University of Virginia Library

James Moore, Jr., was a lineal descendant of the Rev. Samuel Rutherford, of Scotland;
the latter being a descendant of the Rev. Joseph Allein, the author of the
"Alarm to the Unconverted." Mr. Moore's parents were among those who, during the
persecutions under Charles I., emigrated from Scotland to the north of Ireland, the
descendants of whom, in this country, come under the general name of "Scotch Irish."
From Ireland he emigrated to Virginia, and settled in what is now Rockbridge county,
on Walker's creek. There he married Jane Walker, and there James Moore, the subject
of this sketch, was born. When the latter grew up he married Martha Podge, of the
same county, and settled near the Natural Bridge, at a place long known as "Newel's
Tavern." There his three oldest children, John, James, and Joseph, were born. About
the year 1775, he removed to what is now Tazewell county, and settled in Abb's valley,
on the waters of Blue Stone, a branch of New River. He was induced to emigrate to
that country on account of the fertility of the soil, and its adaptedness to raising stock.
There, with the aid of an old Englishman whose name was John Simpson, he erected
his cabin; and with his pious wife, both being members of the Presbyterian church, he
erected his altar to God, cleared a piece of ground, and there resided with his family
until they were destroyed; frequently going into a fort, which was almost every summer.
The first of his family who was captured was James, his second son, a lad in the 14th
year of his age. This occurred September 7th, 1784. Mr. Moore, the captive, who is
still living, gives this account of that event:

My father had sent me to a waste plantation, about 2½ miles distant, to catch a horse
on which I might go to mill. As we lived about 12 miles from the mill, and the road
for the whole distance thither leading through a dreary wilderness, I had frequently to
come home a considerable part of the way after night, when it was very dark. Being
accustomed to this, I set out for the horse without the least intimidation, or apprehension
of danger. But notwithstanding this, I had not proceeded more than half the distance
to the field, before a sudden dread, or panic, came on me. The appearance of the Indian
who took me was presented to my mind, although at the time I did not think of an
Indian, but rather that some wild animal in human shape would devour me. Such was
my alarm that I went on trembling, frequently looking back, expecting to see it. Indeed

I would have returned home, but for the fear that with such an excuse my father would
be displeased, and perhaps send me back. I therefore proceeded on until I came near
the field, when suddenly three Indians sprang from behind a log, one of whom laid hold
of me. Being much alarmed at the time with the apprehension of being devoured, and
believing this to be the animal I had dreaded, I screamed with all my might. The Indian
who had hold of me laid his hand on my head, and, in the Indian language, told
me to hush. Looking him in the face, and perceiving that it was an Indian, I felt greatly
relieved, and spoke out aloud, "It is an Indian, why need I fear;" and thought to myself,
"All that is in it is, I will have to go to the Shawnee towns.' ****In this company
there were only three Indians, a father and son, and one other; the former bearing the
name of the "Black Wolf," a middle-aged man, of the most stern countenance I ever
beheld, about six feet high, having a black beard. The others I suppose were about 18
years of age, and all of the Shawnee tribe. I belonged to the Black Wolf, who had
captured me. We immediately proceeded to an old cabin, near to which were the horses.
Here we made a halt, and the old Wolf told me to catch the horses, and gave me some
salt for that purpose. My object was to catch one and mount, and make my escape;
but suspecting my intention, as often as I would get hold of a horse they would come
running up, and thus scare him away. Finding that I could not get a horse for myself,
I had no wish, and did not try to catch one for them, and so, after a few efforts, abandoned
the attempt. ***This I suppose was about one o'clock in the afternoon. The Indians
then went into a thicket where were concealed their kettle and blankets, after which we
immediately proceeded on our journey. In consequence of the high weeds, green briers,
logs, and the steep and mountainous character of the country, the walking was very
laborious, and we travelled that evening only about 8 miles. The two younger Indians
went before, myself next, with the old Wolf in the rear. If marks were made, he would
carefully remove them with his tomahawk. I frequently broke bushes, which he discovered,
and shook his tomahawk over my head to let me know the consequences if I did
not desist. I would then scratch the ground with my feet. This he also discovered,
and made me desist, showing me how to set my feet flat, so as not to leave any mark.
It then became necessary to cease my efforts to make a trail for others, as they were all
immediately detected. ***In the evening, about sundown, the old Wolf gave a tremendous
war-whoop, and another the next morning at sunrise. These were repeated evening and
morning during our whole journey. It was long, loud, and shrill, and intended to signify
that they had one prisoner. Their custom is to repeat it as frequent as the number of
prisoners. It is different from their whoop when they have scalps, and in this way it can
be known as far as the whoop is heard, whether they have prisoners or scalps, and also
the number. But to return, the night was rainy. We lay down in a laurel thicket,
without food or fire. Previous to this, the old Wolf had searched me carefully, to see
whether I had a knife. After this he tied one end of a leading-halter very tightly around
my neck, and wrapped the other end around his hand, so as to make it secure, as well
as very difficult for me to get away without waking him. Notwithstanding my situation
was thus dreary, gloomy, and distressing, I was not altogether prevented from sleep.
Indeed, I suppose few prisoners were ever more resigned to their fate. The next morning
we resumed our journey about daybreak, and continued down Tug creek about two
miles, until we reached the main ridge of Tug mountain, along which we descended
until we came to Maxwell's Gap.[1] At this place the old Wolf went off and brought
in a middle-sized Dutch-oven, which had been secreted on their former expedition. The
carriage of this was assigned to me. At first it was fastened to my back, but after suffering
much I threw it down, saying I would carry it no more. Upon this the old Wolf
placed down his bundle and told me to carry it, but on finding that I could not lift it I
became more reconciled, took up the oven again, and after some days filled it with leaves,
and carried it with more ease. We continued on the same ridge the whole of that day,
and encamped on it at night. In the evening there came on a rain, and the son of the
Black Wolf pulled off my hat. This I resented, struck him, and took it from him. He
then showed me by signs that with it he wished to protect his gunlock from the rain.
I then permitted him to have it, and after the rain he returned it. For three days we
travelled without sustenance of any kind, save some water in which poplar bark had been
steeped. On the 4th day we killed a buffalo, took out the paunch, cut it open, rinsed it
a little in the water, cut it up, and put it into the kettle with some pieces of the flesh,
and made broth. Of this we drank heartily, without eating any of the meat. After
night we made another kettle of broth, but ate no meat. This is Indian policy after
fasting.

I travelled the whole route barefooted; the consequence was that I had three stone-bruises
on each foot, and at this time my sufferings were very great. Frequently I
would walk over rattlesnakes, but was not permitted to kill any, the Indians considering
them their friends.

Some few days after this, we killed a buffalo that was very fat, and dried as much of
the meat as lasted us for several days. After this we killed deer and buffaloes as our
wants required, until we reached their towns, near what is now called Chillicothe, in
Ohio, just 20 days from the time we set out. We crossed the Ohio between the mouth
of Guyandot and Big Sandy, on a raft made of dry logs, and tied together with grapevines.
On the banks of the Scioto we remained one day. Here they made pictures to represent
three Indians, and me their prisoner. Near this place the old Wolf went off and
procured some bullets which he had secreted.

When we came near the towns the Indians painted themselves black, but did not
paint me. This was an omen of my safety. I was not taken directly into the town,
but to the residence of Wolf's half-sister, to whom I was sold for an old horse. The
reason why I was not taken directly to the town, was, I suppose, 1st, because it was a
time of peace; 2dly, that I might be saved from running the gauntlet, which was the
case with prisoners taken in war. Shortly after I was sold, my mistress left me entirely
alone for several days in her wigwam, leaving a kettle of hommony for me to eat. In this
solitary situation I first began to pray, and call upon God for mercy and deliverance,
and found great relief. Having cast my burdens on the Lord, I would arise from my
knees and go off cheerfully. I had been taught to pray. My father prayed in his
family; and I now found the benefit of the religious instruction and example I had
enjoyed.

On one occasion while on our journey, I was sent some distance for water. Supposing
that I was entirely out of view, I gave vent to my feelings, and wept abundantly.
The old Indian, however, had watched me, and noticing the marks of tears on my
cheeks, he shook his tomahawk over my head to let me know I must not do so again.
Their object in sending me off, was, I suppose, to see whether I would attempt to escape,
as the situation appeared favorable for that purpose. After this I was no longer fastened
with a halter.

In about two weeks after I was sold, my mistress sent me, with others, on a hunting
excursion. In this we were very unsuccessful. The snow being knee-deep, my blanket
too short to cover me, and having very little other clothing, my sufferings from hunger
and cold were intense. Often after having lain down, and drawn up my feet to get
them under the blanket, I became so benumbed that it was with difficulty I could
straighten myself again. Early in the morning the old Indian would build up a large fire,
and make me and the young Indians plunge all over in cold water. This, I think, was
of great benefit, as it prevented us from taking cold.

When we returned from hunting in the spring, the old man gave me up to Capt.
Elliot, a trader from Detroit. But my mistress, on learning this, became very angry,
threatened Elliot, and got me back.

Some time in April, there was a dance at a town about two miles from where I resided.
This I attended, in company with the Indian to whom I belonged. Meeting with a
French trader from Detroit, by the name of Batest Ariome, who took a fancy to me on
account of my resemblance to one of his sons, he bought me for 50 dollars in Indian
money.[2] Before leaving the dance I met with a Mr. Sherlock, a trader from Ky.,
who had formerly been a prisoner to this same tribe of Indians, and who had rescued a
lad by the name of Moffit, who had been captured by the Indians on the head of the
Clinch, and whose father was an intimate and particular friend of my father's.[3] I requested
Mr. Sherlock to write to my father, through Mr. Moffit, informing him of my
captivity, and that I had been purchased by a French trader, and was gone to Detroit.
This letter, I have reason to believe, father received, and that it gave him the first information
of what had become of me.

But we must pause in this narrative, to notice the destruction and captivity of the
remaining part of Mr. Moore's family.

There being only a few families in the part of Va. where Mr. Moore resided, the
Indians from the Shawanee towns made frequent incursions upon them. Consequently

most of the families returned to the more thickly settled parts of what is now Montgomery
co., &c., but Mr. Moore still remained. Such was the fertility of the soil, and
the adaptedness of the country to grazing, that Mr. M. kept about 100 head of horses,
and a good stock of cattle, which principally wintered themselves. On the 14th of
July, 1786, early in the morning, a gang of horses had come in from the range to the
lick-blocks, about 100 yards from the house, and Mr. Moore had gone out to salt them.
Two men also, who were living with him, had gone out, and were reaping wheat. The
Indians, about 30 in number, who were lying in ambush, watching the house, supposing
that all the men were absent, availed themselves of the opportunity and rushed forward
with all speed. As they advanced they commenced firing, and killed two of the children,
viz. William and Rebecca, who were returning from the spring, and Alexander in the
yard. Mr. Moore attempted to get to the house, but finding it surrounded, ran past it
through a small pasture in which the house stood. When he reached the fence he made
a halt, and was shot through with seven bullets. The Indians said he might have
escaped if he had not stopped on the fence. After he was shot he ran about 40 yards,
and fell. He was then scalped by the Indians, and afterwards buried by the whites at
the place where the body lay, and where his grave may yet be seen. It was thought
that when he saw his family about to be massacred, without the possibility of rendering
them assistance, he chose to share a like fate. There were two fierce dogs, which
fought like heroes until the fiercest one was killed. The two men who were reaping,
hearing the alarm, and seeing the house surrounded, fled, and alarmed the settlement.
At that time the nearest family was distant 6 miles. As soon as the alarm was given,
Mrs. Moore and Martha Ivins[4] barred the door, but this was of no avail. There was
no man in the house at the time except John Simpson, the old Englishman already
alluded to, and he was on the loft sick, and in bed. There were five or six guns in the
house, but having been shot off the evening before, they were then empty. It was intended
to have loaded them after breakfast. Martha Ivins took two of them and went
up stairs where Simpson was, and handing them to him, told him to shoot. He looked
up, but had been shot in the head through a crack, and was then near his end. The
Indians then proceeded to cut down the door, which they soon effected. During this time
Martha Ivins went to the far end of the house, lifted up a loose plank, and went under
the floor, and requested Polly Moore, (then eight years of age,) who had the youngest
child, called Margaret, in her arms, (which was crying,) to set the child down and
come under. Polly looked at the child, clasped it to her breast, and determined to share
its fate. The Indians having broken into the house, took Mrs. Moore and her children,
viz.: John, Jane, Polly, and Peggy, prisoners, and having taken every thing that suited
them, they set it and the other buildings on fire, and then went away. Martha Ivins
remained under the floor a short time, and then came out and hid herself under a log
that lay across a branch not far from the house. The Indians having tarried a short
time with the view of catching horses, one of them walked across this log, sat down on
the end of it, and began to fix his gun-lock. Miss Ivins supposing that she was discovered,
and that he was preparing to shoot her, came out and gave herself up. At this he
seemed much pleased. They then set out for their towns. Perceiving that John Moore
was a boy weak in body and mind, and unable to travel, they killed him the first day.
The babe they took two or three days, but it being fretful, on account of a wound it had
received, they dashed its brains out against a tree. They then moved on with haste to
their towns. For some time it was usual to tie very securely each of the prisoners at
night, and for a warrior to lie beside each of them with tomahawk in hand, so that in
case of pursuit the prisoners might be speedily dispatched. Their manner of travelling
was very much like that described by James Moore. Not unfrequently they were
several days without food, and when they killed game, their habit was to make
broth as described by him. When they came to the banks of the Scioto, they carefully
pointed out to Mrs. Moore and the prisoners, the hieroglyphics mentioned in the narrative
of James Moore. When they reached their town, (which was the one to which James
Moore had been taken,) they were soon assembled in council, when an old man made
a long speech to them dissuading them from war; but at the close of it the warriors
shook their heads, and retired. This old man afterwards took Polly Moore into his
family, where he and his wife seemed greatly to commiserate her situation, and showed
all possible kindness.

Shortly after they reached the towns, Mrs. Moore and her daughter Jane were put to
death, being burned and tortured at the stake. This lasted some time, during which

she manifested the utmost Christian fortitude, and bore it without a murmur—at intervals
conversing with her daughter Polly and Martha Ivins, and expressing great anxiety
for the moment to arrive when her soul should wing its way to the bosom of her
Saviour. At length an old squaw, more humane than the rest, dispatched her with a
tomahawk.[5]

This tribe of Indians proving very troublesome to the whites, it was repeatedly contemplated
to send an expedition against their town. This it is probable Martha Ivins in
some measure postponed, by sending communications through the traders, urging the
probable fate of the prisoners, if it were done immediately. In November, two years
afterwards, however, such an expedition did go out. The Indians were aware of it
from about the time it started, and when it drew near they concealed what they could
not carry off, and with the prisoners, deserted their towns. About this time Polly Moore
had serious thoughts of concealing herself until the arrival of the whites; but fearing
the consequences of a greater delay in their arrival than she might anticipate, she
did not attempt it.

Late in November, however, the expedition did arrive, and after having burned their
towns, destroyed their corn, &c., returned home. After this the Indians returned to
their towns; but winter having set in, and finding themselves without houses or food,
they were greatly dispirited, and went to Detroit, where, giving themselves up to great excess
in drinking, they sold Polly Moore to a man who lived in or near a little village by
the name of French Town, near the western end of Lake Erie, for half a gallon of rum.
Though at this time the winter was very severe, the released captive had nothing to
protect her feet but a pair of deerskin moccasins, and the state of her other clothing will
presently appear. But it is now time to resume the narrative of James Moore.

"Mr. and Mrs. Ariome were to me parents indeed. They treated me like one of their
own sons. I ate at their table, and slept with their sons in a good feather-bed. They
always gave me good counsel, and advised me, (particularly Mrs. Ariome,) not to abandon
the idea of returning to my friends. I worked on the farm with his sons, and occasionally
assisted him in his trading expeditions. We traded at different places, and sometimes
went a considerable distance into the country. On one of these occasions, four
young Indians began to boast of their bravery, and among other things said that one
Indian could whip four white men. This provoked me, and I told them that I could
whip all four of them. They immediately attacked me; but Mr. Ariome hearing the
noise, came and took me away. This I consider a kind Providence; for the Indians are
very unskilful in boxing, and in this manner of fighting, I could easily have whipped
all of them; but when they began to find themselves worsted, I expected them to attack
me with clubs, or some other weapon, and if so, had laid my plans to kill them all
with a knife which I had concealed in my belt, mount a fleet horse which was close at
hand, and escape to Detroit.

"It was on one of these trading expeditions that I first heard of the destruction of
father's family. This I learned through a Shawnee Indian with whom I had been acquainted
when I lived with them, and who was one of the party on that occasion. I received
this information some time in the same summer after it occurred. In the following
winter I learned that my sister Polly had been purchased by a Mr. Stogwell, an
American by birth, but unfriendly to the American cause. He was a man of bad character—an
unfeeling wretch—and treated my sister with great unkindness. At that time
he resided a considerable distance from me. When I heard of my sister, I immediately
prepared to go and see her; but as it was then in the dead of winter, and the journey
would have been attended with great difficulties, on being told by Mr. S. that he intended
to remove to the neighborhood where I resided in the following spring, I declined it.
When I heard that Mr. Stogwell had removed, as was contemplated, I immediately went
to see her. I found her in the most abject condition, almost naked, being clothed with
only a few dirty and tattered rags, exhibiting to my mind an object of pity indeed. It
is impossible to describe my feelings on that occasion; sorrow and joy were both combined;
and I have no doubt the feelings of my sister were similar to my own. On being
advised, I applied to the commanding officer at Detroit, informing him of her treatment,
with the hope of effecting her release. I went with Mr. Simon Girty to Col.
McKee, the superintendent for the Indians, who had Mr. Stogwell brought to trial to
answer to the complaint against him. But I failed to procure her release. It was decided,

however, that when an opportunity should occur for our returning to our friends,
she should be released without remuneration. This was punctually performed on application
of Mr. Thomas Ivins, who had come in search of his sister Martha, already alluded
to, who had been purchased from the Indians by some family in the neighborhood,
and was at that time living with a Mr. Donaldson, a worthy and wealthy English farmer,
and working for herself.

"All being now at liberty, we made preparations for our journey to our distant friends,
and set out, I think, some time in the month of October, 1789, it being little more than
five years from the time of my captivity, and a little more than three years from the time
of the captivity of my sister and Martha Ivins.[6] A trading boat coming down the
lakes, we obtained a passage for myself and sister to the Moravian towns, a distance of
about 200 miles, and on our route to Pittsburg. There, according to appointment, we met
with Mr. Ivins and his sister, the day after our arrival. He had in the mean time procured
three horses, and we immediately set out for Pittsburg. Fortunately for us, a
party of friendly Indians, from these towns, were about starting on a hunting excursion,
and accompanied us for a considerable distance on our route, which was through a wilderness,
and the hunting-ground of an unfriendly tribe. On one of the nights during
our journey, we encamped near a large party of these hostile Indians. The next morning
four or five of their warriors, painted red, came into our camp. This much alarmed
us. They made many inquiries, but did not molest us, which might not have been the
case if we had not been in company with other Indians. After this nothing occurred
worthy of notice until we reached Pittsburg. Probably we would have reached Rockbridge
that fall if Mr. Ivins had not unfortunately got his shoulder dislocated. In consequence
of this, we remained until spring with an uncle of his in the vicinity of Pittsburg.
Having expended nearly all his money in travelling, and with the physician, he
left his sister, and proceeded on with sister Polly and myself to the house of our uncle,
Wm. McPhoetus, about 10 miles southwest of Staunton, near the Middle River.[7] He
received from uncle Joseph Moore, the administrator of father's estate, compensation for
his services, and afterwards returned and brought in his sister."

Here the narrative of Mr. Moore closes. He remained several years with his friends
in Rockbridge county, but subsequently returned to the plantation of his father, where
he still resides, having raised a large family: himself a highly respectable member of the
Methodist church; in connection with which, also, are many of his children, and his
brother Joseph, who is a resident of the same county. Martha Ivins married a man by
the name of Hummer, emigrated to Indiana, and reared a family of children. Two of
her sons are ministers in the Presbyterian church—one in the presbytery of Crawfordsville,
and the other in the presbytery of Iowa.

An incident in the captivity of Polly Moore has been omitted, too interesting to be
passed over without notice.

At the time she became a prisoner, notwithstanding her father, two brothers, and a
sister had just been murdered, herself and the rest captured, and the house set on fire,
she took up two New Testaments, one of which she kept the whole time of her captivity,
and that too when she was but eight years of age.[8] She did not long continue with Mr.
McPhoetus, but lived with her uncle Joseph Walker, on Buffalo creek, about six miles
south of Lexington, in Rockbridge county.[9] At the age of twelve she was baptized, and
admitted into full communion with the Presbyterian church. When she grew up, she
married the Rev. Samuel Brown, a distinguished Presbyterian clergyman of the same
county, and pastor of New Providence congregation. She became the mother of eleven
children. Of these, one died in infancy, another while quite young, and of the others,
one is ruling elder in the church, another married a pious physician, another a clergyman,
five are Presbyterian ministers in Virginia, and the remaining one is a communicant
in the church. Her last legacy was a Bible to each of her children.

At the north end of the grave-yard near New Providence church, 14 miles north of
Lexington, is the grave of Mary Moore.