Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1914-02-24
BARBARA MCKINNEY
A York County Heroine Of the Old
Days.
history NOT HERETOFORE PRINTED

Story of a Woman Who Held Her owl
| Against Hostile Indians, and VIII
Moulded Bullets With Which the Pa
triots Fought the British-She Wa
Scalped by the Savases; but Livet
Many Years Afterward to Tell tn,
Children of the Next Generation o
Her Adventures.
Written for The Yorkville Enquirer.
Back in the chambers Of our memor
les there are constantly arising threads
Of history, tragedy and romance tha
persist in forming themselves into pic.
lures, and these pictures seem to de-
mand expression in order that they
may serve to instruct, entertain and
inspire others who may be struck with
lessons or valuable suggestions as they
may present. In my own memory
find such pictures as have been formed
through glimpses Of the life Of Bar.
bara Mckinney, and I'll tell the tale
as it was told to me-"
On the banks Of Fishing Creek, In
York county, many years ago. or more
definitely speaking in the days Of the
American Revolution, there dwelt a
family Of McKinneys. They were OF
Scotch-Irish blood and as hardy, brave
patriotic and loyal as were the best OF
those who upheld the honor and glory
Of Scotland in the days Of Wallace and
Bruce.
The elder Mckinney and his sons
had been among the first Of that gal
liant band Of patriots, Of whom an old
history of South Carolina published In
1900, says: Those Of the old Pied
mont hills Of York were the bravest
soldiers Of the Revolutionary war"
Barbara Mckinney was the only
daughter Of the Mckinney home. To
live up to the times in those days, one
had to be very brave and fearless, and
Barbara was no exception. Indeed,
from the many stories we have heard
Of her fearless daring, her invincible
fortitude, her strength and courage,
when days were the darkest, when not
one ray Of hope frightened her almost
| isolated life, she must have been quite
a heroine.
Living in a comparative wilderness,
far from any other habitation, environ
ed by invading hosts and hostile Indi-
ans; in that trying time that awed the
stoutest hearts, she displayed with
cold, firm deliberation, qualities that
were certainly remarkable.
While her father and brothers were
away with Marion fighting for liberty,
she was the soul dependence and pro-
tector Of her mother, and several small
brothers, and bore the burden the sit
uation involved, with Spartan like en-
durance. She could use the old flint
lock musket with unerring aim and
ride any horse that could be mounted.
On several occasions she outwitted
British soldiers, and often challenged
the pursuit Of Indians.
1t was said Of her that one night she
watched a band of Indians slip up to
the little log stable at the back Of the
house and steal young black mare
that she had raised and Of which she
thought a great DEAL 1t was a wild
and fractions animal and had never
been mounted by any one but herself.
In the bright moonlight Barbara saw
| the Indians lead the mare away, and
waiting until they reached the cover
of the woods she quietly slipped from
the house, determined to follow them
and bring her favorite possession back
or die in the attempt.
| Keeping the Indians in sight she fol-
lowed them through woods, swamps
and thickets until they, thinking them
selves beyond pursuit, halted. Barbara
saw them tie the mare to sapline
and lay down on the ground at a little
distance away to sleep. Hidden in the
underground she waited until she was
sure that the Indians were fast asleep
She realized that to attempt to rescue
the mare, she would simply have to
make good on the undertaking or die
in the attempt. She crept softly and
slowly up to where the mare was tied
and deliberately cutting the rope halt
err sprang upon the mares back. IT
was done in an instant; but with the
cracking Of twig under her feet an
Indian had the mare by the rope. She
stopped over and gave the savage a
stinging cut across his face and eyes
with stout hickory stick she had in
her hand. The Indian gave yell OF
pain and dropped stunned to the ground
while the mare leaped over his body
and dashed away like a flash. Hours
| after, just as the sun was topping the
eastern hills, bruised and bleeding and
with clothes torn to shreds, Barbara
stepped from the mares back at home
Barbara had to carry water at night
| for the next days use from a spring
nearly a half mile away along a dark
woodland path, past the old stone malt
| house, where old Aunt Jennie Young
once brewed beer, and where a mur-
der had been committed, and where
they said," haunting spirit genius
still lurked. From here Old Fishing
Creek church and it's burying ground
could be seen across the creek on the
hill side beyond.
Here / may be excused for digress-
ing from my story by recalling that
the old church on the hillside above
Fishing Creek was at that time in
charge of the Rev. William Davis, a
venerable and devoted minister Of the
Presbyterian church and the beloved
friend and counsellor Of those simple,
God-fearing people. 1t was said Of him
that he wore a hunting shirt and car
ried his musket in the pulpit and stood
it beside him while he preached. He
was the grandfather or great-grand-
father Of the Rev. William Davis, who
at one time was pastor Of Beersheba
church and who Is buried in Beershe-
ba cemeteryl.
But to return to the story. One night
while going down the path to the
spring for water, Barbara saw two In
dians slip into the old stone malt
house and close the door after them