Genealogy Richard Remmé, The Hague, Netherlands » Hannah Gore (1769-1855)

Persoonlijke gegevens Hannah Gore 

• Zij is geboren op 8 september 1769 in Preston, New London County, CT.
• Zij is overleden op 6 april 1855, zij was toen 85 jaar oud.
• Een kind van Obadiah Gore en Anna Avery
• Deze gegevens zijn voor het laatst bijgewerkt op 4 december 2022.

Gezin van Hannah Gore

Zij is getrouwd met Elisha Durkee.

Zij zijn getrouwd op 19 oktober 1788 te Sheshequin Township, Bradford County, PA, zij was toen 19 jaar oud.

     ......................CONTINUED FROM HANAH'S NOTES:

     All went to work again to prepare for another year's crops, when on
May 1 we received orders from the Pennamites to leave the place.
     They had a treaty with the Indians, and had hired them to come and plunder and drive off the settlers.  Many of the settlers not wishing
     to engage in any more warfare, prepared to move, some going to Connecticut, others went up the river about thirty miles to a place called
     Bowman's Creek.  We started the 18th for that place.  The first day we went ten miles.  There were sixty or seventy in the company, and
     each one that was able carried a pack or bundle. The heavy articles were carried in canoes.  At night they would unload and camp until
     daylight.  The second morning we saw a boat returning, and mother got a passage for my youngest sister, Sally, in a canoe, and
     left Anna and myself to make our way the best we could with the others.  We kept in their company until we came to Uncle Daniel
     Gore's on Bowman's flats.  We had driven down some stakes and peeled bark, and wove in and made a small room.  Mother returned
     in a few days.  At that time father was at the assembly in New Jersey and did not return until June.  After making their families as
     comfortable as they could, the men went back to defend their rights. They had a battle and a number were killed on both sides.
     They proposed coming together the next day.  All laid down arms, and as soon as the attention of our men was drawn towards the
     speaker their commander gave 'Order Arms' and they secured the guns of our men and took most of them prisoners.  My brother
     was one of them, and was kept in jail until there was a settlement with the colonies.  Colonel Swift tried to fire the fort in their
     possession one dark night.  He was discovered and was wounded by a shot from the fort.  His men carried him away and concealed him
     until he could be carred farther.  They brought him to our house, where he remained three weeks.  He left as soon as he was able,
     for the enemy were on the lookout for him.  He started in the morning for Owego. ; That night there came a company and surrounded
     our house; two or three came in so still that none awoke until they lit a candle, when the light awoke father.  They asked for Swift.
     Father told them he left here in the morning, and he thought him out of their reach for that time.  They searched until they were satisfied,
     then lay down upon our floor (which was composed of solid earth) until morning.  Our house was in part, the one I spoke of, my
     uncle's building of stakes and barks.  After father returned he added another room of bushes and there we lived until November.
     Then father and mother went down the river to get the rest of their goods, and left my three sisters and myself alone.  The second
     day we saw a boat coming up the river:  we heard their voices, we watched it and it did not pass, nor could we see anyone.  Being
     accustomed to the fear of men, we put out the light, covered the fire and sat out doors most of the night.  We were not disturbed and we
     learned afterwards that they had been stealing plums, as there was a large plum orchard near.

     In November, father, with two other families, moved about forty miles up the river.  The season had been very dry and warm amd the river
     low. Our goods were carried in canoes with hands to row them.  The rest travelled on foot along the bank of the river.  The boats often got
     stuck, and we had ropes fastened to them to pull them along.  All took hold to help, and some of them were in the water most of the time
     while assisting in towing the boats.  My uncle had the fever and ague and every other day he rode on horseback.  His fits came on in the
     afternoon, and Wealthy and myself took turns going ahead to wait on him while his fits were on.  We would go as far as we thought the
     company would go that day, then make what preparations we could for their coming.  One night the boats did not come.  The boys got there
     with the cows.  I carried a drinking cup and we all had our supper and breakfast from the cup. I had the saddle for a pillow and the boys
     found their beds as best they could.  The rest of the company came up about ten o'clock.  They had had more than usual trouble with the
     boats.  After taking a rest we all moved on.

     We settled near the mouth of the Chemung river, on Queen Esther's flats: remained there one year, then moved ten miles down the
     river upon the opposite side in the town of Sheshequin.  There my parents spent the remainder of their days, and there Grandmother
     died in 1801, aged 83 years. ; At the age of 19, October 19, 1788, I was married to Elisha Durkee and moved to Scipio, Cayuga
     county, New York, in company with William Patrick and family.  One company had gone before us.  They followed the old Sullivan road
     to the head of Seneca lake. ; There they fixed up some boats left by the army and went down the lake, and from Seneca river up the
     outlet of Cayuga lake.  Our boat was leaky and we had to unload and caulk it often and dry our clothes.   We had but little, and it took
     but  little time to unload.  We would go ashore and camp at night. When we arrived at our destined place, Mr. Durkee drove down
     two stakes in front of a large log, put up some poles, covered the top with bark and set up branches at the end.  There we spent
     the summer of 1789.  In the fall we built a log house on the east shore of Cayuga lake, about half way between Aurora and where
     Savannah now stands.  All the boards used were split and hewed.  In December I gave birth to a daughter (Betsey Durkee Sweetland).
     She was the first white child born in the town of Scipio.  We lived there two years, during which time it had become settled all along the
     shore for miles.  Captain Franklin, who married Mrs. Lester, moved here and settled on a farm where Aurora now stands, with money to
     pay for it when it came for sale:  but not being able to see his neighbors starve around him, he had lent his money to buy provisions with,
     so he could not pay for the whole.  He agreed with a man to deed the whole and lease him half.  The man had a friend who was willing to
     join him in robbing Franklin of it all.  That was too much for him: he became deranged and shot himself. It was a heavy blow to the whole
     settlement, for he had been a father to all.  We lived on the Indian reserve and got title of them in 1791.  Governor Clinton sent orders to
     drive off the inhabitants and burn their buildings and fences, and we were again compelled to be homeless.  Our house was burned as
     well as those of all others. ; I had two children at that time.  I remained there and cooked by the fire of our house one week, then started
     on horseback with my children for Sheshequin.  Mr. Durkee built a rail pen, chinked it with buckwheat straw, and remained there
     throughout the winter to care for his cattle.  In the spring he moved to the old Watkins farm at Scipioville and lived there one year.
     Then he bought a farm of 200 acres at Gilberry Tracy at $1.25 an acre, one mile west and one mile south of what is called Scipio Center.

     Elisha Durkee's mother's maiden name was Molly Benjamin.  Her father was sent to England as a representative of the Connecticut colonies,
     was taken sick and died there.  His grandmother's maiden name was Molton.  She was a Scotch woman and noted doctress."

Notities over Hannah Gore

1.  "Thrilling Incidents" - As recounted by Hannah Durkee, daughter of Judge Gore, and written down from her lips by her daughter, Amanda Allen:

     "I was born in New London county, Conn., September 8, 1769.  When I was eleven months old my parents moved to Wilkes-Barre,
     on land granted by the King to the Connectcut colonies.  They settled on the east side of the Susquehannah river, near Jacob's
     Plains.  We were driven off in six weeks by the Pennamites.  My father was taken prisoner, and while crossing the river he
     said something displeasing to them, when one of them struck him with his oar across the forehead, which marked him for
     life.  How he got away I know not, but he went with his family to New Jersey, where he lived about two years and then returned
     again to Wilkes-Barre.  Father built a saw-mill soon after his return, and while he was building it my mother sent my brother,
     Avery, across the race to get some hewings to burn.  When he was out of her sight he coaxed me to go with him.  We crossed
     close by the mill.  While we were crossing, he said, :  'Now, Hannah, hold on tight and don't fall into the water.'  The caution gave
     me such a fright that I immediately fell in, and he said I was sinking for the third time when he caught me by the hair and raised
     me out of the water, and fortunately laid my face down and wrung the water out of my clothes as well as he could, and when
     my reason returned, for fear of censure, he cautioned me to keep still until they were dry.  We lived there about two years, in
     which time father built a large two-story house, when we were again beset by the ravages of war.  Here my mother gave birth
     to twin daughters;  one of them did not survive long and the other was very weakly and had to be kept in a dark room.  We
     learned the Pennamites had raised an army and were coming to plunder everything from the settlers and burn their houses.
     Father was stoning a well he had just dug.  He got out, shouldered his gun, and every man that was able to bear arms went to
     meet them.  They lay in ambush two miles below Shawneytown, attacked them and defeated them, and we were left
     undisturbed for awhile.  The Pennamites at that time were commanded by Colonel Plunket.

     Soon after father enlisted in the American army under a commission. He came home sometimes for recruits and stayed
     two or three weeks at a time. I saw him enlist a good may men.  He was a lieutenant in the Connecticut line, and was absent at the
     battle of Wyoming.  Many of our neighbors were home on parole and were killed in the battle.  My father lived on the east side of the river,
     and my grandfather Gore on the west side.  My mother's parents lived with her at that time;  their names were Avery.  The day after the
     battle, July 4, 1778, a party of Tories came to the opposite side of the river and concealed, all but one, who called, 'Over, over.'
     Grandfather Avery, thinking him to be a neighbor, went after him with a canoe, when they rushed into the canoe and compelled him
     to row them over.  They went into the house and told mother to carry out such things as she wished to save, as they were going to burn
     it.  She commenced to carry out the best of the goods, and as fast as she carried them out they took them down to the river where the rest
     of the party had arrived to carry off the plunder with the canoes. After collecting such things as they wished to take away, they set fire to
     the house and left.  Mother brought water and extinguished the flames.  Soon after another party came and fired it, and told her if she
     put it out her life would be a forfeit.  My parents saw it burn. They started for New Jersey on foot, carying such things as they could
     provisions and clothing.  Mother had my youngest sister to carry in her arms;  she was then three years old.  They had to pass through
     thirty miles of woods and encamped on the ground in the open air. Grandfather and Grandmother Avery continued their journey
     through to Connecticut, with several others, and performed the whole journey on foot and subsisted upon the charity of the people.
     At this time I was living with Grandfather Gore, near Forty Fort, and went to the post with them July 2.  When the alarm came my Uncle
     Asa Gore's wife was in travail.  She gave birth to a son and then was carried immediately to the fort.  The next day, Friday, July 3, 1778,
     our men, under Colonel Zebulon Butler, paraded all who were able to bear arms and marched out to meet the enemy.  I had seven uncles
     in the battle, and out of these five were killed and one wounded. Silas, Asa, and George Gore were killed, as were Timothy Pierce and
     John Murphy, who married my uncles' sisters.  Daniel Gore was wounded in the left arm.  In the evening as we sat outside of the fort,
     we heard the voice of a man upon
     the opposite side of the river.  They called to know who he was and he replied, 'Daniel Gore.' Grandmother said, 'Have I one son living!'
     with such expressive voice that it still sounds in my ears.  My head at this time was lying in her lap and we were all absorbed in grief.
     They brought him over, dressed his wounds and he left again under cover night, as did the rest who remained alive.

     The next day the fort surrendered, and the Indians began plundering. They made the women give up their beads and other ornaments.
     My aunt, Sally Gore, had a chest of clothing that was very nice, and she sat upon it. ; A young Indian told her to get up.  She said she would
     not.  He went out and an older one came in with a tomahawk  and she resisted his command.  The entreaties of her friends made her leave
     it to their inspection.  They distributed her clothing among the squaws, one putting her white satin bonnet on hind side before and wearing
     it off.  After securing such things as their fancy led them to carry away, they began their work of destruction by cutting open beds and strewing
     feathers and straw.  They emptied meal, flour and all kinds of provisions, and strewed them to the wind in a common mass.  I was broken out
     with measles at the time and they put me in a bed with my sick aunt to keep them from disturbing her.  It had the desired effect and few
     ventured into the room.  One Indian came in with her husband's vest on and wore it away, and by that she knew her husband was killed.  She
     gave her son his father's name, Asa Gore.  I can never forget the heartrending sighs and sobs at the sound of the guns that were completing
     the work of death.  We remained there a few days until aunt could be moved.

     Word came there was a nation of Indians coming that could not speak a word of English and everyone would be killed who was found there.
     We then put up such things as we could carry in packs and handerchiefs and started for New Jersey.  We travelled two days, passing a
     great many who had given out by the way, some sick, others weary. We passed a great many infants who drew their first breath by the roadside,
     among them two pairs of twins.  Their mothers' beds were hemlock boughs and their covering was poles and bushes with sometimes an article
     of clothing or blankets added. They remained in this condition until our army was apprised of it and they sent pack-horses with provisions to
     help them through the woods. ; They carried those unable to walk until they got to inhabitants in the eastern part of Pennsylvania, where
     Grandfather Gore stopped.  He got the use of a small house of a man by the name of Stroud, (Stroudsburg), about fiftly miles from Wyoming.
     The rest disbanded and went to different parts of the country, many going through to Connecticut.  We remained here a few days
     without knowing whether the rest of our friends were living or not. One day grandmother called me in from play and I came running in.  My
     father sat there:  we were neither of us able to speak for some time.  Then he took me on his lap and asked me if I wanted to see my mother.
     I told him yes.  He said she was at Mr. Bucoy's in New Jersey with the rest of the children.  They were all alive, but they supposed that all
     on the west side of the river were killed.  Father got a passage for Mrs.  Satterlee, her four children and myself in a baggage wagon to go
     within a few miles of where mother was.  Mrs. Saterlee's husband was killed in the battle and she was returning to her friends in Connecticut.
     Two of my aunts had gone there before.  Mrs. Saterlee begged food by the way.  Sometimes we fared well, at other times we considered
     ourselves among Tories.  After we separated a kind man took me on a horse and carried me to where mother was.

     After our people took possession of Wyoming again and established guards there, father went with my uncle Asa's widow to Connecticut,
     where she became an inmate of Deacon Avery's family with her son. She lived there about seven years and then married a man by the
     name of Murphy.  Mr. and Mrs. Avery had no children and they adopted her son and made him heir to a handsome property.  The old people
     lived and died with him.  Father returned, and after burying their dead they erected barracks and small houses and many lived in or near
     the fort.  The men tried to secure their crops.  The Indians were frequent visitors and often killed them while at work in the fields. Four
     men and a boy crossed the river to work:  the Indians crept under the brush that grew along the fence until they got near them and then rushed
     out and killed and scalped the men and stabbed the boy nine times and took off his scalp.  The cannon was fired from the fort which
     frightened them away, and as soon as was deemed prudent thry crossed with canoes amd carried them over.  The boy was alive
     and recovered;  the men's faces were all cut in gashes.  Mr. Ganly and another man went out hunting, and were taken prisoners and
     carried to Meshoppen.  There they killed the Indians and returned. A party of Indians lay in ambush several days watching for Captain
     Franklin, and not being able to get him they went to his house, Sunday, April 7, 1782, took his wife and four children prisoners and carried
     them to Meshoppen, that being their place of resort.  Our men went in pursuit and found them.  They had placed them under guard and
     commanded them to lay flat upon the ground to keep them from being discovered.  Mrs. Franklin raised her head to look about.
     An Indian told her if she did it again he would kill her.  This did not keep her quiet.  She raised her head a second time and he shot her.
     She died on the spot: (Mr.  Miner says:  'In the midst of the firing the two little girls and the boy sprang from their captors and found refuge
     with their friends.  Instantly the savages shot Mrs. Franklin and retreated:  the chief raised the babe on his shoulder and thus bearing her
     aloft, fled.');  then they took the babes and dashed their brains out against a tree.  Our men put them to flight, carried back the children and
     left the dead, not thinking it prudent to remain and bury them. Then afterwards went after them.  Mrs. Franklin's clothes were on the ground
     as she lay in them:  her body was gone and never found.  Her two oldest sons were prisoners at Niagra at the time.

     The Indians came into the house of Mr. Lester, killed and scalped him, and took his wife and four children prisoners.  The two oldest
     were daughters.  The boys died.  Mrs. Lester and daughters remained in captivity until the end of the war, when Mrs. Lester and one of them
     were released.  In a few months Mrs. Lester and Captain Franklin were married and then went in pursuit of the other daughter.  According to
     the treaty, the prisoners were to be sent to Niagra.  They went there.  The girl had not been sent in, and after much inquiry they learned
     she was on the Grand river in Michigan.  An Indian was sent to pilot Franklin to the tribe she was with.  They found her and as soon as
     they made their business known the squaws began making great lamentations, and she utterly refused to leave the Indians.  When they
     compelled her to come, the squaws tore her clothing all off and left her naked.  Franklin wrapped his horse blanket around her,
     and then mounted his horse and an Indian handed her up to him and he carried her off by force.  They joined her mother at Niagra, then
     returned home.  They stopped at father's for dinner, and we tried every way we could to familiarize her with the ways of the white
     people.  She was then fourteen years old, and a squaw in every respect except color.  She talked with me afterward and said she was
     always mortified in company, and yet was unable to overcome the Indian traits and carried them with her through life.  She married
     Mr. Cole, who was one of the first settlers of Scipio.

     July 4, 1778, the next day after the battle, when they came into the fort, Queen Esther (a half breed squaw) said she 'was never so tired
     in her life as she was yesterday killing so many darned Yankees.' She killed fourteen. ; One of my uncles was one of the number.  One man
     escaped to tell the fate of the others.  After this the Indians continued their depredations upon the inhabitants.  Some days had elapsed
     since any Indians had been seen about there, and Uncle Daniel Gore and Mr. Abbott went out to look at their farms, a little more than a
     mile off.  They were discovered by a party of Indians that gave chase.  Mr. Abbott being in the rear, was shot and the Indians stopped to
     scalp him.  This gave my uncle a chance to escape. A young man came to the fort famished, weary, ragged and dirty.  Said his name was
     Mayers and he was taken from near Sunbury.  The Indians had been so troublesome that a party had turned out to hunt them down.
     They found no signs of them, and had sat down to eat their lunch and some of them had begun to play cards.  The Indians had come upon
     them unexpectedly and killed all but him and another one.  He was with the Indians two days, when he managed to get hold of one of their
     knives and cut the cords he was bound with, and crept softly away until he was out of sight and hearing.  He had been gone sixteen days
     and lived on bark and roots. ; The life of the other man he doubted not had paid the forfeit of his escape.

     Mother washed and mended his clothing and he started for home.

     Before the battle we lived near Jonathan Slocum.  They had a daughter about my age: ; her name was Frances.  We went to school together.
     Mr. Slocum, his son William and Chester Kingsley went out some distance from the fort to grind some knives (Mr. Miner's account
     differs somewhat  'On the 2d of November, 1778, while the two Kingsley boys were engaged in grinding a knife, Nathan, aged fifteen, was
     shot and scalped by an Indian.  Frances Slocum, aged five, the younger Kingsley boy, and a black girl were seized and carried away
     into captivity.  On the 16th of December following, while Mr. Slocum, his father-in-law, Isaac Tripp, and William Slocum were foddering
     cattle, they were fired upon by a party of Indians.  Mr. Slocum was shot dead, Mr. Tripp wounded and tomahawked, but William escaped"):
     Frances was with them.  The Indians killed Mr. Slocum, wounded William and took Chester and Frances prisoners.  Every means was taken to
     find them but to no purpose. When Mrs. Slocum saw me it brought to mind her lost Frances, and many has been the time I have witnessed
     her tears in speaking of Frances.  After Frances became old she was found among the Miamis in Indiana, surrounded by an Indian family of
     her own.  Chester was never heard from to my knowledge.  Mr. Slocum's house was not destroyed and the family remained there
     unmolested until our people took the fort.

     The Indians had been so troublesome that it was thought it best to send the army to destroy their crops and habitations.  They went to
     Tioga Point and then to Catharinetown, and down the west side of Seneca lake to Geneva, cutting their road as they went.  They camped
     with the main army at Tioga, then sent out parties to destroy their crops and wigwams. ; When the crops were near enough to Genessee
     river they were thrown in, and at other times burned.  The Indian families had all left and kept before the army.  Their warriors were on the
     lurk to kill our men when they could.  By one of their parties Boyd was tortured because he would not tell them the situation of our army.
     He made signs of being a Free Mason.  The chief, understanding him, gave orders not to kill hiom, but to provide for him, as he was going
     away to be gone some days.  After the chief had gone they questioned Boyd again.  He would tell them nothing.  The Indians took out one
     end of his intestines and fastened it to a tree, and drove him around it until they were all wound on the tree.  They scalped and left him.
     He was found next day.  John Spalding assisted in carrying him into camp.  After surveying the country around Genessee, Moscow and
     Allon's Hill, they returned to Seneca lake and divided: some going between the lakes, others went around the outlet of the Cayuga to the
     east side.  There they found a large hewed log house, called a castle, built for a place of worship.  It had a large brass lock on the
     door. Father took it off, carried it home, put it on his own door and it still remains there.  They burned the castle.  I think it stood near
     where Savonia now stands.  The two armies met at Ithaca again.  They cut down a large orchard near Geneva.  At Chemung river
     they had a warm skirmish with the Indians.  They were in a gulf between the hills.  When the inhabitants were returning to Wyoming after
     the massacre, the smallpox broke out in th army.

     Grandfather and grandmother returned two weeks before we did and moved into the house father had built, and while father was after us
     grandfather and grandmother were both taken very sick.  When we got into the neighborhood we were halted, vaccinated and staid there
     some days.  Grandfather wished to see us very much:  we were not permitted to go there until he died, when mother and I were permitted
     to look through the window and view the cold remains of one who had been very dear to me.  I felt his loss very much.  Grandmother recovered.
     The house was cleaned and we moved there.  Father had hired a woman to pick up feathers from the corners of the fences and other
     lodging places.  She had enough for two beds, and we made ticks from old tent cloth.  We lived there on small means, witnessing scenes
     of cruelty every few days. ; A man and a boy were boiling sap in their cabin. The Indians tomahawked and poured boiling sap down
     the man's throat, scalped him and took the boy prisoner.  Men crossed over Kingston flats to work.  The Indians secreted among the
     bushes and killed a number of our men and they killed an Indian noted for his bravery. ; He was called Anthony Turkey.  The rest disappeared.
     Our men brought over their dead and also Anthony Turkey, laid him on the green before the fort and all went to view him  The next day they fitted
     up an old canoe and placed him in a sitting position, fastened a rooster between his legs with a peck of corn before him, wrote a pass and
     fastened it to his hand, stating where he had started from and shoved him in the current of the river.  Shortly the Indians came near the fort in
     the night and said, 'They have killed Anthony Turkey,' (his name was Anthony Kneebuckle) and they defied those in the garrison to come out
     and kill them, thinking they would get them out that way.  We were often alarmed in the night and ran to the fort.  Much of the time we slept
     with our clothes on.  A party went out to see what they could discover, and they found a mulatto with a very nice spyglass.  They could not get
     him to speak a word.  They marshalled him, sentenced him to have his fingers pinched with bullet moulders and put to torture in other ways,
     yet could not get a word from him. They sent him to headquarters as a spy, and as father was officer of the day he gave the spyglass to him.

     Forty Fort is on the west side of the river (Susquehannah) opposite Kingston flats.  It was called Forty Fort, because forty men were
     there from Connecticut to help build it.  I think grandfather was one of the forty men.  There were three or four springs coming out of the
     bank directly in front of the fort, and there the river is so wide that small arms on the opposite side can do no damage.  The guard house was
     a small distance from it, and a part of the time was occupied for a school-room.  One day we heard the report of a gun directly in front of the
     door and windows soon after school had opened in the afternoon, and a scene of confusion instantly commenced.  Teachers and scholars
     sprang for the door and windows, getting out as best they could, and ran for the fort. ; Soon after we learned an Indian had been concealed in the
     bushes watching the movements at the fort, and that there were 100 more further back.  They expected to come at night and take the fort by
     suprise.  The Indian said he could have hit a number of us with his gun while we were at play at noon.  Our seats ran from the door directly
     back and were filled with scholars.  He pointed to see how many he could hit with one shot, and in putting his gun down he accidently hit it
     against a bush and it went off, and put all on their guard.  They left for that time.  When General Sullivan was marching his army into
     Wilkes-Barre to drive back the Indians, father watched until he saw them come over the mountain, then he called us all to him and let
     us look through the spyglass to see them, and told us that we might go to bed and sleep that night.  Our joy was beyond description.

     These scenes finally closed and we were settled quite securly, when on March 24, 1784, we were visited by an ice flood in the night
     which did great damage.  We were awakened by one of our neighbors after the water had surrounded our house.  We all got away
     and went to high land, where we were joined by many others.  They built a large fire in the fields and we remained there until daylight,
     when they discovered a family by the name of Pierce in a black walnut tree which stood in front of their door.  Mr. Pierce had drawn his
     canoe up near his house and lashed it to a tree to feed his cattle in:  he awoke in the night and found his bed in the water.  They went into
     the chamber and knocked a hole through the roof and sat on the peak of the house. A son four years old was left in the house until near
     day, when a cake of ice came against the house and knocked the chimney down.  He called out, 'What is that?'  They asked to khow
     where he was, and he said 'Here on a board.'  They drew him up with the rest of the family, and finally they succeeded in getting in their
     canoe, and from there to the tree where they remained until near noon before they could be got off.

     The settlement was mostly overflowed and nearly all the cattle, sheep and hogs were drowned or carried away in the night.  In the morning
     we saw a hencoop floating down with a rooster on the top crowing. Such a flood had not been known before, and I have not heard of any
     since that compared with it. ; Father and others went about ten miles to a place that had been vacated in the time of war and cut grass
     to winter the cattle.  My brother Avery and another man went there to take care of the stock.  They carried their provisions, built a cabin
     and cooked for themselves.  The winter was very severe, the snow very deep, so there was no passage to and fro until the middle of March,
     when three men fixed snow shovels and went to see what had been their fate.  They found them well and remained a few days.  After
     they had eaten what provisions they had carried with them they killed a heifer and lived on beef.  Then they took the fences from the
     stacks, and all started for home and reached there a few days before the flood.  By this means our cattle were saved, but the hogs were
     drowned.  The darkness of the night was doubtless a great saving of human life:  as the people could see nothing all escaped as fast as they
     could to high ground.  Only one man was drowned near here.  Mr. Asa Jackson and Uncle Daniel Gore were together.  Uncle Daniel
     got into his skiff and rode safely across the flats.  The other man got on his horse and rode part way, when a block of ice came against him
     and both he and his horse were drowned.  As soon as the water had settled we returned to our houe.  My brother was the first to enter. ; He
     stepped upon a loose board and went under water into the cellar.  A chest we had our best clothes in had a pound of copperas in also,
     and everything was nicely colored and all things about the house compared with that.

     ............CONTINUED BELOW IN HANNAH'S MARRIAGE NOTES DUE TO SOFTWARE LIMITATIONS

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