USA > Virginia > Tazewell County > Tazewell County > History of the Settlement and Indian Wars of Tazewell County, Virginia: With a Map, Statistical. > Part 13
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" The two men who were reaping, hearing the alarm," and seeing the house surrounded, fled, and alarmed the settle- ment. At that time, the nearest family was distant six miles. As soon as the alarm was given, Mrs. Moore and Martha Ivins (who was living in the family) barred the door, but this was of no avail. There was no man in the house, at this time, except John Simpson, the old Englishman, already "alluded to, and he was in the loft, sick and in bed. There were five or six guns in the house, but having been shot . off the evening before, they were then empty. It was in- tended to have loaded them after breakfast. Martha Ivins took two of them and went up stairs where Simpson was, and handing them to him,. told him to shoot. He looked up, but had been shot in the head through a crack, and was then near his end. The Indians then proceeded to cut down the door, which they soon effected; During this time,
* They saw the Indians before a gun was fired, and squatted in the grain till the Indians surrounded the house, and then started ; Clark ran directly `to Davidson's fort; the Irishman to a settlement creek, on Bluestone, about six miles distant. The Irishman got lost, and coming upon a drove of horses, frightened them. The horses, of course, ran home, and he followed.
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. Martha Ivins went to the far end of the house, lifted up a loose plank, and went under the floor, and requested Polly Moore (then eight years of age) who had the youngest child, called Margaret, in her arms (which was crying), to set the child down, and come under. Polly looked at the child, clasped it to her breast, and determined to share its fate. The Indians, having broken into the' house, took Mrs. Moore and her children, viz: John, Jane, Polly, and Peggy prisoners, and having taken everything that suited them, they set it and the other buildings on fire, and went away. Martha Ivins remained under the floor a short time, and then came out and hid herself under a log that lay across a branch, not far from the house. The Indians, having tarried a short time, with a view of catching horses, one of them walked across this log, sat down on the end of' it, and began to fix his gunlock. Miss Ivins, supposing that she was discovered, and that he was preparing to shoot her, came out and gave herself up. At this he seemed much pleased. They then set out for their towns. Per- ceiving that John Moore was .a boy, weak in body and mind, and unable to travel, they killed him the first day. The babe they took two or three days, but it being fretful, on account of a wound it had received, they dashed its brains out against a tree. They then moved on with haste to their towns. For some time, it was usual to tie, very securely, each of the prisoners at night, and for a warrior to lie beside each of them, with tomahawk in hand, so that in case of pursuit, the prisoners might be speedily dispatched.
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MASSACRE OF THE MOORE FAMILY. 229
"Shortly after they reached the towns, Mrs. Moore and her daughter Jane were put to death, being burned and tortured at the stake. This lasted some time, during which she manifested the utmost Christian fortitude, and bore it without a murmur, at intervals conversing with her daughter Polly, and Martha Ivins, and expressing great anxiety for the moment to arrive, when her soul should wing its way to the . bosom of its Savior. At length an old squaw, more humane than the rest, dispatched her with a tomahawk."
Polly Moore and Martha Evans eventually reached home, as described in the narrative of James Moore.
Several incidents, in this narrative, have been left out. When the Indians set fire to the house and started, they took from the stable the fine black horse Yorick. He was a horse of such a vicious nature, that no one could manage him but Simpson. The Indians had not proceeded far when one mounted him, but soon the horse had him on the ground, and was pawing him to death with his feet; for this purpose a few strokes were sufficient. Another mounted him and was served in like manner. Perfectly wild with rage, a very large Indian mounted him, swearing to ride him or kill him; a few plunges and the Indian was under the feet of the desperate horse, his teeth buried in his flesh, and uttering & scream as if he intended to avenge the death of his master; he had just dispatched the Indian, when another running up, stabbed him, and thus put an end to the conflict. "ALAS! POOR YORICK."
It is said that Mrs. Moore had her body stuck full of
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" lightwood splinters which were fired, and she was thus tortured three days, before she died. 1
When Martha Evans and Polly Moore were among the French, they fared much worse than when among the Indians. The French had plenty, but were miserly, and seemed to care little for their wants. The Indians had little, but would divide that little to the last particle.
A song, in commemoration of the Moore captivity, is sung by some of the mountaineers to this day, but as it is devoid of poetical merit I omit its insertion. It may be seen in Howe's History of Virginia.
CHAPTER VI.
HARMAN AND PEMBERTON FIGHTS-BATTLE BETWEEN THE HARMANS AND SEVEN INDIANS.
IN the fall of 1784, Henry Harman and his two sons, George and Matthias, and George Draper left the settlement, to engage in a bear hunt on Tug river. They were provided with pack-horses, independent of those used for riding, and on which were to be brought in the game. The country in which their hunt was to take place, was penetrated by the "war-path" leading to, and from the Ohio river; but as it was late in the season, they did not expect to meet with Indians. Arriving at the hunting grounds in the early part of the
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evening, they stopped and built their camp; a work executed generally by the old man, who might be said to be particular in having it constructed to his own taste. George and Matthias loaded, and put their guns in order, and started to the woods, to look for sign, and perchance kill a buck for the evening's repast, while Draper busied himself in hobbling and caring for the horses.
In a short time, George returned with the startling intelli- gence of Indians! He had found a camp but a short distance from their own, in which the partly consumed sticks were still burning. They could not, of course, be at any consider- able distance, and might now be concealed near them, watch- ing their every movement. George, while at the camp, had made a rapid search for sign, and found a pair of leggins, which he showed the old man. Now old Mr. Harman, was a type of frontiermen, in some things, and particularly that remarkable self-possession, which is so often to be met with in new countries, where dangers are ever in the path of the settler. So taking a seat on the ground, he began to interro- gate his son on the dimensions, appearances, etc., of the camp. When he had fully satisfied himself, he remarked, that "there must be from five to seven Indians," and that they must pack up and hurry back to the settlement, to prevent, if possible, the Indians from doing mischief; and, said he, "if we fall in with them, we must fight them."
Matthias was immediately called in, and the horses repacked. Mr. Harman and Draper, now began to load their guns, when the old man observing Draper laboring under what is
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known among hunters as the 'Buck Ague,' being that state. of excitement, which causes excessive trembling, remarked to him, "My son, I fear you cannot fight."
The plan of march was now agreed upon, which was, that Mr. Harman and Draper should lead the way, the pack- horses follow them, and Matthias and George, bring up the rear. After they had started, Draper remarked to Mr. H., that he would get ahead, as he could see better than Mr. H., and that he would keep a sharp lookout. It is highly prob- able that he was cogitating a plan of escape, as he had not gone far before he declared he saw the Indians, which proved not to be true. Proceeding a short distance further, he suddenly wheeled his horse about, at the same time crying out, "Yonder they are behind that log:" as a liar is not to be believed, even when he speaks the truth, so Mr. Draper was not believed this time. Mr. Harman rode on, while a large dog, he had with him, ran up to the log and reared himself up on it, showing no signs of the presence of Indians. At this second, a sheet of fire and smoke from the Indian rifles, completely concealed the log from view, for Draper had really spoken the truth.
Before the smoke had cleared away, Mr. Harman and his sons were dismounted, while Draper had fled with all the speed of a swift horse. There were seven of the Indians, only four of whom had guns; the rest being armed with bows and arrows, tomahawks and scalping-knives. As soon as they fired, they rushed on Mr. Harman, who fell back to where his two sons stood ready to meet the Indians.
HARMAN BATTLE.
They immediately surrounded the three white men, who had formed a triangle, each man looking out, or, what would have been, with men enough, a hollow square. The old gentleman bid Matthias to reserve his fire, while himself and George fired, wounding, as it would seem, two of the Indians. George was a lame man, from having had white swelling in his childhood, and after firing a few rounds, the Indians noticed his limping, and one who had fired at him, rushed upon him thinking him wounded. George saw the fatal tomahawk raised, and drawing back his gun, prepared to meet it. When the Indian had got within striking distance, George let down upon his head with the gun, which brought him to De ground; he soon recovered, and made at him again, half bent and head foremost, intending, no doubt, to trip him up. But as he got near enough, George sprang up and jumped across him, which brought the Indian to his knees. Feeling for his own knife, and not getting hold of it, he seized the Indian's and plunged it deep into his side. Matthias struck him on the head with a tomahawk, and finished the work with him.
Two Indians had attacked the old man with bows, and were maneuvering around him, to get a clear fire at his left breast. The Harmans, to a man, wore their bullet-pouches on the left side, and with this and his arm he so completely shielded his breast, that the Indians did not fire till they saw the old gentleman's gun nearly loaded again, when one fired on him, and struck his elbow near the joint, cutting one of the principal arteries. In a second more, the fearful string
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was heard to vibrate, and an arrow entered Mr. Harman's breast and lodged against a rib. He had by this time loaded the gun, and was raising it to his face to shoot one of the Indians, when the stream of blood from the wounded artery flew in the pan, and so soiled his gun that it was impossible to make it fire. Raising the gun, however, had the effect to drive back the Indians, who retreated to where the others stood with their guns empty.
Matthias, who had remained an almost inactive spectator, now asked permission to fire, which the old man granted. The Indian at whom he fired appeared to be the chief, and was standing under a large beech tree. At the report of the rifle, the Indian fell, throwing his tomahawk high among the limbs of the tree under which he stood.
Seeing two of their number lying dead upon the ground, and two more badly wounded, they immediately made off; passing by Draper, who had left his horse, and concealed himself behind a log.
As soon as the Indians retreated, the old man fell back on the ground exhausted and fainting from loss of blood. The wounded arm being tied up and his face washed in cold- water, soon restored him. The first words he uttered were, " We've whipped, give me my pipe." This was furnished him, and he took a whiff, while the boys scalped one of the Indians.
When Draper saw the Indians pass him, he stealthily crept from his hiding-place, and pushed on for the settlement, where he reported the whole party murdered. The people -
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assembled and started soon the following morning to bury them; but they had not gone far before they met Mr. H. and his sons, in too good condition to need burying.
Upon the tree, under which the chief was killed, is roughly carved an Indian, a bow, and a gun, commemorative of the fight. The arrows which were shot into Mr. Harman, are in possession of some of his descendants.
PEMBERTON'S FIGHT.
Richard Pemberton, the hero of this battle, lived. in the Baptist valley, about five miles from Jeffersonville. In addi- tion to a small farm around his cabin, he cultivated a field, now owned by William O. George, about one and a half miles . from his dwelling.
On a Sabbath morning late in August, 1788, he started to his field accompanied by his wife and two children, to see that his fences were not down, and to repair any breach that might have been made. According to the custom of the times, Mr. Pemberton had taken with him his gun, which was his constant companion. After satisfying .himself that his crops were safe, the little party started back. They had gone but a few hundred yards, however, when two Indians, armed with bows and arrows, knives, and tomahawks, came yelling toward them at full speed. In an instant the pioneer's gun was leveled and the trigger pulled; it missed fire, and in his hurry to spring the lock again, he broke it, and of course could not fire. Seeing him raise his gun to shoot, caused the Indians to halt, and commence firing arrows at him. Keep-
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ing himself between his wife and children and the Indians, he ordered them to get on as fast as possible and try to reach a house at which a Mr. Johnson lived, and where several men were living. . This house was some half mile distant, but he hoped to reach it, and save those whom he held dearest-his wife and children. The Indians made every possible attack to separate him from his family, all of which proved vain. They would retreat to a respectful distance, and then come bounding back like so many furies from the regions of indescribable woe. When they came too near, he would raise his gun as if he was really reserving his fire, which would cause them to halt and surround him. . But at every attack they shot their arrows into his breast, causing great pain. ..
For nearly an hour this running fight was kept up; still the blood-thirsty savages pressed on; at last, he was suffi- ciently near to Johnson's house to be heard, and he raised his powerful voice for succor ; he was heard, but no sooner did the men at the house hear the cry of "Indians," than they took to their heels in an opposite direction. At last he arrived at the house, closely pursued by the Indians, and entering after his family, barred up the door, and began to make preparations for acting more upon the offensive, when the Indians made a rapid retreat. Pemberton reached his own house the following day, where he resided many years, an eyesore to those who had so ingloriously fled from his assistance. Many arrow points which entered his breast, were never removedy and were carried to the end of life,
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DAVIDSON FAMILY. 287 as the best certificate of his bravery, and devotion to his family.
CHAPTER VII.
CAPTIVITY OF THE DAVIDSON FAMILY, AND OTHER MASSACRES.
To tell a tale of Indian barbarity, is at all times painful. Even where the hardy backwoodsman is the victim, our sympathies become aroused for those of our own race, and we ardently wish the tale could have been otherwise told. But I have only learned the extent of my sympathy, when mothers and children have been the suffering party, in a tale told me by a hoary-headed old man, whose breast would heave as though some uncommon emotion was in- terfering with the natural pulsations of his heart. To wit- ness the pearly drops gathering in his eye, as memory called up the days of yore, and the trembling of his voice, as he recounted the many sufferings of the captive mother or daughter, have never failed to awaken the tenderest sym- pathies of my soul, and produce a desire to so tell the same tale, that others might be similarly affected. This, though, cannot be done- the intonations of the voice can- not be written, nor would it be in proper taste to attempt to throw around a scene, intended for a historical collec
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tion, the enchanting colors of language. Beside, there are a variety of tastes to please, and the writer who can give universal satisfaction has yet to write. There is one distin- guishing feature, however, which all admire, and I have made this the test by which I have tried my labors, viz : simple truth. It is my place to record the fact, which may, in course of time, become material for him who delights to dwell on the ideal.
Andrew Davidson left his house, on business of impor- tance, which would keep him from home several days. His horse was ready saddled, and kissing his wife and children, bade them adieu for a season, promising to make all speed and return. Long and anxiously did the kind-hearted mother look at his retiring form. But as he passed from her sight, she turned again to her children, and silently wept over them, as if she felt the desolation of her situation. The family consisted of the three children of Mrs. David- son, two girls and a boy, all small, and a bound boy and a girl, orphans, whose parents were Broomfields.
The bound children were between seven and ten, and, of course, were but little help to Mrs. Davidson. At the period of which I write, 1789-'90, the women of western Virginia willingly shared in the more laborious part of the household toil, and when their husbands were absent, performed such labors as were before performed by their husbands.
Several days had elapsed since the departure of her hus- band, when Mrs. Davidson found her doors suddenly dark-
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ened by the swarthy forms of several Indians, who, speaking English, told her she must go with them to their towns in the west.
There remained no alternative to her, though her situa- tion was such as almost to prevent the possibility of her performing such a trip. She took up her youngest child, the Indians taking the others, and left the house to try the realities of Indian captivity, of which she had heard much said. They had not proceeded far when they relieved her of her burden ; one of the Indians taking her child, and, unexpectedly to her, carried it on in safety.
The exertions and anxiety of mind undergone by Mrs. Davidson, was the cause of an addition of numbers to the captives. Two hours' relaxation from the march, was suf- ficient rest, in the estimation of the Indians, and again they pushed on, one of the Indians carrying the stranger, which after a day's time, was drowned, on account of apparent or real indisposition.
The Indians who captured Mrs. Davidson, were more humane than she expected. They seemed to pity her, and showed every leniency that could be asked for, under the cir- cumstances.
But, when they arrived at the Indian towns, quite & different fate awaited them. The two girl children were tied to trees, and shot before her eyes. The boy, her son, was given to an old squaw, who, in passing over a river, upset her canoe, and he was drowned. What became of the bound boy and girl was never known.
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Mr. Davidson, two years after, it being a time of peace, went to the Shawanoe towns to look for his wife, who had been sold to a French gentleman. - Mr. Davidson made in- quiries after her, but could learn nothing of her fate. An old Indian, who no doubt pitied him, told him that if any Indian in the town knew of her whereabouts, he could not be told, as they would have to refund the price paid for her in case she had to be given up. But, that if he (Mr. Da- vidson) would go home, that he would find out where his wife was, and inform him. Mr. Davidson returned, little thinking that the Indian would keep his promise.
In a short time after Mr. Davidson returned, the old In- dian conveyed the necessary intelligence to him, and he set out a second time, but now toward Canada, whither he had been informed she was. When he had got into the Canada settlements, he stopped at the house of a wealthy French farmer, to get a meal's victuals, and to inquire the way to some place where he had heard she was.
He noticed a woman passing him, as he entered the house, but merely bowed to her and went in. Asking for his din- ner, he seated himself, and was, perhaps, running over in his mind, the chances of finding his wife, when again the woman entered. She laid down her wood, and looked at the stran- ger steadily for a moment, when she turned to her mistress, and said : "I know that man." "Well, who is he ?" said the French lady. "It is my husband ! Andrew Davidson, I am your wife." Mr. Davidson could scarcely believe his senses. When he last saw her, she was a fine, healthy- ₹.
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looking woman ; her hair was black as coal ; but now, her head was gray, and she looked many years older than she should have looked. Yet it was her, though he declared no- thing but her voice seemed to say she was Rebecca Davidson.
Soon the French gentleman returned, and being a humane man, gave up Rebecca to her husband, also a considerable sum of money, and next morning sent them on their way rejoicing.
THE HENRY FAMILY MASSACRED.
In May, 1776, John Henry and his family fell victims to savage barbarity. Mr. Henry lived in Thompson's valley, on a plantation now owned by James S. Witten. The cir- cumstances attending this melancholy occurrence, are not sufficiently clear. The simple fact of the massacre is beyond doubt. But the old gentleman who furnished me with the circumstances, showed such marked evidences of a decay- ing state of the mind, that I fear the tale is not altogether as authentic as we might desire. But impressions of this kind seem to be indelibly written upon memory's tablet, even when other incidents, of a different nature, are forgot- ten. More than once have I seen this exemplified in convers- ing with the witnesses to the incidents which have been given.
Mr. Henry had retired to rest with the blessing of & good conscience - the honest man's reward- resting upon his head. After passing a night of quiet rest, he arose and dressed himself to prepare for the labors of the coming day. His wife had also arisen, and was preparing to com- mence some culinary operation. The children -seven in .. 16
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number - were asleep, little dreaming how soon they were to be startled from the morning's slumber by the sharp crack of an Indian rifle.
The sun had already begun to cast the golden tints of a summer-morning upon the light clouds which floated in the western atmosphere; yet it was not light, and might best be illustrated by saying it was the gray of the morning, when Mr. Henry stepped to the door and unbolted it, with the intention, no doubt, of looking abroad, and yawning in the open air. Stepping in the door, he stretched himself up to inhale the sweet odors of the morning breeze, when a party of Indians, who lay near, fired a gun, and he fell on his face in the yard. He wore on the waistbands of his pant- aloons, a large metal button, which must have served as a target to the Indian's gun, as the ball passed directly through it, and into Mr. Henry's body.
The savages rushed forward, no longer fearing the stout arm of Henry, and were soon among the sleeping babes, who had, as yet, scarcely waked from their slumbers. While the Indians were in the house, engaged in their horrible work, Henry rose to his feet, and started for Mr. Martin's, his nearest neighbor. He had seen the Indians pass him, and enter his house, and knowing his inability to assist his wife and children, he thought only of personal safety. Though bleeding, and feeling that his end was nigh, he pressed on for Martin's house, hoping to save Martin's family, if nothing more.
Martin had likewise risen early, intending to start to what
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is now known as Smyth county, with his family. He had started, and was on the road when he met Henry on his hands and knees, crawling on as if determined to warn others of the presence of the Indians. But, poor man, he was now too weak to act the part of a messenger. Martin learned the circumstance, and placing Henry on a horse, so altered his course as to avoid passing Henry's house, and hurried on to the Cove, about seven miles distant. Here he left Henry, and proceeded to his destination. In a few hours Henry breathed his last, and was buried on the present plantation of William Barnes, Esq. A company was soon collected and preparations made to follow the Indians, whom it was supposed, had carried off the rest of the family. But when they arrived at the fatal spot, the family, consisting of a wife and six children, were found murdered, scalped, and piled up after the manner of a log heap, on a ridge a short distance from the house. One child was not to be found, a little boy, whom it was supposed had been carried off. A large hole was opened, which became a common grave for the mother and her unoffending children.
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