Rocky Mountain Straight Talk

Greetings, Gentle Reader,

There are few Americans who wouldn't prefer to draw within our borders, cushioned by two oceans, and live our lives in peace. It is doubtful we could find enough gung ho warrior types to start an old timey blood feud, much less a real war. Too bad we so rarely get our druthers. Too bad there are truly evil people in this world, determined to subjugate their fellow humans, shedding as much blood as possible in the process. Twas ever thus. Too bad so few Americans know real history. Too bad so many have the need to tweak reality, doggedly fabricating their own version.

As I hear them shouting, "Give peace a chance," I wonder how they can live in this world without noticing that people who refuse to fight for freedom have none. How can they not see that countries who want freedom, and are willing to fight for it, lose it, if they haven't the military muscle to back up their hopes and dreams?

As a schoolchild I watched the Soviets annihilate the aspirations of the Hungarians. I watched tanks rumble through the streets of Budapest. I watched Russians slaughtering peace-hungry Hungarians, crushing the liberty movement in its cradle.

As we young teenagers witnessed the horrifying attacks, we saw no naive Hungarians carrying signs demanding their leaders "give peace a chance." These people lived in the real world. They lived under crushing tyranny. They knew, when fighting evil people, peace comes only through the barrel of a gun. They knew their dreams of freedom could come to fruition only if they were strong enough to fight the behemoth Soviet Union. They were not, and no marching, sign-carrying herd of nitwits could have changed that reality.

When General MacArthur took the job of turning Japan into a free country, he had absolute power. He knew what had to be done, and he had the power and authority to do it. He wrote Japan's constitution, modeling it after ours. He dragged a medieval, predatory society into the 20th century in roughly half a decade, but only because he had the power to do so. If he had been forced to accommodate the incomprehensibly irresponsible crazies of modern America, he could never have done it.

Our tragedy is that we have so many people eager to attack their own country, their own leaders, because they have no interest in, nor comprehension of, reality. They have been tutored by crafty doctrinarians, who know how to obtain their goals through persuasive arguments and slogans, however nonsensical and unrealistic.

This is not new. We have seen the hysterical devotion of Hitler's followers, as he harangued them. To this day we watch in unbelief as the crowds cry, wave and salute, shouting "Heil Hitler" to that depraved animal. The banners, the music, the cry of racial and national superiority were all it took to persuade a plurality of Germans to commit incomprehensible atrocities.

Some Americans steadfastly refuse to believe the horrors committed by the Nazis. To such, I say: Ask my husband what happened. He was there. He watched the blood flow in living color.

To today's mental midgets I say: All it takes for a replay of the bloodletting of Hitler, Togo, Stalin, Lenin, Pol Pot, Ho Chi Minh, etc., is for Americans to deny truth, deny history, defend evil, and attack righteousness and virtue.

Some Americans eagerly line up to do precisely that. We created them ourselves, by wallowing in irresponsible selfishness and self-righteousness, leaving them to grow up unattended or in daycare centers. We trained them in our schools and universities. We made them what they are.

May the God whom we have denied forgive us.

And we come to the end . . .

Now let's leave Mary in these appalling circumstances, and find James, the brother whom the Shawnees kidnapped on Sept. 7, 1784. Mary's life depends on him, so let's pull him off the pages of history, and get him into this story. We'll begin with James' own account: His father sent him to the Poage property, which had been abandoned because of Shawnee raids, to catch a horse. It was his regularly scheduled task to take their home-grown wheat 12 miles to the mill, have it ground and return with the flour, often arriving long after dark.

James says that before he had walked half the distance to the Poage place, an overpowering sense of dread enveloped him. He wanted desperately to turn and run home, but he knew his father would not accept his fear as adequate reason for failing to get the needed flour. As he
approached the field where the horses were kept, three Shawnees, one adult and two teens, sprang from hiding.

Suddenly, James understood the dread that had pervaded his being.

He says he screamed with all his might, causing the Shawnee man to put his hand on his head and warn him, in Shawnee, to be still. I will let James report his own reaction: (Remember, James had not experienced a ruthless slaughter such as was to be perpetrated on his family two years later, so he reacted differently than he would had he been kidnapped after a bloody attack.) He said he spoke aloud, saying, "It is an Indian, why need I be scared?" and I (James) said to myself, "All that is in it is, I will have to go to the Shawanee (He spells this name differently than others.) towns." In that instant James became the slave of Black Wolf, a middle-aged Shawnee warrior. Black Wolf ordered James to catch the horses, but he failed, the horses being spooked by the presence of the Shawnees. Failing to get mounts, the four left immediately, on foot, for the Shawnee towns. The two Indian youths walked first in line, James second, and Black Wolf last.

Though he was barefoot, James tried to leave a trail for rescuers, but Black Wolf repeatedly removed all sign and, finally threatening him, made him abandon his efforts. They slept without a fire though it was rainy and cold, with James tied to Black Wolf by a rope around his neck.
The relationship between James and his captors was astonishing; he was a slave, but he didn't hesitate to stand up for himself. Black Wolf's trip was a slaving expedition, with the hope of stealing some of the settlers' horses, and James seems to have known that he was not to be killed.

Whatever the reason, he was a pretty brassy kid, as we will see by the following:

On the second day, Black Wolf went into the brush and brought out a dutch oven. He made James carry it, fastened to his back, which James decided was too uncomfortable. Shortly, he set the oven down and refused to carry it further. Black Wolf put down his own pack and ordered James to carry that instead; James tried, but couldn't even pick it up. He says that softened him a little, and slightly humbled, he picked up the oven, put it on his head and moved on.

That night it rained again, and Black Wolf's 18 year-old son took James' hat off his head; James grabbed it and punched the boy in the stomach. The boy then spoke to James in signs, explaining that he wanted to cover the "gunlock" of the rifle with the hat. James let him have the
hat, which the boy promptly returned the following morning. On the third day the Shawnees killed a bear but didn't eat it, because it was so lean. They went several days without food, only drinking a tea made of poplar bark, taken from the north side of the tree. James says it helped the hunger pangs.

On the fourth day they killed a buffalo, cut up the stomach and cooking it with a little meat, ate the stomach, leaving the meat. James says the Shawnees never ate meat after they had fasted. Leaving the rest of the buffalo untouched, they moved on. Several days later, they killed
a cow buffalo and cooked as much meat as they could carry.

Sometime during the trip, James was sent for water. Thinking he was hidden and having privacy to consider his circumstances, he burst into bitter sobs. When he returned Black Wolf, who had been watching him, instructed him never to cry again.

It took the party 22 days to reach the Ohio river. On arrival, James' captors carved pictures of three Shawnees and one white boy into a tree. These pictures were shown to James' mother and sisters two years later, when they were brought to the same place.

Nearing the Shawnee towns, his captors painted themselves black, leaving James unpainted. Had he been painted, James says it would have signified he was to be burned to death. Instead, Black Wolf sold James to his own half-sister, for an old gray horse. James' Mistress was kind to him, and left him completely alone at first, during which time he says he, in his extremity, began to follow his father's pattern of earnest prayer.

His Mistress' husband was a member of a religious society James calls the Powwow. Only men of highest character were admitted into membership. Women were not only excluded, they weren't even allowed to come near the meeting place.

The husband attended a meeting of the Powwow, and upon his return, the look on his face alarmed his wife; she asked him what was wrong. He said the Great Spirit had spoken to them and pronounced judgements on the Shawnees for their wickedness. Three towns, including the
one they lived in, would be destroyed. The Great Spirit had also denounced their wealth, pride and laziness, saying that brotherly love had departed from them. He said that she, his wife, would be humbled because of her pride in her riches. (James says, "She was so rich that she could clothe herself in garments so full of silver broaches that they would almost stand alone.")
These predictions were all fulfilled within three years.

We already know of the burning of the three towns because that was the cause of Mary's being in Canada. Let's observe the fulfillment of the other prediction: James was taken to a dance by his Mistress where he met a French trader named Baptiste Ariome. Monsieur Ariome bought
James because he resembled his own sons. He and his good wife treated him with love and kindness, becoming his parents in fact, if not in blood. (Although they actually owned him, they encouraged him to strive to return home.)

While James lived with them, his past Mistress, reduced to starvation, came begging for bread, which Mrs. Ariome gave her. She had, indeed, been humbled, as the Great Spirit had decreed. At the previously mentioned dance, James met a Mr. Sherlock, by whom he sent a message to
his father.

An incident occurred during James' time with the Ariome's, proving that boys will be boys:

Monsieur Ariome took him on trading trips. On one trip, four young Indians (no tribe mentioned) boasted of their bravery, declaring,

"One Indian could whip four white men."

James says, "This provoked me, and I told them that I could whip all four of them myself. They immediately attacked me; but Mr Ariome hearing the noise came and took me away." Monsieur
Ariome probably saved James from a beaut of a whipping. On another trading trip in the summer of 1786, James was told by a Shawnee acquaintance of the massacre of his family. He learned that Mary was still alive, but a captive. The Shawnee acquaintance had been one of the
raiding party.

In the winter of 1788-89, James heard of his sister's being sold to Stogwell, whom he describes him as a man of foul reputation. The following spring Stogwell moved closer to where James lived, and finally, James was able to visit his beloved little sister. He says of her, "I found her in a
most abject condition, almost naked, clothed in a few dirty, tattered rags, an object of pity indeed."

He went to the commanding officer at Detroit, informing him of Mary's treatment and condition. A Colonel McKee had Stogwell brought to trial, but was unsuccessful in getting Mary freed. (Remember, slavery was legal.)

Strangely, it was decided that if an opportunity to return home should arise, she would be released without cost. Martha Ivans' brother, Thomas, searching for Martha and any surviving Moores, traveled to the Shawnees and, doggedly following the three year old trail, finally found the three. According to arrangement, Mary was released and the four headed home. The trip was extremely dangerous, so they traveled with friendly Indians, a necessary protection against a large party of unfriendly Indians. On the trip Mary lost the Bible that had been her comfort
throughout her period of bondage. Her distress was so great that she begged to be allowed to return for it but was denied, the danger being too extreme.

Mary Moore eventually married a Rev. Samuel Brown, and bore him 11 children. Her husband adored, indeed, revered her, as did her children, all of whom honored her by the lives they lived. She was beloved of all for her sweetness and compassion, for her unwavering goodness and her unfailing and unrestrained love for her fellow man.

She, who had been so hideously abused, could have chosen a life of dissipation, indulging in alcohol and promiscuous sex, conveniently blaming her behavior on her horrifying experiences, but she didn't. She could have fomented a massacre of the Cherokees for burning her mother and sister at the stake, but she didn't. She could have instigated a campaign against the Shawnees for killing her father, three brothers and two sisters, but she didn't. She, who had been enslaved, could have indulged in terrorism in an effort to end slavery, but she didn't. She could have sought retribution from Stogwell for treating her far worse than her Indian captors had, but she didn't.

How do I, a stranger, know she was a noble lady? Though we have rejected it, it can and will extract its pound of flesh in self-hatred, as it has with Madonna.

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And we carry on . . .

Martha Ivans and Mary remained with the Shawnees until the fall of 1788. They were slaves, literally property of value, but were treated very like Indian children. Their only danger came from a dispute concerning their ownership. When the Indians who claimed them were sober, the girls were safe, but when they were drunk, the girls were taken into hiding by sober Shawnees in order to save their lives.

The thinking was that if the girls were dead, the ownership dispute would be settled. (A pragmatic solution, indeed!) Fortunately, for the girls, they had devoted protectors among the Shawnees. Unfortunately for the tribe, including the girl's protectors, the many years of bloody attacks had finally moved the settlers to action, and they decided to destroy the Shawnee towns on the Scioto. The traders warned the Indians, and the Indians took their wives, children and elderly and moved into the forest. Late November, 1788, the settlers burned the Shawnee towns and all the tribe's winter provisions, then returned immediately to their homes.

The elder's lack of control over the warriors and the warrior's taste for blood and carnage had conspired to leave the tribe without shelter or provisions. Winter was upon them and, destitute, they left for Detroit. The travelers suffered through one bitter storm after another with only deerskin moccasins on their feet. The girls had only one blanket and often awoke under a covering of new snow; one morning it was 12 to 14 inches deep. Their snow blankets probably kept them from freezing to death.

In Detroit the Shawnees went on a king-sized binge. Finally, their money gone, they sold the only marketable product they had left... the girls. Martha was bought by a man who lived near Detroit and was immediately released into the care of a kind English family named Donaldson. They employed her and treated her well. Mary, on the other hand, was bought by a miserable creature named Stogwell for a half-gallon of rum.

He lived at Frenchtown, near Lake Erie. He neither released Mary nor treated her kindly, requiring her to work very hard, providing nothing but rags for clothing and giving her only enough food to keep her alive. Slavery, though it was legal and accepted, was terrible if the master was a bad human being.

To be continued . . .

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And the saga continues . . .

It was early morning and James had two helpers cutting wheat, while he gave his horses their daily salt. John Simpson was lying in the loft of the cabin, too sick to work. Margaret was fixing breakfast; two of the children, Rebecca and William, were returning from the spring with the morning's supply of water.

With a shout, two raiding parties of Indians burst into view. One party headed for the house, and the other rushed to the field where the men were working. The first party shot Rebecca and William, approximately 7 and 5 years old, as they returned from the spring, after which they shot little Alexander, about 3 years old, near the house.

Mary ran into the house, and Margaret and Martha Ivans, a young member of the Moore's extended family, barred the door. James, running from the field toward the house, was shot seven times. The two men harvesting wheat, seeing what was happening, escaped unharmed and initiated the rescue effort.

Martha Ivans grabbed two of the guns and ran upstairs to get John Simpson to help defend the cabin. Unfortunately, he was already dead, having been accidentally killed by a raider's bullet. The family's two dogs ferociously defended the cabin until they were shot.

Martha Ivans and Mary hid under the floor with the tiny baby, Margaret, but the baby cried so hysterically that it was impossible to remain hidden. Mary had the choice of placing the baby on the floor and returning to her hiding place, or leaving Martha Ivans alone under the house and facing sure death at the hands of the Indian warriors.

Unable to abandon her baby sister, she chose the latter. The warriors began chopping the door and threatening to burn the cabin. (Whether they spoke English is not mentioned, but many Indians did. At any rate, the family understood everything they said.) Margaret, knowing that her guard dogs, John Simpson, her beloved husband and three of their children were already dead, collected her four remaining children (Joseph was away at school) around her. Kneeling to pray, she committed them to God, then rising, unbarred the door.

The Shawnees took Margaret Poage Moore and her children, John, Jane, Mary and baby Margaret, captive. After plundering the buildings, they burned the house. Martha Ivans, Mary's cousin, who was hiding under the house, crawled away to escape the flames. Thinking she had been seen, she arose and allowed herself to be taken captive by an astonished warrior. Captors and captives left immediately on a long march to the Shawnee towns in Ohio. The raiders, hurrying their captives, killed John who was too feeble to travel quickly.

During the trip they told Margaret her husband, who had been shot and scalped, would have survived had he run away, but, "His affection for his family was stronger than his desire for personal safety. He was a brave and tenderhearted man and would not desert his family to save
himself from a danger his perseverance and daring had brought upon them all."

Each captive spent the night tied to a warrior, who slept with tomahawk in hand. Their intent was to kill the captives, rather than allow them to be retaken by the rescue party, but the march was so rapid the rescuers failed to catch them.

On the third day, baby Margaret, whose neck had been injured in the attack, began to fuss. The Indians had taken turns helping Margaret and her daughters and Martha Ivans carry the baby, but her crying irritated one of the raiders, and grabbing the infant, he dashed her head against a tree and threw her into the bushes. Margaret, Jane, Mary and Martha stoically continued their march.

After twenty days of hurried travel they reached the Scioto river. Margaret's captors showed her what she called hieroglyphics carved into a tree, representing three Indians and a captive white boy. They told her it was her son, James, whom they had captured two years before, and that he was still a captive.

The prisoners reached an Indian town where they received kind treatment. They arrived in time to hear a tribal elder making a lengthy speech to the warriors in an attempt to persuade them to cease their bloodthirsty acts of war, but his pleas were being ignored. The elders, having lost control of their society, were no longer able to restrain the younger men's lust for blood.

The elderly gentleman took young Mary to his wigwam, where he treated her with great kindness (and saved her life, as it turned out). He appeared to feel great distress over the terrible things she and her family had suffered. As time went by, he often asked Mary to read to him from her Bible (she had brought two Bibles, but the warriors had taken one from her). He seemed to find great joy in her reading.

Shortly, a party of Cherokees stopped by the Shawnee town. Having been on an unsuccessful raid, and seeing Margaret and her daughter, Jane, they decided to take revenge on these two whites for the deaths of their warriors during their raid. The Shawnees were lax in the care of their captives because they were indulging in drunken partying, and it cost Margaret and Jane their lives.

I am going to quote the record word for word at this point. The story is so terrible that I have great difficulty abridging it, as I have been doing: "The Cherokees seized mother and daughter, condemned them to torture by fire and death at the stake. Their sufferings were protracted through three days of agony. The uncomplaining mother comforted her poor dying child with gospel truth and exhortation and died with a meekness that astounded the Indians. The Shawnees never approved of this gratuitous act of cruelty and always expressed unwillingness to converse about the circumstances, charging the deaths upon the Cherokees. They evidently felt dishonored by the deed." Although the Shawnees readily committed extremely gruesome murders, they felt oddly shamed when the Cherokees tortured and burned Margaret Moore and her daughter, Jane, to death. The record doesn't say whether the young warriors felt shamed or whether that reaction was reserved to the elder statesmen. We do know from the record that the tribal elders had lost their influence over the younger men, and the resulting cost in lives, both white and Shawnee, was terrible.

To be continued . . .

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I should like to tell of Mary Moore - a real story about a real person - who lived in Virginia two centuries ago . . . James Moore, of Scottish descent and grandfather of Mary Moore, was born in Ireland. In about 1726, he and his brother Joseph sailed for America, settling in Pennsylvania.

Joseph died after approximately two years, leaving James to discover the wonders of America alone. In his loneliness, he met and married Jane Walker, a girl of Scottish descent, whose father had emigrated to Ireland, married, fathered seven children, and finally, brought his family to America.

James and his beloved Jane lived in Pennsylvania during the births of their first four children, but about that time, Jane's father, John, moved his family to Rockbridge County, Virginia; Jane and James soon followed. Six more children were added to the Moore family, which now boasted 5 sons and 5 daughters. Child number six, named after his father, became the father of Mary Moore, the marvelous lady of our story.

Young James married Margaret Poage (the Poages were of Irish descent), who, in her turn, bore him five sons and four daughters. Our Mary, born in 1777 and named after her father's eldest sister, was James' and Margaret's fifth child; she had three elder brothers, John (feeble in mind and body), James and Joseph and one elder sister, Jane.

Mary's father yearned for a place to rear his family in safety, someplace where there would be fewer of his fellow settlers, but where he would be some distance from the various Indian tribes, the young warriors of which were continually at war, both with the settlers and each other. It was a common practice among the tribes to kill any whites they could find or to kidnap them for ransom, and James hoped to lessen his family's exposure to both threats.

James' cousin, Samuel Walker, made a visit to the southwestern part of Virginia and, returning with glowing reports of its beauty and fertility, caused James to wonder whether this might be the place where he could fulfil his desires for his family. After visiting the area with his cousin, he decided to move his family to this beautiful spot. He and his English servant (probably a bond servant), John Simpson, traveled to Virginia, cleared a few acres of land, built a cabin and made preparations for the move. The Moores moved into their new home in the fall of 1775.

A hunter, Absalom (nicknamed Apps) Looney (that really was his name), built a cabin about a mile down the creek from the Moore home. John Poage built his cabin about two and a half miles up the creek. Other families were scattered here and there in the general vicinity. The area lived up to James' fondest dreams, and the family soon prospered.

After some time, the Indians discovered that whites had settled the area, and the lovely, peaceful, prosperous valley became a place of such extreme danger that many families chose to abandon their beloved homes and move to one of the towns for added safety. The warriors did attack towns, but it was still safer than in the outlying areas.

When Mary was seven her brother James, fourteen, was sent to the settlement which John Poage had abandoned to get a horse for a trip to the mill. When James didn't return, a search was begun. The only thing the searchers found was sign that a group of Indians had been there. James' disappearance occurred on Sept. 7, 1784 and was, ultimately, of great importance to our Mary's survival.

After almost two years, Mary's father received word that his son was in or near Detroit, which was a common slave market, one where Indians often sold their captives. Unfortunately, on the morning of July 14, 1786, shortly after the arrival of this promising message, a party of raiding
Shawnees killed a neighboring couple, then, after burning the couple's cabin, went directly to the Moore's home.

To be continued . . .

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