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to every point where faint hope pointed- Heavy rewards were offered, after long traveling to the scattered tribes. The two brothers had exhausted every trace, and concluded she must be dead. Not so with the broken-hearted mother. Her image was always before her—the same smiling, loving, happy child. At last a girl, about the suitable age, who could only remember that she had been carried off from the Susquehanna, and knew not her name or her parents, was taken to Mrs. Slocum's home, but in time both the girl and woman became convinced that they were not of the same blood, and the unknown returned to the Indians, and the mother again returned to the hunt and hope of recovering Frances, a search and a hope that ended together with the stricken woman's pilgrimage upon earth.

Fifty-nine years after the capture, August, 1837, a letter appeared in the Lancaster Intelligencer, by G. W. Ewing, of Indiana, stating the fact that there was then living near that place with the Miami Indians, an aged white woman, who had told him that she was taken from her father's house, near the Susquehanna river, when she was very young, and that her father's name was Slocum, a Quaker, and he gave some other particulars of her. The publication of this letter created a deep impression in this part of the country, where the story of the lost child was so well known. With her friends not an hour was lost. Her brother, Joseph, though nearly 1,000 miles intervened, moved by affection, a sense of duty, and the known wishes of a beloved parent, made immediate preparations for a journey. Uniting with his younger brother, Isaac, who resided in Ohio, they hastened to Logansport, where they had the good fortune to meet Mr. Ewing, Frances, who resided about a dozen miles from that place, was soon apprised of their coming. While hope predominated, doubt and uncertainty, amounting almost to jealousy or suspicion, occupied her mind. She came into the village riding a spirited horse, her two daughters, in Indian costume, accompanying her, with the husband of one of them. Her manners were grave, her bearing reserved. She listened, through an interpreter, to what they had to say. But night approached. Cautious and prudent, she rode back to her home, promising to return the coming morning. At the appointed hour she alighted from her steed, and met them with something more of frankness, but still seemed desirous of further explanation. It was evident on all sides they were almost prepared for the recognition. Mr. Joseph Slocum at length said, what he he had so far purposely kept back, that their sister at play in their father's smithshop with the children, had received a blow on the middle finger of the left hand, by a hammer on the anvil, which crushed the bone, and the mother had always said that would be a test that could not be mistaken. Her whole countenance was instantly lighted up with smiles, while tears ran down her cheek, as she held out the wounded hand. Every lingering doubt was dispelled. Hope was merged into confidence. The tender embrace, the welcome recognition, the sacred, the exulting glow of brotherly and sisterly affection, filled every heart present to overflowing. Her father! Her dear, dear mother! Did she yet live? But they must long since, in the course of nature, have been gathered to their native dust. Her brothers and sisters? The slumbering affections awakened to life, broke forth in earnest inquiries for all whom she should love.

She then related the leading events of her life. Her memory, extremely tenacious, enabled her to tell that, on being taken, her captors hastened to a rocky cave on the mountain where blankets and a bed of dry leaves showed that they had slept. On the journey to the Indian country she was kindly treated, the Indian carrying her, when she was weary, in his arms. She was immediately adopted into an Indian family and brought up as their daughter, but with more than common tenderness. Young Kinsley, who who, located near them, in a few years died. The woman showed all the quiet stoicism of the Indian nature. The first interview ended and she agreed to return the next day as stated When complete recognition was established she invited them to go with her to her cabin home, where they spent several


days. Mrs. Ziba Bennett, daughter of Joseph, was one of the party. Every inducement that wealth and love could offer was made to induce her to return to her old home, but in vain. She thought it all over, and, no doubt wisely, concluded to remain with the people with whom she had spent so much of her eventful life. She felt that she was aging rapidly; that her days upon earth were but few, and in peace and the fullness of time she soon passed away. In Mrs. Abi Butler's house in Wilkes-Barre conspicuous on the wall hung a full life-sized likeness of the "lost sister" in her Indian costume, of itself a mute, pathetic story of the Slocum family—a story read of all children and wept over by the mothers of the civilized world.

Mrs. Abi Slocum Butler departed this life March 15, 1887, at the residence of her daughter, Mrs. Ruth B. Hillard, in Wilkes-Barre. Mrs. Butler was a daughter of Joseph Slocum, one of the prominent pioneers, who married Sarah, daughter of Judge Jesse Fell, the man whom it was claimed discovered the use of anthracite coal in grates in 1808. Slocum's children were seven: Hannah, born in 1800, married Ziba Bennett and died in 1855; Ruth Tripp, born 1804, married Gen. William S. Ross, died in 1882; Deborah, born in 1806, married Anning Chahoon; Abi. born in 1808, married Lord Butler and died as above stated; George, born in 1812, married Mary Grandon; Jonathan, born 1815, married Elizabeth Cutler Le Clerc, died 1860; Harriet Elizabeth, born 1819, married Charles B. Drake.

Abi was aged twenty-four when married with Col. Lord Butler, and spent her life in Wilkes Barre. Her daughter, Ruth B., is the widow of W. S. Hillard; Mary B. (Mrs. Eugene B. Ayers.) The four sons of Abi Butler were Joseph, Zebulon, Ziba and Edmund G., the last named only surviving their mother.

Lord Butler was the son of Gen. Lord Butler and a grandson of Col. Zebulon Butler, the latter one of the most distinguished of the great Revolutionary patriots in northern Pennsylvania.' He was in command of the heroic band of pioneer settlers who fought the British-Indians and tories in 1778 near Forty fort. Col. Zebulon Butler married Anna Lord, and of this union was the elder Lord Butler born at Lyme, Conn., in 1770. Lord Butler was one of the early and most prominent men in Wyoming valley; advanced to the highest position in the State militia; was first high sheriff of Luzerne county, then prothonotary, clerk of the courts, register and recorder. The courts were held in his house for years on the corner of River and Northampton streets, where is now Judge Stanley Woodward's residence. In 1790 he was a member of the supreme executive council of the State; was postmaster in Wilkes-Barre in 1794; in 1801 he was a member of the State assembly, and afterward was county commissioner and then was county treasurer; filled the office of borough councilman of Wilkes-Barre; was president of the board, and from 1811 to 1814 was burgess. His wife was Mary Pierce, granddaughter of Abel Pierce, one of the distinguished pioneers of the valley. Their youngest son was Lord Butler, born in 1806; married Abi Slocum in 1832, who was two years his junior, but who survived him twenty-five years, as he died in 1861 in the brick building on the public square, a building erected by Joseph Slocum in 1807—the first brick edifice in Wilkes-Barre. Lord Butler, 2d, was a civil engineer and identified with all the public works in this part of the State. The last twenty years of his life he was engaged in coal mining at Pittston with his brother, Col. John L. Butler, and his brother-in-law, Judge Garrick Mallery.

Col. Nathan Denison.—A name immortally linked with the battle of Wyoming. He commanded the left wing of Col. Butler's forces, and received the shock of the overwhelming flankers of the enemy; here was the heavy slaughter of that bloody day. The enemy suddenly rose from their ambush, to his left and rear, and with savage yells and fury bore down upon his command. In order to meet this movement that officer was compelled to execute the double maneuver of wheeling to the left and at the same time fall back to prevent the enemy from gaining his rear, a dangerous movement to attempt in the face of a flank onslaught, even with the best of the "Old Guard." The commander promptly gave the order; the men quickly moved, when many lost all control of themselves and started a "stampede." Denison and his intrepid officers did all that could be done to rally the men and meet the shock of battle, but in vain. The bloody sequel is known to the world.

He was in command of the fort and negotiated the terms of honorable surrender, under the circumstances, alike creditable to his head and heart. The flaming falsehoods that went into the contemporary history of that day, into all the accounts of the scenes after the surrender, as published in the histories of Ramsey, Gordon, Botta, Marshall, and the London Gentleman's Magazine of 1778, while "all false," as Mr. Miner says, were a most outrageous reflection on the transactions as negotiated and carried out under the wise and able leadership of Col. Denison. In behalf of his memory let it never be forgotten, and strange it is that these writers never thought of referring to Col. Denison for the truth of history, the very man above all others cognizant of the facts—but seized upon the wildest imaginings and published these as the truths of history. He evidently regarded these bloody fictions as unworthy serious refutation, and during his long and worthy life among his old neighbors and friends he never so much as referred to them. He was ready to tell, and did often tell, all who inquired of him that after the surrender there was but one life taken, and that was the execution of Boyd, by Col. John Butler, as a deserter from the British army; he was tried by court-martial and shot. Much in the same way Gen. Sullivan executed one of his men here when on his noted expedition.

Nathan Denison and Zebulon Butler were commissioned by the general assembly justices in 1773, when this was, of the colony of Connecticut, erected into a chartered town, called Westmoreland, and attached to the county of Litchfield, Conn., and upon them chiefly devolved the work of organizing the machinery of civil government here. Both were men admirably equipped by nature and education for the difficult work of creating States.

From first to last Gen. Denison stood faithfully by his friends and neighbors, and to his last hour on earth no man was more beloved and respected by everybody. When the long double struggle was finally ended, and the jurisdiction of Connecticut ceased, and the Pennsylvania authority was complete, Gen. Denison was appointed one of the associates of the court for the county, the four members of the court being Denison, Gore, Fell and Hollenback, selected as men having eminently the full confidence of the people; men of integrity and sound sense.

Judge Denison, as he was universally called in the latter years of his life, returned to Connecticut soon after peace was declared, and brought his father, who resided here the remainder of his days, died in 1803, aged eighty-eight.

Col. Nathan Denison was united in marriage with Miss Sill in 1769, in a log cabin that stood on what is the corner of River and South streets, at one time where stood the old Wells house,—the first marriage in Wyoming.

Their son, Lazarus Denison, was born in 1773, and is said to be the first white child born in the valley.

George Denison, a son of Col. Denison, became one of the prominent men of northern Pennsylvania, was several terms in the legislature, and a member of congress; in every station serving with distinguished ability and fidelity.

Col. Nathan Denison departed this life January 25, 1809, aged sixty-eight years.

Dorrances.—Col. Benjamin Dorrauce was a son of Col. George Dorrauce, and of this member of the family Mr. Miner here makes special mention; opening his remarks with a description of the beautiful farm on which he resided—a part of the old Butler domain.

The Dorrance family came from Windham county, Conn. There were two brothers, George and John, who settled in Kingston: both men of intelligence and

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