**** Three of these were Captain Lawrence Erbe, Captain Brady, and Lieutenant M'Cormick. The other name is not known.
the river, and about seventy-five rods below the bridge. It is the place where John Franklin was arrested. On his return from a political tour down the valley, he came up by the way of Hanover to Wilkesbarre. While standing near the ferry, an acquaintance came up to him and said, "A friend at the Red House wishes to speak to you." Franklin walked to the house, where a person caught him from behind, and attempted to pinion his hands. He was a powerful man. and shook off his captors; but, a noose being thrown over his head, he was secured. They then attempted to get him on horseback, when he cried out, "Help, help! William Slocum! where is William Slocum?" and, drawing his pistols, discharged one, but without effect. He was felled by a blow, and laid almost senseless. It was seeding time, and nearly all the men were in the fields. But the Yankee blood of Mrs. Slocum (the mother of the "lost sister") was up, and, seizing a gun, she ran to the door, exclaiming, "William! Who will call William? Is there no man here? Will nobody rescue him?"—Miner. Colonel Pickering's dwelling was near the "Red House." It is still standing, but so modernized what its original character is lost.
Pickering's Escape to Philadelphia.—His Return. Abduction and Treatment—Wyoming quieted.—Departure from Wyoming.
and he fled to the mountains, whence he made his way to Philadelphia. The partisans of Franklin now became alarmed. They acknowledged their offense to the council, and prayed for pardon. Under these circumstances, Pickering thought it safe for him to return to his family, particularly as the very people whose acts had driven him away had chosen him a delegate to the General Assembly during his exile! He returned, but found many of the people still much exasperated against him, and he was often menaced. Finally, one night in June, fifteen ruffians, with painted faces, burst open the door of the room where 1778 himself and wife were sleeping, bound him with cords, and in the darkness of the night carried him up the valley. For twenty days he was kept by them in the forest, and subjected to ill treatment in various forms. Sometimes they threatened him with death; then he was manacled and chained, and in this way the miscreants tormented him, and tried to wring from him a letter to the executive council recommending the discharge of Franklin. When this requirement was first proposed, and his own release promised on his compliance, Pickering promptly replied, "The executive council better understand their duty than to discharge a traitor to procure the release of an innocent man." This determined tone and manner he preserved throughout. They finally released him, and he found his way back to Wilkesbarre, where his death was considered a matter of certainty. Haggard and unshaven, his wife regarded him with consternation, and his children fled from him affrighted.
This was the last scene in the drama of violence so long enacted in Wyoming. Franklin was liberated on bail, and finally discharged; and he and Pickering often met as friends in public life afterward. The disputes about land titles and possessions in Wyoming remained unsettled for nearly fifteen years, while the population rapidly increased. Ultimately the claims were all quieted by law, and for the last forty years the sweet vale of Wyoming has presented a beautiful picture of repose and prosperity. * We will close the record and retire, for the moon has gone down behind the western hills, and chilly vapors are coming up from the bosom of the river.
September 20, 1848 I left Wilkesbarre on the mail-coach early on Tuesday morning, for the Lackawanna Valley and the coal regions of Luzerne. The whole of Wyoming was wrapped in a dense fog, and from the driver's box, where I had secured a seat, it was with difficulty that we could observe objects beyond the leaders. The coveted pleasure of another view of the beautiful scenery as we passed along the uplands was denied; but when we arrived at Pittston, the cool breeze that came through the mountain gateway of the Susquehanna, and from the valley of the Lackawanna, swept away the vapor, and revealed the rich plains at the head of the valley, the majestic curve of the river where it receives its tributary, and the grandeur of its rocky margins toward the north. At the junction of the rivers we turned eastward, and in a few moments Wyoming and all its attractions were left behind, and scenery and associations of a far different cast were around us.
The Lackawanna River flows in a deep bed, and its valley, wider than Wyoming, is very rough and hilly, but thickly strewn with fertile spots. Iron and anthracite every where abound; and the latter is so near the surface in many places, that the farmers in autumn quarry out their winter's stock of fuel upon their own plantations with very little labor. Several iron manufactories are seated upon the river between its mouth and Carbondale, and little villages, brought forth and fostered by these industrial establishments, enliven the otherwise ungenial features of the route. At one of these, called Hyde Park, we lunched and changed horses, receiving an addition to our company in the person of a tall, cadaverous Yankee lumberman, who, with a huge musk-melon and jack-knife in his hand, took a seat
* Chapman. Gordon, Miner, Stone.
A Yankee Lumberman.—Carbondale.—The Coal Mines.—Fatal Accident.—Heroic Benevolence of Mr. Bryden.