In the autumn of 1777 he brought his wife, six sons and three daughters from Rhode Island and again made his home at Wyoming.
On Monday, November 2, 1778, Jonathan Slocum and his sons, William and Benjamin, were at work completing their corn harvest. At the Slocum home were the other members of the family, together with Mrs. Nathan Kingsley and her two sons. About noonday the Kingsley lads were sharpening a knife on a grindstone in the front yard. Suddenly the crack of a rifle was heard, and Mrs. Slocum hastened to the front door, when she was horrified to see the lifeless body of the elder Kingsley boy lying on the ground. The Indian who killed him was preparing to scalp his victim with the very knife the boys were sharpening.
The terrified mother snatched her infant from the cradle, called to the others to run for their lives, and fled out of the rear door to a log fence beyond which lay a swamp, and there hid herself and her baby.
Meanwhile the younger Kingsley boy and Frances Slocum, then five-and-a-half years old, hid themselves under a staircase; Judith Slocum, with her three-year-old brother Isaac, fled toward the swamp, while little Mary Slocum, less than ten years old, started on a run in the direction of Fort Wyoming, carrying in her arms her baby brother, aged one-and-a-half years. Ebenezer Slocum, then thirteen years old, was a cripple and unable to get away with the others.
While the Slocums were fleeing from their home the Indian in their door-yard was joined by two others, who made their way into the house and quickly ransacked it. Frances Slocum and young Kingsley were discovered in their hiding place, and dragged forth, while Ebenezer Slocum was seized in another part of the house.
Mrs. Slocum, leaving her baby behind, rushed into the presence of the Indians and implored the savages to release the children. She pointed to the crippled feet of Ebenezer and exclaimed: “The child is lame; he can do thee no good.”
The Indian who had him in his grasp released him to his mother. She pleaded piteously for her daughter, but in vain.
The chief Indian of the three threw Frances athwart his shoulder, one of the other Indians did likewise with young Kingsley, while the third one of the party shouldered the big bundle of plunder which had been taken from the house. They then dashed into the woods, and that was the last Mrs. Slocum ever saw of her daughter, Frances.
Years later it was learned from Frances Slocum herself that she and young Kingsley were carried to a cave where they stayed all night. Early the following morning they set out and traveled for many days. When they arrived at the village to which the Indians belonged, young Kingsley was taken away and Frances never learned what became of him.
The chief took Frances to an aged couple of the Delaware nation, who adopted her. She was given the name of Weletawash, which was the name of their youngest child, whom they had lately buried.