A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Mary Jemison — John Shaqi
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
Having given the little boy and myself some bread and meat for
breakfast, they led us on as fast as we could travel, and one of them
went behind and with a long staff, picked up all the grass and weeds
that we trailed down by going over them. By taking that precaution they
avoided detection; for each weed was so nicely placed in its natural
position that no one would have suspected that we had passed that way.
It is the custom of Indians when scouting, or on private expeditions,
to step carefully and where no impression of their feet can be
left--shunning wet or muddy ground. They seldom take hold of a bush or
limb, and never break one; and by observing those precautions and that
of setting up the weeds and grass which they necessarily lop, they
completely elude the sagacity of their pursuers, and escape that
punishment which they are conscious they merit from the hand of justice.
After a hard day's march we encamped in a thicket, where the Indians
made a shelter of boughs, and then built a good fire to warm and dry
our benumbed limbs and clothing; for it had rained some through the day.
Here we were again fed as before. When the Indians had finished their
supper they took from their baggage a number of scalps and went about
preparing them for the market, or to keep without spoiling, by straining
them over small hoops which they prepared for that purpose, and then
drying and scraping them by the fire. Having put the scalps, yet wet and
bloody, upon the hoops, and stretched them to their full extent, they
held them to the fire till they were partly dried and then with their
knives commenced scraping off the flesh; and in that way they continued
to work, alternately drying and scraping them, till they were dry and
clean. That being done they combed the hair in the neatest manner, and
then painted it and the edges of the scalps yet on the hoops, red. Those
scalps I knew at the time must have been taken from our family by
the color of the hair. My mother's hair was red; and I could easily
distinguish my father's and the children's from each other. That sight
was most appaling; yet, I was obliged to endure it without complaining.
In the course of the night they made me to understand that they should
not have killed the family if the whites had not pursued them.
Mr. Fields, whom I have before mentioned, informed me that at the
time we were taken, he lived in the vicinity of my father; and that on
hearing of our captivity, the whole neighborhood turned out in pursuit
of the enemy, and to deliver us if possible: but that their efforts were
unavailing. They however pursued us to the dark swamp, where they found
my father, his family and companions, stripped and mangled in the most
inhuman manner: That from thence the march of the cruel monsters could
not be traced in any direction; and that they returned to their homes
with the melancholy tidings of our misfortunes, supposing that we had
all shared in the massacre.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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