Keowee Courier

Thirty Years' Captivity among the Indians.

Thirty years ago, when Jackson was a little hamlet of two or three hundred persons, a young woman might have been seen, one sultry day in August, accompanied by a little boy five years old, wending her way toward a grove in the neighboring town of Blackman, for the purpose of engaging in the then common pastime of picking berries. The young woman after toiling away for a while, became annoyed with the ceaseless importunities of the child, and sent him home. She thought nothing more of the matter until upon her return in the evening, she was surprised to find that the boy had not returned. In reply to the queries of the anxious parents, the girl related the circumstances narrated above, and added that she knew nothing of the whereabouts of the child. Day after day passed, and still the missing member of that distracted family did not return, nor could any tidings of him be heard by his agonized parents. Finally, after every searching party who went out to find the missing one had returned and reported their mission fruitless, and after all hope of ever seeing their darling boy again had vanished from the minds of the afflicted parents, suspicion began to fasten upon the young woman, who was a servant in the family. She again asserted her innocence and stated that she knew nothing of the missing boy from the time she had sent him homeward. In spite of her protestations, however, she was arrested for the murder of the boy, and incarcerated in the rude lock-up which had been erected by the early settlers. Here she was kept for a time, till it became apparent that no evidence against her could be obtained, when she was discharged from custody, still asserting her innocence to the parents of the child, who longed for some tidings that would dispel the uncertainty which hung over them like a cloud. Their hopes were doomed to disappointment, however, as nothing could be heard of the missing one, and he was finally numbered with the dead, the parents giving up all hopes of ever hearing from the lost boy again.

Years passed, and the little hamlet became a large and flourishing city. The solitude which formerly reigned on the banks of the Grand River was broken by the mechanic and the artizan, and the air resounded with the busy hum of industry. Nearly all the old settlers had passed away, and another generation succeeded them. Among the many new comers was a son-in-law of the afflicted family, Mr. J. Z. Ballard, our fellow-townsman, who was greatly surprised, a few days since, to learn that the boy who had long been numbered with the dead, had arrived in the southern part of this State and was making inquiries after his family. The boy had grown to be a stalwart man of 35. His countenance had become bronzed by continuous exposure to the elements, and his sinewy frame hardened by repeated adventures in the Western wilds.—He stated that he had but a dim recollection of his former home, but vividly remembered the time when two stalwart forms with red visages crossed his path, snatched him up in their arms, and carried him off amidst the piteous cries of his loving mother. Since that time he has been constantly with the Indians—joined them in their hunting expeditions, and followed their trail as they journeyed toward the setting sun. He learned to speak the language of the Pottawatamies—for that was the name of the tribe with whom the greater part of his life had been spent—and in answer to his repeated inquiries, his captors told him they had stolen him from Jackson county, and that his name was Wiley.—The Indians confounded this name with Filly, which is the real name of his father. Mr. Ballard went in quest of the missing one, and upon arriving at the place where he had been making inquiries, was told that he had gone away, but would return in a few days, when he will proceed to the home of his aged parents to make glad the hearts of an afflicted father and mother. Truly, "Truth is stranger than fiction."—Jackson (Mich.) Citizen.