In consequence of the rumors so rife in 1778 of the country being filled with Indians, the people of Stone Valley, north of Huntingdon, determined to build a fort. While concerting the measures for its erection, a Mr. McCormick stated that, inasmuch as the population of the valley was not very large, and the labor and expense attending the erection of a fortress very great, he would agree that his house should be put into repair, pierced for defence, and that the people should fort with him. This proposition was eagerly accepted by the people, who went willingly to work; and in a very short time his house was converted into Fort McCormick, into which nearly all the settlers of Stone Valley fled at once.
Among others who took up their residence there was an old lady named Houston, who had resided some seven miles up the valley. She was a very amiable old lady, though somewhat garrulous, for which some of the settlers were disposed to ridicule her. It appears she had a small patch of flax out, which gave her more trouble than a hundred acres of wheat would occasion some men. She was constantly lamenting the certain loss of her flax, until the very word flax got to be a byword. As the time for pulling the flax approached, the old woman importuned every man in the fort to accompany her to her house only for a day, but her appeals were all in vain; some declared they would not go so far from the fort for a ten-acre field of flax, while an old soldier intimated that he would be pretty sure to be flaxed if he went. In short, her request was treated as a jest. Nevertheless, the old woman indulged some sort of a vague hope that somebody would help her out of her difficulty, and she continued talking about the flax.
One morning, about the middle of August, a number of men were seated in front of the fort, when some one started the ever laughable theme of the old woman's flax-patch; and, while conversing with the usual levity upon the old woman's trials, a young man, named James McClees, joined the party. After listening to them some time, he got up and said—
"Boys, it is bad enough to be too cowardly to help the old woman gather her flax; to ridicule her misfortune is a shame."
"If you think it is cowardly, why don't you go and help her pull it?" said one of the men, who was evidently piqued at what had been said.
"That is just my intention," said he. "Mrs. Houston, get ready, and I'll go with you to pull your flax."
The dream was at last to be realized, and the old woman's heart was overflowing with gratitude. In a few moments she was ready. McClees shouldered his rifle, and the two departed—alas! to return no more.
McClees was but eighteen years of age, but extremely well-proportioned, and his vocabulary knew no such word as fear. Sad fate, that his noble and generous impulses should have been the means of cutting him off in the very flower of youth!
Of the manner of his death there was no living witness to speak; but on and around his body, when found, there were unmistakable signs of such actions as are supposed to speak as plain as words.
Both had promised to return to the fort in the evening, or the evening following at farthest. The first evening passed, and they came not; the second evening, and still no sign of them. This created alarm, and the necessary arrangements were made to go in search of them.