he numbered each log of wood, or what he supposed to be a human being quietly enjoying repose. 10. To satisfy himself more fully, as to the number, he counted them over a second time, and cautiously retired. He was succeeded by another Indian, who went through the same movements, and retired in the same manner. Soon after, the whole party, sixteen in number, were discovered approaching, and greedily eying their supposed victims. 11. The feelings of the sergeant's men can be better imagined than described, when they saw the base and cruel purpose of their enemies, who were now so near that they could scarcely be restrained from firing upon them. The plan, however, of the sergeant, was to have his men remain silent in their places of concealment, till the muskets of the savages were discharged, that their own fire might be effectual, and opposition less formidable. 12. Their suspense was not of long duration. The Indians, in a body, cautiously approached till within a short distance: they then halted, took deliberate aim, discharged their pieces upon inanimate logs, gave a dreadful war-whoop, and instantly rushed forward, with tomahawk and scalping-knife in hand, to dispatch the living, and obtain the scalps of the dead. 13. As soon as they had collected in close order, more effectually to execute their horrid intentions, the sergeant's party discharged their pieces, not on logs of wood, but perfidious savages, many of whom fell under the hot fire of the little band, and the rest precipitately fled. But for this ingenious scheme, it is probable that not one of these twelve men would have escaped the tomahawk of the savages. QUESTIONS.-1. What did the sergeant say to his men, after parting with the Indians? 2. What plan did the sergeant propose for their preservation ? 3. Did the plan succeed? 4. Describe the closing scene. 1. I PASSED the evening with the venerable Joseph Slocum, whose family was among the sufferers, in Wyoming Valley. He related to me all the particulars of the capture and final discovery of his sister Frances, and other incidents connected with the sufferings of his family. 2. His father was a Quaker, and was distinguished for his kindness to the Indians. He remained unharmed at the time of the invasion, and, while the torch was applied to the dwellings of others, his was left untouched. But his son Giles was in the battle. This, doubtless, excited the ire of the Indians, and they resolved on vengeance. 3. Late in the autumn, they were seen prowling about the house, which was situated about one hundred rods from * The great massacre at Wyoming was, perhaps, the most bloody and terrible chapter of the Revolution. A combined Indian and Tory force had flung itself upon the peaceful valley, and murdered or made captive nearly all ts unoffending inhabitants; its old and its young,-men, women, and children alike,- -were either indiscriminately butchered or made prisoners. Among the prisoners taken on that occasion, was an infant child by the name of Frances Slocum. The story is a very strange one; we copy it from Lossing's very excellent work, "The Field Book of the Revolution." the Wilkesbarre Fort. A neighbor, named Kingsley, had been made prisoner, and his wife and two sons had a welcome home in Mr. Slocum's family. One morning, the boys were grinding a knife near the house, when a rifle-shot and a shriek brought Mrs. Slocum to the door. An Indian was scalping the eldest boy, a lad of fifteen, with the knife he had been grinding. 4. The savage then went into the house, and caught up a little son of Mrs. Slocum. "See!" exclaimed the frightened mother, "he can do thee no good; he is lame." The Indian released the boy, took up her little daughter Frances, aged five years, gently in his arms, and, seizing the younger Kingsley, hastened to the mountains. 5. Two Indians who were with him, carried off a black girl, about seventeen years of age. Mr. Slocum's daughter caught up her brother Joseph, (my informant,) two and a half years old, and fled in safety to the fort, where an alarm was given; but the savages were beyond successful pursuit. 6. About six weeks afterward, Mr. Slocum and his fatherin-law Ira Tripp, were shot and scalped by some Indians while foddering cattle near the house. Again the savages escaped with their horrid trophies. Mrs. Slocum, bereft of father, husband, and child, and stripped of all possessions but the house that sheltered her, could not leave the valley, for nine helpless children were yet in her household. 7. She trusted in the God of Elijah; and, if she was not fed by the ravens, she was spared by the vultures. She mourned not for the dead; for they were at rest: but little Frances, her lost darling, where was she? The lamp of hope kept on burning; but years rolled by, and no tidings of the little one came. 8. When peace returned, and friendly intercourse with Canada was established, two of the little captive's brothers : started in search of her. They traversed the wilderness to Niagara, offering rewards for her recovery; but, all in vain. They returned to Wyoming, convinced that the child was dead. But the mother's heart was still the shrine of hope, and she felt assured that Frances was not in the grave. 9. Her soul appeared to commune with that of her child, and she often said, "I know Frances is still living." A length, the mother's heart was cheered: a woman, (for many years had now passed, and Frances, if living, must have arrived to womanhood,) was found among the Indians, answering the description of the lost one. She only remembered being carried away from the Susquehanna. "It 10. Mrs. Slocum took her home, and cherished her with a mother's tenderness. Yet the mysterious link of sympathy which binds the maternal spirit to its offspring, was unfelt, and the bereaved mother was bereaved still. may be Frances, but it does not seem so; yet the woman shall ever be welcome," said Mrs. Slocum. The foundling, also, felt no filial yearnings; and, both becoming convinced that no consanguinity existed, the orphan returned to her Indian friends. 11. From time to time, the hope of the mother would be revived, and journeys were made to distant Indian settlements in search of the lost sister; but, in vain. The mother went down into the grave, mourning," and little Frances was almost forgotten. Her brothers had become aged men, and their grandchildren were playing upon the very spot, whence she had been taken. 12. In the summer of 1837, fifty-nine years after her capture, intelligence of Frances was received. Colonel Ewing, an Indian agent and trader, in a letter from Logansport, Indiana, to the editor of the Lancaster Intelligencer, gave such information, that all doubts respecting her identity were removed; and Joseph Slocum, with the sister who carried him to the fort, and yet survived, immediately journeyed to Ohio, where they were joined by their younger brother Isaac. 13. They proceeded to Logansport, where they found Mr. Ewing, and ascertained that the woman spoken of by him, lived about twelve miles from the village. She was immediately sent for; and, toward evening the next day, she came into the town, riding a spirited, young horse, accompanied by her two daughters, and the husband of one of them,—all dressed in full Indian costume. 14. An interpreter was procured, (for she could not speak or understand English,) and she listened seriously to what her brothers had to say. She answered but little, and, at sunset, departed for her home, promising to return the next morning. The brother and sister were quite sure that it was indeed Frances, though in her face nothing but Indian lineaments were seen, her color alone revealing her origin. 15. True to her appointment, she appeared the following morning, accompanied as before. Mr. Joseph Slocum then mentioned a mark of recognition, which, his mother had said, was a sure test. While playing, one day, with a hammer in a blacksmith's shop, Joseph, then a child two and a half years old, gave Frances a blow upon the middle finger of the left hand, which crushed the bone, and deprived the finger of its nail. 16. This test Mr. Slocum had withheld until others should fail. When he mentioned it, the aged woman was greatly agitated; and, while tears filled the furrows of her face, she held out the wounded finger. There was no longer a doubt, and a scene of great interest ensued. Her affections for her kindred, that had slumbered half a century, were aroused, and she made earnest inquiries after her |