The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1870-05-19
POOR RlATTY KILBURN.

very ancient tree, which is an object of
interest to visitors, for there is a SORROW
full tale connected with it.
Long ago, when the settlers lived in
fear of the Indians, who often came down
the river to rob and kill, fort was built
near the town, and there the people hur-
ried for protection the moment the alarm
was given.
Between this fort and the town stands
the old tree, which was vigorous young
oak at the time the story begins.
For long while the settlers had been
at peace, and began to think that the
Indians would never come again, for their
last repuIse had been most disastrous
one.
But one autumn day, when the men
were busy harvesting in the fields, boy
who had been fishing came flying home,
pale and frightened, TO report that the In
dians were coming in a whole feet of
canoes, padding down the ''long river of
pines" as they called the Connecticut.
ThcE the panic began, and all hurried
to The fort, taking their women anG chill
dreu, their cattle, and as much Of their
precious harvest as they could gather in
| that short time.
The inmates of few solitary houses
on the outskirts of the town were left TO
their fate, for there was no time to warn
them except by the bell.
Some of the women fed to the fort, leav-
ing the men who were away in he.fieids,
or on the hills, to defend themselves as they
best knew how.
Some hid in the woods, fearing to try
to reach the forts, for the canoes were
very near now, and the keen eyed savages
could see the fugilives.
In one of these lonely houses lived John
Kiiburn and his twelve year old daughter
Matty, who kept house for him like a
noble little woman as she was.
On that sad day John was looking for
his sheep at the foot Of Fall Mountain,
and Matty was alone at home. He did
not hear the bell, but he saw the Indians
he thought of his dear little girl all alone
in the solitary honse, and leaving his
sheep to their fate, he ran home through
by>ways, hoping to reach the settlement
before the fight began. He knew it would
be bloody one. for the revengeful Indians
had not forgotten their last defeat, and
had turned out in full force to destroy
their conquerors.
They were already on shore when John
Kilburn, breathless and exhausted, reach
ed his home to find brave little Mary pre-
pairing TO defend herself with his gun in
her hand, and the dogs at her side.
"Why don't you run to the fort,
child % he painted, as she let him in.
Il waited for you; | knew you'd
come. and now we will go together" she
sand, showing him her pockets full of the
few precious things they owned aslittle
money, her mothers gold beads, the sill
yer spoons, and the queer, big watch,
which her fathor only wore on Sunday.
Away they, ran, leaving the dogs behind,
lest they shoulc betray them.
1t was not far, but when they reached
the hill that lay between them and the
fort, they saw that it was too late TO get
in, for the fight had begun.
CHANGING back, they also saw that re-
treat was cut off, for some of the Indians
were already skulking about their house.
John Kil5urn was brave man, but
he trembled as he stood there among the
bushes, so helpless in the midst of his re-
len;less enemies He trembled, not for
himself, but for the little girl who clung
to him. full of faith that lie could save
her from every danger.
A shout from the hills made him look
up to see party of settlers, armed with
sickles, scythes and guns, charging down
upon the Indians, intent on fighting their
| way into the fort.
If he were alone, John could join them
and do good service with his gun but
Matty could do nothing and would only
impede his steps and endanger herself.
lie thought minute, and then swung
himself into the oak under which they
had paused. Leaning down be drew the
| child after him, and without a word let
her carefully down into a deep hollow,
made by the breaking of great limb
struck by lightning some years before.
The tree had decayed inwardIy. while
outwardly it looked hale and strong, for
young shoots had sprung up around the
broken place, and hid the hole with thick
branches.
'Aren't you coming, too, father p
asked Many, looking up from her dark
hiding place.
s'No, dear, am going to fight; you
are safe here no one knows of the hole
but me. Stay quiet till come for you.
Keep good heart, my lass, and trust to
father" answered John, leaning down to
kiss the brave little face that looked at
him from the green gloom.
Matty let him go without word
for those perilous times taught stern les>
sons even to the children. She sat quite
still, said her prayers with all her heart,
and waited patiently for her father.
All that afternoon and night shots rang
from fort and forest, flames from the lone-
ly farm houses, and blood flowed. by
the do un the finht uas over and the In