* See Annals of Tryon County, by William W. Campbell.
One young girl, Jane Wells, was barbarously murdered by an Indian near
a pile of wood, behind which she had endeavored to screen herself. The
wife of Colonel Clyde fled with her children into the woods, where
she lay concealed under a large log during a cold rainy day and night,
hearing the yells of the savages as they triumphed in their work of
death, and seeing them pass so near that one of them trailed his gun
upon the log that covered her. Colonel Campbell was absent from home
at the time; but the father of Mrs. Campbell, who was in her house,
attempted almost single-handed to oppose the advance of the enemy--and
notwithstanding that resistance was madness, the brave old man refused
to yield till he was wounded and overpowered. Imagination alone can
depict the terror and anguish of the mother trembling for her children
in the midst of this scene of strife and carnage, the shrieks of
slaughtered victims, and the yells of their savage foes. They were
dragged away as prisoners by the triumphant Indians, and the house was
presently in flames. The husband and father--who had hastened homeward
on the alarm of a cannon fired at the fort, arrived only in time to
witness the destruction of his property, and was unable to learn what
had become of his wife and children.
Leaving the settlement a scene of desolation, the enemy took their
departure the same night, with their prisoners, of whom there were
between thirty and forty. That night of wretchedness was passed in a
valley about two miles south of the fort. "A large fire was kindled,
around which they were collected, with no shelter, not even in most
cases an outer garment, to protect them from the storm. There might
be seen the old and infirm, and the middle-aged of both sexes, and
'shivering childhood, houseless but for a mother's arms, couchless but
for a mother's breast.' Around them at a short distance on every side,
gleamed the watchfires of the savages, who were engaged in examining and
distributing their plunder. Along up the valley they caught occasional
glimpses of the ruins of their dwellings, as some sudden gust of wind,
or falling timber, awoke into new life the decaying flame."
The prominent position and services of Colonel Campbell had rendered him
peculiarly obnoxious to the enemy. It was well known that his wife had
constantly aided his and her father's movements, and that her determined
character and excellent judgment had not only been of service to them,
but to the friends of liberty in that region. Hence both the husband and
wife were marked objects of vengeance. Mrs. Campbell and her children
were considered important captives, and while most of the other women
and little ones were released, after the detention of a day or two, and
permitted to return to their homes, to them no such mercy was extended.
Mrs. Campbell was informed that she and her children must accompany
their captors to the land of the Senecas. On the second day after the
captivity her mother was killed by her side. The aged and infirm lady
was unable to keep pace with the rest; and her daughter was aiding her
faltering steps, and encouraging her to exert her utmost strength, when
the savage struck her down with his tomahawk. Not a moment was Mrs.
Campbell suffered to linger, to close the dying eyes, or receive the
last sigh, of her murdered parent; the same Indian drove her on with his
uplifted and bloody weapon, threatening her with a similar fate, should
her speed slacken. She carried in her arms an infant eighteen months
old; and for the sake of her helpless little ones, dragged on her
weary steps in spite of failing strength, at the bidding of her inhuman
tormentors.
This arduous, long, and melancholy journey was commenced on the 11th of
November. Mrs. Campbell was taken down the valley of the Susquehanna
to its junction with the Tioga, and thence into the Western part of New
York, to the Indian Castle, the capital of the Seneca nation, near the
site of the present beautiful village of Geneva. The whole region was
then an unbroken wilderness, with here and there an Indian settlement,
and the journey was performed by Mrs. Campbell partly on foot, with her
babe in her arms. Her other children were separated from her on the way,
being given to Indians of different tribes; and on her arrival at the
village, her infant also--the last link which visibly bound her to home
and family and civilization--was taken from her. This, to the mother's
heart, was the severest trial; and she often spoke of it in after years
as the most cruel of all her sufferings. The helpless babe clung to her
when torn away by savage hands, and she could hear its piercing cries
till they were lost in the distance. Long and dreary was the winter that
followed. In one respect Mrs. Campbell was fortunate. She was placed in
an Indian family, composed of females, with the exception of one aged
man, and with the tact which always distinguished her she began at once
to make herself useful; thus early securing the confidence and even the
admiration of these daughters of the forest. She taught them some of
the arts of civilized life, and made garments not only for the family to
which she belonged, but for those in the neighborhood, who sent corn
and venison in return. In acknowledgment of these services, care and
protection were extended to her; she was allowed the command of her own
time, and freedom from restraint, and was permitted to abstain from her
usual avocations on the sacred day of rest.
One day an Indian who came to the house, observing her cap, promised to
give her one; and inviting her to his cabin, pulled from behind a beam a
cap of a smoky color, and handed it to her, saying he had taken it from
the head of a woman at Cherry Valley. Mrs. Campbell recognized it as
having belonged to the unfortunate Jane Wells. It had a cut in the crown
made by the tomahawk, and was spotted with blood. She shrank with horror
from the murderer of her friend. Returning to her cabin, she tore off
the lace border, from which, however, she could not wash the stains of
blood, and laid it away, to give to the friends of the murdered girl,
should any have escaped the massacre. In the midst of her own sorrows
she lost not her sympathy with the woes of others.
The proposed exchange of Mrs. Campbell and her children for the wife
and sons of Colonel John Butler--the noted partisan leader--being agreed
upon by Governor Clinton and General Schuyler, early in the spring
Colonel Campbell dispatched an Indian messenger to Colonel Butler at
Fort Niagara. Butler came soon after to the village of Canadaseago,
to confer with the Indian council on the subject of giving up their
prisoners. The families who adopted captives in the place of deceased
relatives were always unwilling to part with them; and Butler had some
difficulty in obtaining their assent. It was necessary also to procure
the consent of a family in the Genesee village, with whom Mrs. Campbell
was to have been placed in the spring. They were kinsfolk of the king of
the Senecas; and it is no small evidence of the esteem Mrs. Campbell had
won from the Indians, that he volunteered to go himself, and persuade
them to yield their claim. Though aged, the kind-hearted savage
performed the journey on foot; and returning, informed Mrs. Campbell
that she was free, bade her farewell, and promised to come and visit
her when the war was over. In June, 1799, she was sent to Fort Niagara,
where many persons took refuge--preparation being made for an expected
attack by General Sullivan. Among them came Katrine Montour, a fury
who had figured in the horrors of Wyoming. One of her sons having taken
prisoner in Cherry Valley the father of Mrs. Campbell, and brought him
to the Indian country, it may be conceived what were the feelings of the
captive on hearing her reproach the savage for not having killed him at
once, to avoid the incumbrance of an old and feeble man!
Mrs. Campbell was detained a year as a prisoner in the fort; but had the
solace of her children, all except one of whom Butler obtained from the
Indians and restored to her. She associated freely, too, with the wives
of the officers of the garrison. In the summer of 1780 she received
the first letter from her husband, sent by a friendly Oneida Indian. In
June, she was sent to Montreal, where she recovered her missing child--a
boy seven years old, whom she had not seen since the day after the
massacre at Cherry Valley. He had been with a branch of the Mohawk
tribe, and had forgotten his native tongue, though he remembered his
mother, whom, in the joy of seeing her, he addressed in the Indian
language.
At Montreal the exchange of prisoners was effected. In the fall, Mrs.
Campbell and her children reached Albany, escorted into that city by
a detachment of troops under the command of Colonel Ethan Allen. Here
Colonel Campbell awaited their arrival, and the trials of a two years'
captivity were almost forgotten in the joy of restoration. They remained
there till the close of the war, and in 1783, returned to Cherry Valley,
and literally began the world anew. Their lands had gone to waste, and
were overgrown with underbrush; all besides was destroyed; and with no
shelter save a small log-cabin hastily put up--they felt for a time that
their lot had been a hard one. But the consciousness of having performed
the duty of patriots, sustained them under misfortune. By the close of
the following summer a more comfortable log-house was erected on the
ruins of their former residence, and the farm began to assume the aspect
of cultivation. Here General Washington was received and entertained on
his visit to Cherry Valley, accompanied by Governor George Clinton and
other distinguished officers. It was on this occasion that Mrs. Campbell
presented her sons to Washington, and told him she would train them up
to the service of their country, should that country ever need their
services.
From this time Mrs. Campbell was eminently blessed in all things
temporal; being permitted in old age to see around her a large and
prosperous family. Her oldest son was the Hon. William Campbell, late
Surveyor general of the State of New York. Her second son, James
S. Campbell, though educated as a farmer--inheriting the "old
homestead"--was for many years a magistrate, and one of the judges of
the Court of Common Pleas in Otsego; while the youngest son, the late
Robert Campbell, of Cooperstown, an able and eminent lawyer, enjoyed
in a high degree the confidence of the people of that county. Colonel
Campbell, after an active life, died in 1824, at the age of eighty-six.
His wife lived, in the enjoyment of almost uninterrupted health, to
the age of ninety-three, and died in 1836--the last survivor of the
Revolutionary women in the region of the head waters of the Susquehanna.
All her children but two have followed her to the grave.
Mrs. Campbell's latter days--to the close of a life marked with so much
of action, enterprise and stirring incident--were days of industry. Like
the Roman matron, she bore the distaff in her hand, and sat with her
maidens around her; and her characteristic energy was infused into
every thing she did. Yet she was in every sense of the term a lady:
scrupulously neat in her apparel, combining dignity with affable and
pleasing manners--the expression of real kindness of heart; and with a
mind naturally vigorous and clear improved by reading, and still more by
observation and society--and conversation enriched by the stores she had
gathered in her experience, she was well fitted to shine in any sphere
of life. For many years before her death she was designated throughout
the country, as "old Lady Campbell." Her memory unimpaired, she was a
living chronicler of days gone by; the peculiar circumstances in
which she was placed during the war having brought her into personal
acquaintance with almost all the prominent men engaged on both sides.
The feminine and domestic virtues that adorned her character, rendering
her beloved in every relation--especially by those towards whom she
so faithfully discharged her duties--were brightened by her unaffected
piety. It was the power of Christian principle that sustained her
through all her wanderings and trials, and in her lonely captivity
among a barbarous people. It was this which cheered her closing days
of existence, and supported her when, almost on the verge of a
century--having survived the companions who had commenced life with
her, surrounded by her children, and her descendants to the fourth
generation--she passed calmly to her rest.