts to be
redeemed. A Dutchman named Van Sice, who knew that Mary was a captive,
determined to take her to the fort and get his bounty. Mary learned of his
plan, but had no wish to leave the Indians. She was afraid of the man. One
day, when she was working in the field alone, she saw him coming to seize
her. He chased her, but she escaped and hid herself for three days and
nights. The Indian council then decided that she could not be taken back
against her wish, and her fear of Van Sice ceased.
But she had a more dangerous enemy. An old chief of the tribe determined
himself to return her and get the bounty. He told one of Mary’s Indian
brothers of his intention to take her to Niagara to be redeemed. A quarrel
took place between the two men, and her brother declared that he would
kill her with his own hand before he would allow the old man to carry her
off against her will. This threat he made known to his own sister. She at
once told Mary to flee with her babe and hide in some weeds near the
house. She also told Mary that at night their brother would return,
informed of the old chief’s plans, and that if the sachem persisted in
carrying her off, he would surely kill her. The woman told her, after it
was dark to creep up to the house, and if she found nothing near the door,
to come in, as all would be safe. Should she, however, find a cake there,
she must flee. Poor Mary hid in the weeds with her baby boy; at night,
when all was still, she crept up to the house; the little cake was there!
Taking it, she fled to the spring now called, for that reason, “the white
woman’s spring.” Her sister had suggested the place. That night the old
chief came to the house to get Mary, and her brother sought her to kill
her, but neither could find her. The old sachem gave up the hunt and set
out for Niagara with his other prisoners. After he was gone, and the
excitement was past, Mary’s sister told her brother where Mary was hidden.
He went there, and at finding her, greeted her kindly and brought her
home.
JAMES E. SEAVER has written the story of Mary Jemison as she told
it to him in her old age. The name of the book is _The Life of
Mary Jemison: the White Woman of the Genesee_.