Seaver, James E. (James Everett), 1787-1827 / 2008-11-30 00:00:00
Frequently I
dream of those happy days: but, alas! they are gone; they have left me to
be carried through a long life, dependent for the little pleasures of
nearly seventy years, upon the tender mercies of the Indians! In the
spring of 1752, and through the succeeding seasons, the stories of Indian
barbarities inflicted upon the whites in those days, frequently excited in
my parents the most serious alarm for our safety.
The next year the storm gathered faster; many murders were committed; and
many captives were exposed to meet death in its most frightful form, by
having their bodies stuck full of pine splinters, which were immediately
set on fire, while their tormentors, exulting in their distress, would
rejoice at their agony!
In 1754, an army for the protection of the settlers, and to drive back the
French and Indians, was raised from the militia of the colonial
governments, and placed (secondarily) under the command of Col. George
Washington. In that army I had an uncle, whose name was John Jemison who
was killed at the battle at the Great Meadow or Fort Necessity. His wife
had died some time before this, and left a young child, which my mother
nursed in the most tender manner, till its mother's sister took it away, a
few months after my uncle's death.
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