their defenders on the retreat. The suspense was dreadful, and was sustained until nearly night-fall, when a few of the fugitives rushed into the fort, and fell down, wounded, exhausted and bloody!

Mrs. Myers was present at the capitulation on the following day, and saw the victorious entrance of the enemy, six abreast, with drums beating and colours flying. The terms of capitulation were fair and honourable, but as the reader has already seen, the Indians regarded them not, and immediately began to rob, plunder, burn, and destroy. Col. Dennison, according to the relation of Mrs. Myers, sent for Colonel John Butler, the British commander. They sat down together by a table on which the capitulation had been signed, (yet carefully preserved by Mrs. Myers.) She and a younger girl were seated within the fort close by, and heard every word they uttered. Colonel Dennison complained of the injuries and outrages then enacting by the savages. "I will put a stop to it, sir-I will put a stop to it," said Colonel Butler. But the plundering continued, and Butler was again sent for by Colonel Dennison, who remonstrated sharply with him at the violation of the treaty. "We have surrendered our fort and arms to you," said Colonel Dennison, "on the pledge of your faith that both life and property should be protected. Articles of capitulation are considered sacred by all civilized people." "I tell you what, sir," replied Colonel Butler, waving his hand emphatically, "I can do

nothing with them: I can do nothing with them." And probably he could not, for the Indians, in the end, had the audacity to strip Colonel Dennison himself of his hat and rifle-frock, (a dress then often worn by the officers.) Colonel D. was not inclined to submit peaceably to this outrage, but the brandishing of a tomahawk over his head compelled his acquiescence-not, however, until, during the parley, the colonel had adroitly transferred his purse to one of the young ladies present, unobserved by the Indians. This purse contained only a few dollars — but it was in fact the whole military chest of Wyoming.

Mrs. Myers represents Colonel John Butler as a portly, good looking man, of perhaps forty-five, dressed in green, the uniform of his corps, with a cap and plumes. On the capitulation of Fort Forty, as the victorious Butler entered it, his quick eye rested upon a sergeant of the Wyoming troops, named Boyd, a young Englishman, a deserter from the royal ranks, who had been serviceable in drilling the American recruits. "Boyd!" exclaimed Butler on recognising him, "Go to that tree!" "I hope your honour," replied Boyd, "will consider me a prisoner of war." "Go to that tree!" repeated Butler with emphasis. The deserter complied with the order, and at a signal was shot down. Butler drew his white forces away from the valley shortly after the capitulation. But the Indians remained about the

settlements, and finished the work of destruction.* In about a week after the battle the torch was applied to most of the dwelling houses then remaining, and Mrs. Myers saw that of her father, Mr. Bennett, in flames among the number. He, with his family, thereupon fled from the valley to a place of greater security- Mrs. Myers and her sister, Mrs. Tuttle, being among the fugitives.

Mr. Bennett returned to Wyoming early in the following spring, and was soon afterward captured by a party of six Indians, with his son, then a lad, and Mr. Hammond, a neighbour, while at work in the field. The Indians marched them toward the North, but during the night of the second or third day, their expedition was brought to a sudden and most unexpected close. From a few words dropped by one of the Indians, Mr. Bennett drew the inference that it was their design to murder them. Having requested of the Indian the use of his moccasin awl to set a button, "No want button for one night," was the gruff and laconic reply. He therefore resolved, if possible, to effect an escape, and while the captors had left them a few moments to slake their thirst at a spring, a plan

*It has been stated by several authors, that the British Colonel Butler was a kinsman of Colonel Zebulon Butler. But the fact is not so. Colonel John Butler was an opulent gentleman residing in the Mohawk valley, a neighbour and personal friend of Sir William, and afterward of Sir John Johnson. It was his misfortune to be engaged in a branch of the service which has covered his name, in history, with any thing but honour. Still he was a very respectable man, as were many other loyalists. After the close of the war of the revolution, he was retained in the British Canadian service, and died at an advanced age, much respected by those who knew him.

for that purpose was concerted. Mr. Bennett, being in years, was permitted to travel unbound. Hammond and the boy were pinioned. At night they all lay down to sleep, except one of the Indians and Mr. Bennett. The latter, having gathered the wood to keep up the fire for the night, sat down, and soon afterward carelessly took the Indian's spear in his hand, and began to play with it upon his lap. The Indian now and then cast a half-suspicious glance upon him, but continued his employment-picking the scanty flesh from the head of a deer which he had been roasting. The other Indians, wearied, had wrapped themselves in their blankets, and by their snoring gave evidence of being in a deep slumber.

The Indian left upon the watch, moreover, began to nod over his supper as though half asleep. Watching his opportunity, therefore, Mr. Bennett by a single thrust transfixed the savage with his own spear, who fell across the burning logs with a groan. Not an instant was lost in cutting loose the limbs of Hammond and the lad. The other Indians were in the same breath attacked by the three, and the result was that five of the tawny warriors were slain, and the sixth fled howling with the spear sticking in his back. The victors thereupon returned in triumph to the valley, bearing as trophies the scalps of the slain.

In the pleasant town of Kingston, on the west side of the river, opposite the borough of Wilkesbarré, resides the Rev. Benjamin Bidlack, a clergy

man of the Methodist denomination, who, and his lady, are survivors of the memorable scenes of 1778, already described. This venerable man is between eighty and ninety years of age, and of clear and sound mind. He is of a tall and athletic form, of intellectual and strongly marked features and in the full pride of manhood his presence must have been commanding. Mr. Bidlack was not himself in the battle of Wyoming, not being at home at the time of its occurrence. But he had a brother, Captain James Bidlack, Jr., in that bloody affair, who bravely fell at the head of his company, only eight of whom escaped the horrors of that day. He entered the field with but thirty-two rank and file, twenty-four of whom were slain. His station was near the left wing, but he refused to move from his post, although the greater portion of his comrades had broken and were in full flight. Their father, James Bidlack, senior, was one of the fathers of the settlement; and when the middle-aged portion of their population was drawn away by enlistment in the continental army, the old gentleman commanded a corps of aged men, exempts, and kept garrison in one of their little forts, called Plymouth. Benjamin went early into the regular service. He was with Washington in the vicinity of Boston, in the summer of 1775, and saw the evacuation of the "rebel town" by General Sir William Howe. His term of enlistment expired in 1777, whereupon he returned to his parental home, and for a