University of Virginia Library

CAPTIVITY OF MRS. CUNNINGHAM.

In the latter part of June, a small party of Indians visited
the house of Edward Cunningham, an enterprising settler on
Bingamon, a branch of West Fork. Thomas Cunningham, a
brother of Edward, lived in a house almost adjoining. The
two families affording thus protection one to the other. At
the time spoken of, Edward and his family were in one cabin,

and the wife of Thomas, with her four children, (her husband
having gone east on a trading expedition) were in the other,
both families eating their dinners, when in stepped before the
astonished mother and children, a huge savage, with drawn
knife and uplifted tomahawk. Conscious of his security with
the mother and children, but fearing danger from Edward
Cunningham, who had seen him enter, the savage quickly
glanced around for some means of escape in an opposite
direction. Edward watched the movements of the savage
through an opening in the wall. In the other house was a
similar hole, (made to introduce light), and through it the
Indian fired, shouting the yell of victory. It was answered
by Edward, who had seen the aim of the savage just in time
to escape,—the bark from the log close to his head was
knocked off by the Indian's ball, and flew in his face. The
Indian seeing that he had missed his object, and observing
an adze in the room, deliberately commenced cutting an
aperture in the back wall, through which he might pass out,
without being exposed to a shot from the other building.

Another of the Indians came into the yard just after the
firing of his companion, but observing Edward's gun pointing
through the port hole, endeavored to retreat out of its range.
Just as he went to spring the fence, a ball struck him, and he
fell forward. It had, however, only fractured his thigh bone,
and he was yet able to get over the fence, and take shelter
behind a quilt suspended on it, before Edward could again load
his gun. Meantime the Indian in the house was engaged in
cutting a hole through the wall, during which Mrs. Cunningham
made no attempt to get out, well aware it would only
draw upon her head the fury of the savage; and that if she
escaped this one, she would most probably be killed by some
of those who were watching outside. She knew, too, it would
be impossible to take the children with her. She trusted to
hope that the one inside would withdraw without molesting
any of them. A few minutes served to convince her of the
hopeless folly of trusting to an Indian's mercy. When the

opening had been made sufficiently large, the savage raised
his tomahawk, sunk it deep into the brains of one of the
children, and throwing the scarcely lifeless body into the back
yard, ordered the mother to follow him. There was no
alternative but death, and she obeyed his order, stepping over
the dead body of one of her children, with an infant in her
arms, and two others screaming by her side. When all were
out he scalped the murdered boy, and setting fire to the house,
retired to an eminence, where two of the savages were with
their wounded companion,—leaving the other two to watch
the opening of Edward Cunningham's door, when the burning
of the house should force the family from their shelter. They
were disappointed in their expectation of that event by the
exertions of Cunningham and his son. When the flame from
the one house communicated to the roof of the other, they
ascended to the loft, threw off the loose boards which covered
it, and extinguished the fire;—the savages shooting at them
all the while; their balls frequently striking close by.

Unable to force out the family of Edward Cunningham,
and despairing of doing further injury, they beat a speedy
retreat. Before leaving, however, the eldest son of Mrs.
Thomas Cunningham was tomahawked and scalped in presence
of the shuddering mother. Her little daughter was next
served in the same way; but, to make the scene still more
tragical, the child was dashed against a tree, and its brains
scattered about. The mother, during the whole of these
bloody acts, stood motionless in grief, and in momentary awe
of meeting a similar fate. But, alas, she was reserved for a
different, and, to a sensitive woman, a far more dreadful fate.
With her helpless babe she was led from this scene of carnage.
The savages carried their wounded companion upon a litter.
Crossing the ridge, they found a cave near Bingamon creek,
in which they secreted themselves until after night, when
some of the party returned to Edward Cunningham's, but not
finding any one at home, fired the house, and made a hasty
retreat towards their own country.

Mrs. Cunningham suffered untold mental and physical
agony during her march to the Indian towns. For ten days
her only nourishment was the head of a wild turkey and a few
paw-paws. After a long absence she was returned to her
husband, through the intercession of Simon Girty, who ransomed
her, and sent her home. This one single act should
redeem his memory from a multitude of sins.

After the savages had withdrawn, Cunningham went with
his family into the woods, where they remained all night, there
being no settlement nearer than ten miles. In the morning the
alarm was given, and a company of men soon collected to go
in pursuit of the Indians. When they came to Cunningham's,
and found both houses heaps of ashes, they buried the bones
of the boy who was murdered in the house, with the bodies of
his brother and little sister, who were killed in the field; but
so cautiously had the savages conducted their retreat, that no
traces of them could be discovered, and the men returned to
their homes.

Subsequently, a second party started in pursuit, and traced
them to the cave; but it was found the enemy had left the
night previous, and all hope of effecting a successful pursuit
was given over. After her return from captivity, Mrs. Cunningham
stated, that at the time of the search on the first day,
the Indians were in the cave, and that several times the whites
approached so near, that she could distinctly hear their voices;
the savages standing with their guns ready to fire, in the
event of being discovered, and forcing her to keep the infant
to her breast, lest its cry might indicate their place of concealment.