A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Mary JemisonSeaver, James E. (James Everett)
History
A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Mary Jemison
Seaver, James E. (James Everett)
Jemison, Mary, 1743-1833; Seneca Indians
During this time, the Indians stripped the shoes and stockings from the
little boy that belonged to the woman who was taken with us, and put
moccasins on his feet, as they had done before on mine. I was crying. An
Indian took the little boy and myself by the hand, to lead us off from
the company, when my mother exclaimed, "Don't cry Mary--don't cry my
child. God will bless you! Farewell--farewell!"
The Indian led us some distance into the bushes, or woods, and there
lay down with us to spend the night. The recollection of parting with my
tender mother kept me awake, while the tears constantly flowed from
my eyes. A number of times in the night the little boy begged of
me earnestly to run away with him and get clear of the Indians; but
remembering the advice I had so lately received, and knowing the dangers
to which we should be exposed, in travelling without a path and without
a guide, through a wilderness unknown to us, I told him that I would not
go, and persuaded him to lie still till morning.
Early the next morning the Indians and Frenchmen that we had left
the night before, came to us; but our friends were left behind. It is
impossible for any one to form a correct idea of what my feelings were
at the sight of those savages, whom I supposed had murdered my parents
and brothers, sister, and friends, and left them in the swamp to be
devoured by wild beasts! But what could I do? A poor little defenceless
girl; without the power or means of escaping; without a home to go to,
even if I could be liberated; without a knowledge of the direction or
distance to my former place of residence; and without a living friend to
whom to fly for protection, I felt a kind of horror, anxiety, and
dread, that, to me, seemed insupportable. I durst not cry--I durst not
complain; and to inquire of them the fate of my friends (even if I could
have mustered resolution) was beyond my ability, as I could not speak
their language, nor they understand mine. My only relief was in silent
stifled sobs.
My suspicions as to the fate of my parents proved too true; for soon
after I left them they were killed and scalped, together with Robert,
Matthew, Betsey, and the woman and her two children, and mangled in the
most shocking manner.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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