Portland Gazette, And Maine Advertiser

SELECTIONS.

From the Luzerne Federalist.

THE WYOMING MASSACRE

ALAS!—the horrors of that bloody scene are still fresh in my recollection. The time that has passed since that fatal day seems only like a dream of the night; and all the circumstances of the battle rise on my memory like the events of yesterday.—I behold our little band of warriors full of ardor, marching forth to the engagement.—I see the commander, firm and steady, cheering the soldiers to do their duty like men, worthy of themselves, & worthy of their country. I well remember on the morning of the battle, an old man, God bless his memory, for he was a brave one, who insisted on joining the little band of patriots. He had fought under Wolfe at Quebec, and had approved himself a soldier; but age had unnerved his arm, and the frosts of seventy winters had whitened his locks like the snows that crown the summit of Cotopaxi.—Two of his sons had already joined the troops; a younger one of seventeen, was preparing to follow.—The drum sounded the alarm—the hum of active preparation arose from the camp—the old man's eye beamed with the ardour of the warrior;—his soul swelled with the proud hope that he could be useful to his country;—he seized his rifle, & vain were the entreaties of his son—his daughter dissuaded him in vain—he rushed to the camp, resolved to conquer or to perish.

The battle began on our left.—Brandt, with his savage myrmidons, poured from the thicket that flanked our wing—vain were all our efforts to bear up against the vast superiority of numbers. Like a torrent from the mountain, swelled with ceaseless rain, pouring with irresistible fury on the valley, poured forth the hordes of savages from their coverts on our devoted left, until retreat was hopeless and victory impossible. Fickle fortune smiled for a moment on our right.—There the gallant Butler, cool and intrepid, directed the storm—he rode steadily in our front, pressed on the foe, and victory hovered over and fanned him with her pinions. But alas!—unsustained, every effort was vain, and the reluctant retreat was forced by a prudent affection for the safety of the troops that were left.

Then followed all the fury of savage warfare. Fiends seemed to have joined this engagement.—I still hear the savage yell rise and mingle with the groans of the dying.—I see the spear gleam dreadful, as it pierces and arrests its victim.—I saw the old man turn like a wounded panther on the foe—three savages fell by his arm, but a fourth cleft his white locks—he died gloriously. Ruin wide and awful extended o'er the plains.—The flames of our habitations rose and threw a fearful light athwart the gloom of the evening. But dreadful was the night that followed. The fearful anxiety of the friends of those who went to battle; the agonizing cries of those who had fallen alive into the hands of the savages—the horrors of the midnight sacrifice, all form a scene, that even at this distant day, the mind cannot contemplate without horror.

Few only escaped the slaughter—Many were the brave men who fell. Never have I rested in quiet since that day, because no testimonial of respect has been paid to the memories of the slain. Now since it is proposed to raise a monument over them, do I rejoice. Our old men will be glad, that those who fell in the cause of freedom, are not unregarded.—Our young men shall gather round the tomb—reflect on the virtues of their fathers—their souls shall catch fire as at the alarm—they shall swear a new devotion to liberty, and new fealty to their country. Thus shall the monument do justice to the memory of departed patriots. The old shall be gratified.—The young shall be inspired—I will give my mite with pleasure. Where is the patriot who will not?