Connecticut western news., 1871-12-01
An Indian Story.


 John W. Forney tells the following romantic story
 Shortly after I took possession of the Lancaster (Pa.) MteLhgencer, more than thirty-four years ago-before I had reached manhood-Mrs. Dickson, the amiable and gentle postmistress of that place, handed me soiled letter directed to "the editor of a newspaper" which she said had been in her possession for
 ore than year, and had not been de. ivered because it had 10 definite address. Upon opening it I found it dated Logans- port, Indiana, and signed by George w. Ewing, United States Indian Agent. He stated that he had only recently stopped at an Indian wigwam for the night on the banks of the Mississinewa, about fifty miles south of Fort Wayne, and found it" occupied by family who were rich for Indians, and boasted of con- siderable property in houses and lands He went on to say that in the course of the evening he noticed that the hair of one of the women was light and her skin under her dress white, and so he entered into conversation with her, which was not dificult,> as he spoke the language of the tribe. She told him she was white, but had been carried away when 8 very small girl. She could only re- member that her name was Slocum that she had lived in little house on the banks of the Susquehanna also the number of her fathers family, and the order of their ages but she could not recall the name of the town from which she was taken. Fascinated by this romantic story, yet undecided how to let the facts be known, he wrote letter and sent it to my native town of Lan- caster as the place nearest the Susque- hanna that he could remember of any importance. After, as I have said, sleep ing in the post-office for many months, it came out through the columns of my little journal, and in that way got to the Slocums of Wilkesbarre, being the first intelligence of the child which had been stolen from them sixty years before. The brother of Frances, who was only two years and half old when his sister was carried off by the Indians, started for the Indian country in company with his eldest sister, who had aided hiM to escape, and another brother, then living in Ohio, born after the captivity of Frances. After long journey they found little wigwam among the Miami Indians. "We shall know Frances, " said the sister, "because she lost the nail of her first finger. You, brother, hammered it off in the blacksmith shop when she was four years old" They entered and found a swarthy woman who looked to be seventy-ive. She was painted, ieweled, and dressed like an Indian in all respects. Nothing but her lo,, o1r AoI l. origin. They got an interpreter, asked her name and where she was born. How came that nail gone ?'' said the eldest sister. She answered, My elder brother pounded it off when I was little child in the shop" They had discovered the long-lost sister. They asked her Christian name. She had forgotten it. "Was it Frances ?' As if smitten by a revelation, she answered, "Yes." It was the first time she had heard it pro- nounced in sixty years. Here they were met, two brothers and two sisters, after having been separated for more than half century. The brothers were walk ing the cabin, unable to speak, the sister was drowned in tears, but the poor Indian sat motionless and passionless. She could not speak word of English. She did not know when Sunday came. She was carried off by the Indians, and when she grew up she married one of their number. He either died or ran away. and then she married Miami chief, since dead. She had two daughters, both married, who, thirty four years ago, lived in all the glory of Indian cabins, deer-skin clothes, and cow-sF1n head dresses. They had horses in abundance, and when the Indian sister accompanied her new relatives, she bridled her horse and mounted it astride. At night she slept on the floor, with her blanket around her. They could not persuade her to return to Wilkesbarre, even when the invitation was extended to her chil- dren. She had always lived with the Indians, they had been kind to her, and she promised her last husband on his death-bed she would never leave them. It is now nearly ninety-five years since this white child was torn from he1 parents home in Wyoming Valley. She herself has been gathered to her fathers and most of her double family who wer living in 1888, with the exception,
 believe, of MT. Joseph Slocum, now one of the most influential and respectable citizens of Scranton. Among all the changes that have taken place in this long interval, few are more interesting than this transformation from civiliza tion to barbarism.