“Thank you for telling us about Putnam, grandma,” said Elsie. “I think he was an American to be proud of. Now if you are not too tired, won’t you tell us the story of Jane McCrea? I know a little of it, and would like to know more.”

“I am very willing to tell you the little I know about her,” replied Mrs. Travilla, in her kindly, pleasant tones. “She was the daughter of a Scotch Presbyterian minister, of Jersey City, opposite New York. In that city—New York—lived a family of the name of Campbell. A daughter of theirs and Jennie had become very intimate. Mr. Campbell died at sea and his widow married a Mr. McNeil. He, too, was lost at sea, and she removed with her family to an estate owned by him at Fort Edward. Jane had a brother living near there. Mr. McCrea, the father, was a widower, and when he died she went to live with her brother, and, being so near the McNeils, the intimacy was renewed and she spent much of her time in Mrs. McNeil’s house. Mrs. Jones, a widow with six sons, lived near the McCreas, and one of them, named David, became Jennie’s lover. When the war broke out he and his brothers became Tories, and in the autumn of 1776 David and his brother, Jonathan, went to Canada, and when Burgoyne collected his forces at St. Johns, at the foot of Lake Champlain, David and Jonathan Jones were among them. Jonathan was made captain and David a lieutenant in the division under General Fraser, and at the time we are speaking of they were with the British army near Sandy Hill. Jennie’s brother was a Whig, and prepared to remove to Albany; but Mrs. McNeil was a staunch Loyalist, a cousin of General Fraser, and intended to remain at Fort Edward. Jennie was at Mrs. McNeil’s, and lingered there even after it was known that the British were near, and her brother had sent her repeatedly urgent requests to join him where he was—five miles farther down the river, and be ready to flee when necessity should compel. But she lingered, probably with the faint hope of seeing her lover again. At last her brother sent a peremptory order for her to join him, and she promised to go down to the spot where he was in a large bateau, which was expected to leave with several families the next day.

“But Jennie had waited too long. Early the next morning a black servant boy belonging to Mrs. McNeil espied some Indians stealthily approaching the house, and, giving the alarm, he fled to the fort, about eight rods distant.

“Jennie’s young friend, Mrs. McNeil’s daughter, was away from home at the time, and the family there just then consisted of only Mrs. McNeil, Jennie, two small children and a black female servant.

“The kitchen stood a few feet from the house, and when the alarm was given the colored woman snatched up the children, fled with them to the kitchen, and from there, through a trap-door, into the cellar.

“Mrs. McNeil and Jennie followed. Jennie, young and able to move briskly, reached the trap-door first; but Mrs. McNeil, being old and corpulent, could not move rapidly, and before she could get down into the cellar the Indians were in the house, and a powerful savage seized her by the hair and dragged her up. Another went into the cellar and brought out Jennie, but the darkness of the cellar favored the colored woman and the children. It would seem the Indians did not see them, so left them in their hiding place unharmed.

“The Indians started off on the road to Sandy Hill, taking Mrs. McNeil and Jennie with them; that was the road to Burgoyne’s camp.

“When they came to the foot of a hill, where the road forked, they caught two horses that were grazing, and tried to mount their prisoners upon them. Mrs. McNeil was too heavy to be lifted on the horse easily, so told the Indians by signs that she could not ride. Then two stout ones of them took her by the arms and hurried her up the road over the hill, while the others, with Jennie on the horse, went along the road running west of a tree.

“The negro boy who ran to the fort gave the alarm, and a small detachment was immediately sent out for the rescue of the captured ones. They fired several volleys at the Indians without hitting them. Lossing, whose version of the sad story I am giving you, goes on to tell that Mrs. McNeil said that the Indians who were hurrying her up the hill seemed to watch the flash of the guns, and several times threw her upon her face, at the same time falling down themselves, and she distinctly heard the balls whistle above them. The firing ceased when they had got to the second hill from the village. They stopped there and stripped her of all her garments except her chemise; then they led her, in that plight, into the British camp. Her cousin, General Fraser, was there, and she reproached him bitterly for sending his ‘scoundrel Indians’ after her. He said he did not know of her being away from New York City, and he took every pains to make her comfortable. She was so large that not a woman in the camp had a gown big enough for her, so Fraser lent her his camp coat for a garment, and a pocket handkerchief to take the place of her stolen cap.

“Very soon after she was taken into the camp, two parties of Indians came in with fresh scalps, one of which Mrs. McNeil at once recognized by the long glossy hair as that of Jennie McCrea. She was horror struck and boldly charged them with the murder of the poor girl. They, however, stoutly denied it. They said that while hurrying her along the road, on horseback, near the spring west of the pine-tree, a bullet intended for them from one of the American guns mortally wounded the poor girl, and she fell from the horse. They had lost a prisoner for whom they had expected a reward, and the next best thing was to take her scalp and bear it in triumph to the camp and get the promised reward for such trophies.

“Mrs. McNeil always believed their story to be true, as she knew they had been fired upon by the detachment from the fort, and that it was far more to their interest to take a prisoner to the British camp than a scalp, as they would get the larger price for the former. Burgoyne had told the Indians they should be paid for prisoners whom they took, but called to account for scalps.”

“So it seems Burgoyne wasn’t all bad,” commented Eric. “And I think it must have been a good deal more trouble to get that big fat old woman into the camp alive than it would have been to get the young girl there without killing her.”

“Was her lover there in that camp, grandma?” asked Elsie.

“No; Lieutenant Jones was not there, but it was known that she was betrothed to him, and the story got about that he had sent the Indians for her, that they quarrelled on the way concerning the reward he had offered, and murdered her to settle the dispute.

“The story grew in horror as it passed from one to another, and produced a deep and widespread indignation, increased by a published letter from Gates to Burgoyne charging him with allowing the Indians to butcher with impunity defenceless women and children.

“Burgoyne denied it, declaring that the case of Jane McCrea was the only one act of Indian cruelty he had heard of. That assertion is hard to believe, for the savages murdered a whole family—a man, his wife, three children, a sister-in-law and three negroes, near Fort Edward on the same day that Jennie lost her life. And they were Tories; but, afraid of the savages, were getting ready to flee to Albany. On that fatal morning a younger daughter of Mr. Gilmer went to help Mrs. Allen with her preparations to move, and, staying longer than had been expected, her father sent a negro boy down for her. He soon came back screaming, ‘They are all dead—father, mother, young missus and all.’ And it was too true. That morning, while they were at breakfast, the Indians had burst in upon them and killed every one.”

“And what did the Gilmers do about it, grandma?” asked Ned.

“Hurried away to Fort Edward, going very cautiously for fear of meeting Indians. And they did see some of the party who had plundered Mrs. McNeil’s house in the morning. They had emptied the straw from the beds and filled the ticks with various things which they had stolen. And Mrs. McNeil’s daughter, who was with the Gilmers, saw her mother’s looking-glass tied upon the back of one of the Indians.”

“And did those folks get safely to Fort Edward, grandma?” asked Ned.

“They did,” replied Mrs. Travilla, then went on with her story. “The story of Jennie McCrea’s massacre became known all over the civilized part of this land and in Europe. Burke, says Lossing, used it with powerful effect in the British House of Commons. Burgoyne summoned the Indians to council, and demanded the surrender of the one who bore off the scalp of Jennie McCrea, to be punished as a murderer; but from policy he pardoned him, lest the Indians should be so offended if he punished him that they would cease to help the British in their efforts to conquer the Americans.

“It had been said that Lieutenant Jones had sent his Jennie a letter by the Indians, and them as an escort to take her to the British camp. But he denied it all, and indeed he had no need to send for her, as the Americans were retreating, leaving only a small guard at Fort Edward, and in a day or two the British would have full possession of the fort, so that he and his Jennie might have had a safe personal interview.”

“Is there anything more known about Lieutenant Jones, grandma?” asked Elsie.

“Lossing tells us that he had an interview with some connections of his family, and learned from them that he lived in Canada, to be an old man, and died there. The death of his Jennie was a dreadful blow to him, and he never recovered from it. He had been gay and very talkative when quite young, but after that sad event he was melancholy and taciturn. He never married, and went into society as little as he could without neglecting business. Every year he kept the anniversary of Jennie’s death—he would shut himself in his room and refuse to see any one. His friends felt for him and were careful not to speak of the Revolution in his presence. He bought Jennie’s scalp and kept it as a cherished possession.”

“Grandma, was Jennie buried? And if so, is it known where?” asked Elsie.

“Yes; Lossing tells that a picket-guard of one hundred men, under Lieutenant Van Vechten, was stationed on the hill a little north of the pine-tree on that day that we have been talking about, and at the moment when the house of Mrs. McNeil was attacked and plundered, and she and Jennie were carried off, other parties of Indians, belonging to the same expedition, came rushing through the woods from different points and fell upon the Americans. Several were killed and their scalps borne off. The party that went out from the fort in pursuit found their bodies. Jennie and the officer were found lying near together, close by the spring, and only a few feet from the pine-tree. They were stripped of clothing. They were carried immediately to the fort—the Americans at once evacuated it—and the body of Jennie was sent down the river in the bateau in which she was to have gone to her brother. It seems that he was very fond of her, and took charge of her mutilated corpse with the deepest grief. It was buried at the same time and place with that of the lieutenant, on the west bank of the Hudson, near the mouth of a small creek about three miles below Fort Edward.”

“Did the Indians kill Mrs. McNeil, grandma?” asked Ned.

“No; she lived a good many years, and her grave can be seen in the village cemetery near the ruins of the fort. Lossing says that in the summer of 1826 the remains of Jennie were taken up and put in the same grave with her. A plain white marble slab, with only the name Jane McCrea on it, marks the spot.”