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 302.6 
 
 P5 
 
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 DISCOURSE 
 C,W. Upham 
 
 
 
 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 DAVIS 
 
 GIFT OF 
 GEORGE A. FLEMING 
 
" 
 
 . 
 
 DISCOURSE, 
 
 DELIVERED 
 
 ON THE SABBATH AFTER THE DECEASE 
 
 OF TffE 
 
 HON. TIMOTHY PICKERING 
 
 BY CHARLES W. UPHAM, 
 
 JUNIOR PASTOR OF THE FIRST CHURCH. 
 
 Salem : 
 
 FOOTE & BROWN:::::::COURT STREET. 
 
 1829. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
FOOTE & BROWK, PRINTERS, 
 
 Salem Gazette Press. 
 
SERMON 
 
 PSALM xv. 1,2. "Lord, who shall abide in thy tabernacle? who shall 
 dwell in thy holy hill ? He that walketh uprightly, and icorkcth righteousness , 
 and speaketh the truth in his heart." 
 
 IF there is anyone virtue, which awakens a more 
 profound admiration than all others, it is integrity, 
 residing in the inmost heart, and manifesting itself 
 throughout the whole life. There never, in any 
 community, civilized or uncivilized, was a system of 
 morals, whether ascertained by positive description, 
 or existing only in general public sentiment, in which 
 integrity has not been placed among the highest of 
 the virtues. There is an instinctive emotion of ad 
 miration and of reverence in the most uncultivat 
 ed and even in the most depraved hearts, whenever 
 this sublime attribute is manifested or mentioned. 
 
 I would appeal to the student of classic history, 
 and ask, whose character^ in the long catalogue of 
 the great and wise whose names are recorded there, 
 is contemplated by him with the deepest and purest 
 satisfaction and admiration. He will answer, if his 
 
judgment is guided by correct and elevated princi 
 ples of moral taste and discernment, " ARISTIDES," 
 the Grecian patriot, whom the people, in a moment 
 of folly and madness, banished because he was 
 " Just" because he did what he thought to be his 
 duty, no matter how unpopular might be the act 
 because he uttered what he thought to be the truth, 
 no matter how many might be offended. The pass 
 ing generation of the small community of which he 
 was a member, injured and calumniated him, and 
 rejected him from the midst of them, but he held 
 fast his integrity, and would not let it go, and his 
 name is hallowed in the admiration of the countless 
 millions of all subsequent generations. 
 
 In the first chapter of the Gospel of John, we 
 find a brief notice, in the simple and characteristic 
 style of the sacred writers, of an interview between 
 Jesus and a man named Nathaniel. He is men 
 tioned but once more in the Scriptures, and then in 
 such a manner as to inform us incidentally of the 
 fact that he was a fisherman on the lake or sea of 
 Tiberias. A few lines contain all that is known to 
 man of the humble individual, who thus painfully, 
 and in an obscure calling, gained his daily bread by 
 his daily labor. But these lines, few and simple as 
 they are, contain a eulogy, the highest and best to 
 which man can aspire. " Jesus saw Nathaniel 
 coming to him, and saith of him, Behold an Israel 
 ite indeed, in ivhom is no guile." These were the 
 words of him who knew what was in man, and com 
 ing from him, they convey an encomium the value of 
 which can neither be questioned nor estimated. 
 
The memory of the poor Israelite whom they des 
 cribe, will be cherished and honored wherever in 
 tegrity and sincerity are honored. And all men in 
 every age have honored them. The more the world 
 is advanced in a knowledge of sound principles, and 
 in the cultivation of moral sentiments, the greater 
 will be the honor paid to these virtues ; and the 
 time will surely come, if it has not already come, 
 when the praises of kings and warriors, and of men 
 of every other description of renown, will be poor 
 and insignificant when compared with the declara 
 tion which Jesus made, when the humble, but up 
 right, fisherman of Galilee, approached him. " An 
 Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile." 
 
 Our text describes such a man as was the heathen 
 Aristides and the Jewish Nathaniel, and it declares 
 that such a man shall abide in God's tabernacle 
 and dwell in his holy hill, shall enter the abodes and 
 partake of the joys of Heaven. Let us examine the 
 description which it contains of a man of integrity, 
 of sincerity, and of honor a man in whom there is 
 no guile. 
 
 " He that walketh uprightly. " In this clause we 
 are presented with the definition of a character and 
 life, which are established upon the principles of 
 virtue, and upon a sense of duty. The man who 
 always acts and speaks and moves under the gui 
 dance of the rules of a high morality who, in every 
 step which he may be called to take, instead of con 
 sulting his selfish interest, temporary expediency, 
 worldly customs or principles, worldly applause or 
 censure, inquires of his conscience, and his God 
 
6 
 
 is it right ? And, if they answer in the affirmative, 
 moves fearlessly on, to do or to suffer. This man 
 "walketh uprightly." 
 
 " Worketh righteousness." This expression im 
 plies not merely good and upright conduct, but ac 
 tivity in the performance of it. The man, whom the 
 Psalmist would describe, is one who, by industrious 
 continuance in well doing, renders himself useful and 
 valuable in society who is ever actuated by an 
 enlarged and benevolent zeal to promote happiness 
 and virtue whose hand is ready to be put forth in 
 every good enterprise whose time and faculties are 
 steadily and strenuously devoted to beneficial em 
 ployments who is willing to make exertion, and 
 takes delight in making it, to relieve the suffering, 
 defend the defenceless, arid reward the worthy 
 who constantly strives, while providence permits 
 him to dwell on the earth, to promote the great ob 
 ject of its administration, by faithfully and earnestly 
 exercising all his energies in every direction in which 
 they can usefully be put forth. This is the man 
 who "worketh righteousness." 
 
 " And speaketh the truth in his heart." This is 
 the last point in the character described in the text. 
 It implies that strict veracity is observed, that nothing 
 but truth is spoken. But it implies more than this. 
 It requires, when taken in connection with the pre 
 vious clauses, that the truth should ahvays be spok 
 en that even, when selfish considerations would 
 prompt to silence, there should be, not merely a 
 willingness, but a disposition to declare and defend 
 the truth without regard to private expediency, or 
 
fear of personal consequences. The man, who 
 comes up to the description of the text, will always 
 feel within him an original, positive and urgent im 
 pulse to bring forward his testimony and counten 
 ance in favor of the true principle, and the righteous 
 cause ; he will feel that the Divine Being has com 
 manded him to promote and sustain on all occasions, 
 under all circumstances, that truth, which proceeded 
 from him as from a fountain, and which, by the min 
 istry of his faithful and fearless children, is at last to 
 have free and wide course, and be glorified through 
 out the earth. 
 
 He who merely abstains from aiding in giving cur 
 rency to what is false, does not do all, nor the best 
 part, of his duty. He must come forward and 
 speak out the truth, or what he thinks to be the 
 truth. He must give utterance boldly, and without 
 reserve, to his own honest opinions, or he cannot be 
 considered as having discharged his whole duty to 
 his fellow men, or to Him, who called him, by the gift 
 of reason, to the sublime pursuit of truth who, when 
 he kindled the light of intellect within him, ordained 
 that it should shine around him upon others. If 
 there were not so much timidity and indifference 
 among good and enlightened men with respect to the 
 prevalence of truth, if all were disposed openly and 
 fearlessly to express their sincere opinions, the pub 
 lic sentiment of every community would be far more 
 sound and correct than it now is, or ever has been, 
 and the cause of truth would receive an impulse 
 which it has never yet felt among men. 
 
 The expression, " in the heart, 5 ' has an important 
 meaning, and must be carefully taken into consider- 
 
8 
 
 ation. It determines that it is not required of a man 
 to maintain or to speak the actual, abstract truth, 
 but the truth, according to his apprehension of it. 
 If^ after an honest, fearless, earnest and diligent 
 exercise of his faculties upon a subject, he ar 
 rives at a certain result concerning it, and declares 
 
 , that result, even if it be not the actual and abstract 
 truth, still it is truth " to his heart" and he speaketh 
 the truth in his heart. 
 
 The character described by the Psalmist, we 
 have now seen, is that of a man who, in all his con 
 duct, is governed by a supreme regard to principle 
 and duty, who industriously and earnestly exercises 
 his faculties upon useful and benevolent designs and 
 employments, and who zealously seeks, at all times 
 and under all circumstances, to sustain and advance 
 the cause of truth. Such a man he says " shall 
 abide in God's tabernacle, and dwell in his holy 
 hill." Heaven is his portion, and he is secure of 
 the favor and blessing of his Creator and Father. 
 In this world he may suffer tribulation, but " he 
 cannot be moved." There is a virtue that goeth 
 
 i forth from his example and his memory, and when 
 death shall have spent its power upon him, he shall 
 be raised in honor and in glory, and be transported to 
 a world where eternal rewards shall be conferred 
 upon truth and virtue, and there, in the bosom of his 
 God, he shall dwell forever beyond the reach of 
 change, and suffering, and sin. 
 
 We need not be troubled therefore, my friends, 
 when the just and upright die. It surely will be 
 well with them. We have a promise resting upon 
 
9 
 
 the word of God that they are pleasing in his sight, 
 and that an entrance shall be ministered unto them 
 into the kingdom of Heaven. How glorious is the 
 reward which is thus assured to the pure, and just, 
 and upright ! and what a rich consolation is given 
 to those from whom such are removed ! 
 
 To us, my friends, is this consolation given and 
 we all, at this moment, can appreciate it. The infi 
 nitely wise ruler of the universe has removed from 
 the midst of us, an honored and venerated member 
 of this congregation and church. He was pure, 
 just, and upright. He was a man " in whom was 
 no guile" during a long life he " walked uprightly, 
 worked righteousness, and spoke the truth in his 
 heart." Let us be comforted, therefore, by the 
 blessed assurance that he will "abide forever in 
 God's tabernacle, and dwell on his holy hill." 
 
 It is well known to you that it is not my custom 
 to invade from this place the private sorrows of be 
 reaved families, by any particular allusions to the 
 causes of their affliction. Consolation is best ad 
 ministered to the hearts of mourners in those private 
 and domestic retirements where their loss is chiefly 
 felt. There is a tenderness of sensibility in the 
 bosoms of the sorrowing, which shrinks back from 
 public exposure. Yet I cannot but feel that the 
 present is an occasion which demands a departure 
 from the principle which usually governs me. If when 
 a great and good man, whose life and character have 
 ever illustrated the principles of virtue and religion, 
 whose example of integrity and duty if presented to 
 the community would surely inspire a love and admi- 
 
 2 
 
10 
 
 ration of its own excellence, and whose influence has 
 always been given to the promotion of those ends 
 for which the pulpit has been erected if, when such 
 a man dies, and the whole community is mourning 
 his loss the pulpit does not improve the favorable 
 opportunity to impress upon all a deep sense of his 
 virtues, and thus excite a desire to imitate them, it is 
 false to its trust. I therefore beg the indulgence of 
 those, to whom this our severe bereavement has car 
 ried the keenest affliction, while I attempt to dis 
 charge (would that more strength were given me to 
 discharge it),* the duty of my office, by presenting 
 to you, my friends and people, and urging upon your 
 imitation the virtues of that great man who has just 
 fallen in the midst of us. 
 
 Our country has lost one of its purest and most 
 patriotic one of its most honored and useful citi 
 zens but his character will ever remain among its 
 richest treasures. This ancient town has lost one 
 of its most active and virtuous inhabitants but his 
 name will forever be written high among the highest 
 in the catalogue of its illustrious sons. This church 
 has lost one of its most worthy and devout members 
 but never, never, while memory remains, shall we 
 forget that venerable and dignified form those 
 noble features, upon which our eyes have delighted 
 to look, when assembled here to commemorate our 
 Saviour, or to worship our God. 
 
 If this were the place, or the occasion, I might re 
 hearse to you his honorable and brilliant career of 
 
 *This discourse was prepared in great haste, and while the author was suf 
 fering from indispositiou. 
 
11 
 
 public service and usefulness, from a period long 
 anterior to the American Revolution, through all its 
 scenes of blood and suffering, and in stations of great 
 public trust and importance, since the commence 
 ment of the government of the nation, almost to the 
 day of his death. He not only served faithfully this 
 his native commonwealth and the nation at large in 
 the general government, but his name stands among 
 the fathers and founders of another commonwealth, 
 one of the largest in the union. At the time of his 
 death he was among the last surviving members of the 
 convention, which framed the present Constitution 
 of the great State of Pennsylvania, and his zealous 
 exertions procured the insertion into that instrument 
 of the all-important article, the object of which was 
 to secure to the whole people of that commonwealth 
 the blessings of education, by a legal and certain pro 
 vision for the gratuitous instruction of the poor. But 
 I must not allow myself to enter into an enumeration 
 of his great and various public services. That has 
 been done by others elsewhere,* and the cause of 
 truth and justice and virtue imperiously requires 
 that a full and thorough delineation of his upright 
 and illustrious life and character should be transmit 
 ted down among the historical treasures of future 
 generations. His venerable image will be preserved 
 in the hearts of his countrymen. His worthy exam 
 ple will shed a guiding and cheering light upon the 
 years that are to come, and a high place will be as 
 signed him among the descendants of the Puritans 
 and Pilgrims, and among those noble and fearless 
 
 * See Appendix. 
 
12 
 
 men, who by their great actions and services ren 
 dered their own age, the heroic age of their country. 
 Our venerable and honored friend possessed, and 
 through life exhibited virtues, which it well becomes 
 us to commemorate in this place, and aspire to in 
 all places. I can only glance at some of the most 
 striking traits of his character. He was distinguish 
 ed for the native simplicity of his heart and man 
 ners. This characteristic is especially worthy of 
 notice when we consider the high rank w ? hich he 
 held among the distinguished men of the nation, 
 the dignified places he had occupied, and the wide 
 space which his reputation has filled in the history 
 and opinions of his country. Although he must have 
 been conscious of all this, still we never perceived 
 the least effect arising from it, to diminish the sim 
 plicity, and ingenuousness of his deportment. He 
 literally knew no guile. The feelings of pride, jeal 
 ousy and suspicion seem never to have entered his 
 heart. He would listen with respect and confidence 
 to all, however humble or however young, who 
 might be thrown into his company. In his manners 
 and in his feelings he carried the great Christian 
 doctrine, that we are all of one blood, brethren of 
 the same family, children of the same parent, heirs 
 of an equal inheritance, into the most perfect de 
 velopment. He looked not on the most humble as 
 his inferiors, and never abased himself by flattering 
 the most exalted. In this sense, which is its only 
 legitimate and should be the only allowable sense, 
 he was the most thorough republican, with whom I 
 have ever been acquainted. 
 
13 
 
 The next striking attribute of his character was 
 its firmness. For this he is known and distinguish 
 ed throughout the whole nation. When his mind 
 
 o 
 
 was once made up with respect to the course mark 
 ed out by his views of duty and principle, there was 
 indeed no power which man could wield, no induce 
 ment which this earth can offer, that would be suf 
 ficient to appal or to allure him from pursuing it. 
 There was a noble grandeur, a sublime magnanim 
 ity in his character in this respect, which all have 
 acknowledged and applauded. And those who 
 may have thought proper to pursue a different course, 
 so plain was it that he was governed, not by pride 
 or pertinacity of opinion, but solely by his consci 
 entious sense of duty, even they have ever regarded 
 his firmness with lively admiration and with sincere 
 respect. This attribute of his character naturally 
 led him to the formation of the most fixed and de 
 cided opinions of men and things, which to a super 
 ficial observer sometimes assumed the appearance 
 of prejudice. I allude to this because it affords me 
 an opportunity to mention, what has always seemed 
 to me the most extraordinary point in his admirable 
 character. He was not a prejudiced man he was 
 remarkably free from prejudice. The nature and 
 the evil of prejudice is that it discolors the whole 
 moral vision. The man who is subject to it, when 
 he has conceived a dislike to a particular person, on 
 account of something wrong in his actions or charac 
 ter, is rendered unable to see or to appreciate what 
 ever there may be in him that is good and praise 
 worthy. It was not so with our venerable friend ; 
 and my admiration of his pure and upright mind never 
 
u 
 
 rises so high, as when I remember instances in 
 which he has been the voluntary, the earnest de 
 fender of individuals, towards whom he has enter 
 tained a strong feeling of disapprobation for real or 
 supposed faults, when they have been undeservedly 
 assailed, or their actual excellencies have been de 
 nied. He was disposed to do justice to all men. 
 He could not bear to sit in silence when manifest 
 injustice was done even to his enemies. 
 
 While his mind was thus elevated by its supreme 
 love of justice, above the reach of prejudice, it is 
 true that he entertained the most fixed and decided 
 opinions, as has just been observed, of men and 
 things. And it was perfectly natural that he should. 
 As he was governed, in the formation of those 
 opinions by the most conscientious principles, it was 
 impossible for any doubt or hesitancy to arise from 
 within respecting their correctness or justice. And 
 every one who has witnessed his great intellectual 
 vigor, as it appeared in his unrivalled conversation, 
 and in the unsurpassed clearness, purity and sim 
 plicity of his nervous and powerful WTitings, must 
 immediately have perceived that his apprehension 
 of character, of duty and of truth, could not have 
 been otherwise than strong and decided. All good 
 and great men have entertained, every good and 
 great man must necessarily entertain, fixed and 
 determined views and opinions. 
 
 He was a most active man. I mean by this that 
 he was witling and anxious, upon principle, to fill up 
 as high as he could the measure of his duty to be 
 as useful as his faculties and his circumstances 
 would enable him to be. He felt that he was re- 
 
15 
 
 sponsible to their giver for the use of his powers, 
 and he acted upon a prevailing sense of the duty of 
 doing all that he could do for the improvement and 
 welfare of his fellow creatures, while he remained 
 among them. He seemed to regard this as the con 
 dition upon which his life was given and continued 
 to him. The great variety and number of his public 
 services and social employments illustrate his love 
 of activity and his disposition to be useful. It must 
 be fresh in the memory of us all, with what zeal and 
 energy he devoted himself, not many months since, 
 when the call of misery reached us from a distant 
 and famishing land, to the compassionate purpose of 
 providing the means of answering that call. This 
 was the last great service which he rendered to his 
 fellow men, and it was a fit termination of a life of 
 continued active beneficence.* 
 
 He was remarkable for his pure, deep., unfailing 
 love of truth. On every subject he sought to attain 
 to it, in every direction he pursued it. It was utter 
 ed in all that he spoke it shone in his whole life 
 it prompted to every act it was written in his 
 countenance it was never violated at his hands. 
 
 All, whose privilege it was to enjoy an intimate 
 
 * The name of TIMOTHY PICKERING well deserves to be enrolled among 
 the benefactors of the suffering people of Greece. He presided at a meet 
 ing of citizens, convened in Salem, at his request, for the purpose of deliber 
 ating on their claims to compassionate regard, and on the best mode of con 
 tributing to their assistance was Chairman of the Committee of Relief then 
 chosen and wrote the admirable Address which was circulated by that Com 
 mittee throughout the County of Essex. All who co-operated with him in 
 that humane movement, take pleasure in declaring that he imparted to it its 
 life and energy, and that the sufferers who were relieved by the generous 
 contributions of money, food and clothing then made, owe to him pre-emi 
 nently their gratitude. He was at this time 83 years of age. 
 
16 
 
 acquaintance with him, will ever cherish a recol 
 lection of the gentleness of affection and tenderness 
 of sensibility which existed in a rare and heautiful 
 combination with the sterner features of his inflexible 
 character. To the world at large the aspect in 
 which he was chiefly contemplated may have been 
 that which presented to view his energy and firmness, 
 but they who were permitted to be with him, in those 
 scenes and relations in which the heart gives way to 
 the impulses of its nature, can never forget exhibi 
 tions of a tenderness of soul, which the rough colli 
 sions of life could not harden, of a sensibility, which 
 time did not impair. 
 
 But I must hasten to present to you the character 
 of our honored friend in another and a still brighter 
 light. 
 
 He was a religious man. He was a devout be 
 liever in the Christian revelation. This was the 
 fountain from which his virtues drew their strength, 
 their beauty, and their grace. He was not only a 
 devout, but he was a studious Christian. It is but 
 seldom that you will meet with a man, even of that 
 profession of which the Bible is the text book, so 
 thoroughly and minutely acquainted with the scrip 
 tures of both covenants. His knowledge of the 
 sacred writings appeared in the most natural and 
 beautiful illustrations drawn, in the course of free 
 and familiar conversation, from every part of the 
 volume that contains them. And it was impossible 
 to be at all in his company, without discerning how 
 profoundly and how frequently he must have medi 
 tated and reflected upon the doctrines and prospects 
 
17 
 
 of religion.* All who have worshipped in this 
 assembly must have noticed with what constancy 
 he waited upon the services of the sanctuary 
 neither distance, nor inclemency of the weather could 
 detain him from the worship of the Sabhath. In 
 this respect how well did he represent his pilgrim 
 ancestors ! what a good example has he left behind 
 him ! 
 
 His religious opinions were in harmony with 
 those which are here presented and entertained. 
 He was led to them by the deliberate exercise of 
 his mature understanding, and he recommended and 
 adorned them by a long course of virtue and piety. 
 They were at all times a source of consolation to 
 him 5 they shed light upon his path in life, and gave 
 him an unfailing support and refuge, in a hope that 
 was fixed in heaven. They imparted to him calm 
 ness, faith, and peace of mind, upon the bed of death. 
 It was my sorrowful privilege to be with him, for a few 
 moments, not long before his departure, and to join 
 with him in a service of devotion. " I had hoped," 
 said he, " to live a little longer," (for a purpose which 
 he proceeded to mention to me), " I had hoped to live 
 longer 5 but," he continued, directing his venerable 
 countenance upward, " I bow to the will of God, I 
 am ready and willing to die." 
 
 * As an instance of his familiarity with the topics of religion, and his skill 
 in the scriptures, the writer would mention, that in consequence of a conver 
 sation which he happened to hold with his venerable friend, not many weeks 
 before his death, on the question " How are the dead raised up? and with 
 zchat body do they come ?" he received from him, the next morning, in the 
 form of a commentary on the passages in John xx. 19, 20. 24. 26 and 
 27, which had been adduced during the discwssion of the previous evening, 
 a criticism that would have done honor to a professional biblical scholar. 
 
 3 
 
IS 
 
 Thus lived, and thus died, our beloved and vene 
 rated friend and fellow- worshipper. While the 
 history of his country records his actions, and the 
 hearts of his countrymen cherish his memory let 
 us, my friends, all strive to imitate his example, to 
 cultivate his virtues, to strengthen ourselves by his 
 principles then may we hope like him to leave a 
 character behind which will be esteemed by all who 
 contemplate it, and will grow brighter with truth 
 and time, and to follow him to those rewards which 
 await integrity, purity, benevolent usefulness, and 
 piety, in a better world ; for our text assures us, 
 that all, who, like him, walk uprightly, work right 
 eousness, and speak the truth in their hearts, shall 
 abide in God's tabernacle and dwell in his holy 
 hill. 
 
NOTICE OF THE LIFE 
 
 OF 
 
 COLONEL PICKERING. 
 
 [The following notice teas published in the Salem Gazette of January 3CUA; 
 a fcio particulars have been added.] 
 
 With emotions of the deepest sorrow we have this day the painful 
 duty to announce the decease of the Great and Good .Mem, the pure 
 Patriot and illustrious Statesman, the 
 
 HON. TIMOTHY PICKERING. 
 
 He departed this life yesterday morning, after a sickness of a few days, 
 in the 84th year of his age, and has thus closed a long and brilliant 
 course of patriotism, integrity, truth, disinterestedness, and public service. 
 
 Though he has died as full of years as of honors, the departure of a 
 character so much celebrated, respected and esteemed by the public, and 
 so much beloved and admired in the circle of private friendship and do 
 mestic life, will create no ordinary sensation of unfeigned grief. He 
 has left no one of his associate patriots surviving, except the illustrious 
 and venerable John Jay, whose life is so much identified t with the whole 
 of our national history. From the peace of 1763 till a very recent period, 
 he was a zealous, strenuous, intrepid, and influential actor in all the scenes 
 and vicissitudes through which our country has passed ; he participated 
 in the discussions and troubles arising from the Stamp Act, was one of 
 the most ardent and zealous Whigs, and when the Colonies were men 
 aced with hostilites from the mother country, he was the foremost and 
 indefatigable in arousing his countrymen to resistance, and devo 
 ted his time and exerted his influence to array and discipline our milita 
 ry forces for the defence of our liberties. When the struggle came he 
 shrank not from the encounter ; at the darkest and most gloomy crisis 
 of the Revolution, he led a Regiment of Volunteers, consisting of the 
 flower of the young men of this town, to reinforce the feeble band of 
 Washington in the Jerseys, in mid winter, when the army was without 
 pay, without a commissariat, without tents, or a hospital. The discern 
 ing and sagacious eye of Washington selected him for an honorable 
 and arduous station in the General staff of the Army; he shared in all 
 the scenes of hardship, peril, and suffering endured by our patriot for 
 ces till the Peace of 1783. His constancy, fortitude, toils, services, en- 
 
20 
 
 title him to the affection, and endear him to the memory of all who glo 
 ry in our Independence, and exultin the enjoyment of our free institutions 
 and Republican liberty. 
 
 Col. Pickering was born in this town, on the 17th July, 1745, and was 
 descended from a respectable family, who were among the earliest emi 
 grants. He received a liberal education and was graduated at Harvard 
 University in 1763, at the moment when the Peace between Great Brit 
 ain and France had liberated the Colonies from a harassing war, and 
 left them at leisure to investigate and ascertain their Rights in relation 
 to the mother country. The controversy, that soon arose, engrossed his 
 feelings, and enlisted all the powerful faculties^of his mind on the side of 
 his country. He soon became the champion and leader of the Whigs in 
 this vicinity. 
 
 The disputes between Great Britain and her American colonies (which 
 now form the United States) commencing with the Stamp Act in 1765, and 
 revived in 1767, by the act of parliament for raising a revenue in the col 
 onies, gave rise to two parties, which at length were distinguished by 
 the names of Whig and Tory; the latter acquiescing in British claims of 
 taxation ; the former resisting them. In 1767 the Assembly of Massa 
 chusetts sent a circular letter to the speakers of the other Assemblies, 
 for the purpose of promoting the adoption of uniform measures, (by pe 
 titions and remonstrances) to obtain a redress of grievances. Most of 
 those assemblies concurred with that of Massachusetts. In 1768, a let 
 ter from Lord Hillsborough required the Assembly of Massachusetts to 
 rescind the vote of their predecessors for sending that circular letter. 
 This was peremptorily refused, by a majority of 92 to 17. The represen 
 tatives of Salem, Col. PICKERING'S native town, were among the 17. 
 At the next election, they were neglected, and Whigs chosen in their 
 stead. This was the crisis of the political revolution in Salem. Col. P. 
 was then four-and-twenty years old. His elder and only brother, the 
 Hon. John Pickering, was chosen one of the representatives : and from that 
 time he was himself actively engaged in all the Whig measures which 
 were preliminary to the final revolution and independence of the colonies. 
 Always a member of the committees of inspection and correspondence, 
 the burthen of the writing rested upon him. The memory of one of 
 those Documents, characterized by the most magnanimous and gener 
 ous sentiments, is preserved by Dr. Ramsay, in his elegant "History of 
 the American Revolution." 
 
 When, in 1774, the British Parliament, by an act usually called the 
 Boston Port-Bill, shut up the capital of Massachusetts from the sea, 
 thereby prostrating its active and extensive commerce, the seat of the 
 provincial government was removed from Boston to Salem. Sympa 
 thizing with the sufferers of Boston, the inhabitants of Salem, in full 
 town-meeting, voted an address to the new governor, General Gage, 
 
21 
 
 the great object of which was, so far as an expression of their sentiments 
 would go, to procure relief for their brethren in Boston. That ad 
 dress was written by Col. Pickering, and he was deputed as one of a 
 Committee to present it in person to Gov. Gage. Its conclusion Dr. 
 Ramsay has justly thought worth transcribing on the page of history. 
 It here follows with his introductory observation : 
 
 " The inhabitants of Salem, in an address to Gov. Gage, concluded 
 "with these remarkable words 'By shutting up the port of Boston, 
 " some imagine that the course of trade might be turned hither, and to 
 " our benefit. But nature, in the formation of our harbor, forbid our be- 
 " coming rivals in commerce with that convenient mart ; and were it 
 " otherwise, we must be dead to every idea of justice, lost to all feel- 
 " ings of humanity, could we indulge one thought to seize on wealth, 
 " and raise our fortunes on the ruins of our suffering neighbors." 
 
 While the seat of government remained at Salem, Col. P. received 
 a note from the secretary of the province, informing him that the gov 
 ernor wished to see him at the secretary's house. He went, and was 
 introduced to Gen. Gage. Taking Col. P. into another room, the gener 
 al entered into conversation on the state of things, the solemn league 
 and covenant, and the non-importation agreements. In the conclusion, 
 the general said " Well, there are merchants who, notwithstanding all 
 your agreements, will import British Goods." Col. P. answered 
 " They u may import them, but the people will use their liberty to buy 
 them or to let them alone." These incidents are mentioned as evidences 
 of the confidence he had acquired among his fellow-citizens, from an early 
 period of our political disputes with Great Britain. 
 
 Prior to the war he was elected by the citizens of this County 
 Register of Deeds. After the commencement of hostilities, when 
 Massachusetts organized a provisional government, he was appointed a 
 Judge of the Court of Common Pleas, and also Sole Judge of the 
 Maritime Court to take cognizance of Prize causes, pursuant to the 
 resolutions of Congress, for the middle District, comprehending Bos 
 ton, Marble head, Salem, and other ports in Essex. Into these ports 
 were brought most of the Prizes taken by the armed vessels of Mas 
 sachusetts. The number of Prizes while he held the office, which 
 was until he joined the Army under Gen. Washington's immediate 
 command, amounted to about one hundred and fifty. 
 
 On the 19th of Apf il, 1775, was the battle of Lexington. About nine 
 o'clock in the morning, Col. Pickering being in his office, (the registry 
 of deeds for the county of Essex) a captain of militia from the adjacent 
 town of Danvers, came in and informed him that a man had ridden into 
 that town, and reported that the British troops had rnached from Bos 
 ton to Lexington, and attacked the militia. This officer, whose com 
 pany belonged to Col. P's regiment, asked for orders, and received a 
 
22 
 
 verbal answer, that the Danvers company should march without waiting 
 for those of Salem. 
 
 Immediately Col. P. went to the centre of the town, and met a few of 
 the principal inhabitants. A short consultation ensued. Those who 
 knew the distance of Lexington from Salem, and its relative situation to 
 Boston, observed, that the British troops would certainly ( have returned to 
 Boston long before the Salem militia could reach the scene of the re 
 ported action ; and that to march would therefore be useless. It was nev 
 ertheless concluded to assemble the militia, and commence the march 5 
 and for this sole reason, That it would be an evidence to their brethren 
 in the counh-y, of their disposition to co-operate in every measure which 
 the common safety required. This idea, however, of the fruitlessness of 
 their march, was so predominant, that they halted a short time, when a- 
 bout two miles from the town, expecting every moment intelligence 
 that the British troops had returned. But receiving none, they resumed 
 their march, and proceeded to Medford, which was about five miles 
 from Boston. Here Col. P. first received certain information that the 
 British troops were still on their march, and on a route which rendered 
 it possible to meet them. He hastened the march of the militia on the 
 direct road to Charlestown and Boston ; until, on an elevated part of the 
 road, the smoke was seen from the fire of a small number of militia mus 
 kets discharged at a distance, at the British troops. He halted the 
 companies, and ordered them to load, in full expectation of coming to an 
 engagement. At that moment a messenger arrived from Gen. Heath, 
 who informed Col. P. that the British troops had their artillery in their 
 rear, and could not be approached by musketry ; and that the general 
 desired to see him. Leaving the companies in that position, he went 
 across the fields and met Gen. Heath. They soon after saw the Bri 
 tish troops ascend the high ground called Bunker's hill. It was about 
 sunset. The next day they entered Boston. 
 
 In the fall of 1776, the army under Gen. Washington's command be 
 ing greatly reduced in numbers, a large reinforcement of militia was 
 called for ; 5000 from Massachusetts. Col. P. took the command of the 
 regiment of 700 men furnished from Essex. When the orders came, he 
 assembled the militia in the First Church in Salem, harangued them, and 
 exhorted them to step forward in defence of our liberty in that hour of 
 peril. After having sent round the drum and fife, as the signal for vol 
 unteers, he stepped forward as the first ; his patriotic example was 
 quickly followed by large numbers. The quota of Salem was composed 
 of volunteers. 
 
 This tour of militia duty was performed in the winter of 1776 7; 
 terminating at Boundbrook, in New-Jersey ; Gen. Washington's head 
 quarters being at Morristown. 
 
23 
 
 Soon after his return home, Col. P. received an invitation from Gen, 
 Washington to take the office of Adjutant- General. This he accepted, 
 and joined the army under Washington's command at Middlebrook, in 
 New-Jersey. The following letter was addressed to the President of 
 Congress by Gen. W. : 
 
 " MORRISTOWN, MAY 24, 1777. 
 
 " SIR, I beg leave to inform Congress, that, immediately after the re 
 ceipt of their resolve of the 26th of March, recommending the office of Ad 
 jutant-General to be filled by the appointment of a person of abilities and 
 unsuspected attachment to our cause, I wrote to Col. Timothy Pickering, 
 of Salem, offering him the post in the first instance, and transmitting at 
 the same time a letter for colonel William Lee, whom Congress had been 
 pleased to mention, to be delivered him in case my offer could not be ac 
 cepted. This conduct, in preference of colonel Pickering, I was indu 
 ced to adopt from the high character I had of him, both as a great mili 
 tary genius, cultivated by an industrious attention to the study of war, 
 and as a gentleman of liberal education, distinguished zeal, and great 
 method and activity in business. This character of him I had from gen 
 tlemen of distinction and merit, and on whose judgment I could rely. 
 
 " When my letter reached colonel Pickering, at first view he thought 
 his situation in respect to public affairs would not permit him to accept 
 the post. That for colonel Lee he sent immediately to him, who in con 
 sequence of it, repaired to head-quarters. By Col. Lee I received a 
 letter from colonel Pickering, stating more particularly the causes 
 which prevented him accepting the office when it was offered, and as 
 suring me that he would in a little time accommodate his affairs in such 
 a manner as to come into any military post in which he might be ser 
 viceable, and thought equal to. 
 
 " Here I am to mark with peculiar satisfaction, in justice to colonel 
 Lee, who has deservedly acquired the reputation of a good officer, that 
 he expressed a distrust of his abilities to fill the appointment intended 
 for him ; and, on hearing that Colonel Pickering would accept it, he not 
 only offered but wished to relinquish his claim to it in favor of him, 
 whom he declared he considered, from a very intimate and friendly ac 
 quaintance, as a first military character ; and that he knew no gentle 
 man better or so well qualified for the post among us. Matters being 
 thus circumstanced, and colonel Lee pleased with the command he was 
 in, I wrote to colonel Pickering on his return, who accepted the office, 
 and is daily expected, 
 
 " In this business I beg Congress to be assured, though colonel Lee 
 was postponed in the first instance, their recommendation had its due 
 weight ; and that no motive, other than the regard to service, induced 
 me to prefer colonel Pickering. His acknowledged abilities and equal 
 zeal without derogating from the merits of colonel Lee, who holds a 
 
24, 
 
 high place in my esteem gave him preference ; and I flatter myself 
 the cause will be promoted in his appointment, especially as we shall 
 have two good officers in lieu of one, who, I am persuaded, will do honor 
 to themselves in the line in which they move. 
 
 " I have the honor to be, &c. 
 
 "GEORGE WASHINGTON." 
 
 Gen. Howe having embarked his army at New-York, to proceed, as it 
 was understood either to Delaware or Chesapeake Bay, Gen. Washing 
 ton's army marched from New-Jersey to the State of Delaware ; and 
 thence into the adjacent part of Pennsylvania, to oppose the British ar 
 my then marching from the Head of Elk for Philadelphia. On the llth 
 of Sept., the battle of Brandywine took place. After carrying Gen. 
 Washington's orders to a general officer at Chadsford, Col. P. repaired 
 to the right, where the battle commenced ; and remained by the Gener 
 al's side to its termination at the close of the day. 
 
 On the 4th of Oct. Gen. Washington attacked the British troops at 
 Germantown. Col. Pickering was in the field during the action at this 
 place. 
 
 In December, 1777, the army marched to Valley Forge, and took up 
 their winter quarters in log huts which they erected at that place. 
 
 Before this, the Congress, then sitting at Yorktown, in Pennsylvania, 
 had elected Col. Pickering a member of the Continental Board of War. 
 Gen. Gates and Gen. Mifflin were elected members of the same board, 
 and before the expiration of the winter, they all repaired to Yorktown, 
 where the board sat. In this station Col. Pickering remained until Gen. 
 Greene resigned the office of Q,uarter-JMaster-General. Very unexpect 
 edly, that office was proposed to him, nf& Roger Sherman, then a mem 
 ber of Congress, a man whose name in the annals of his country will 
 descend to posterity among those of her eminent patriots and states 
 men. This office was a most arduous undertaking ; the performance of 
 its toilsome and embarrassing duties had tasked the great abilities of 
 Gen. Greene and cost his feelings the most painful anxiety. Col. Pick 
 ering accepted the office and performed the duties of it to the end of 
 the war. 
 
 The project of besieging the city of New-York, in 1781, having been 
 relinquished, and the siege of Yorktown, in Virginia, resolved on, Col. 
 P. received Gen. Washington's orders to prepare immediately for the 
 march of a part of the army at that place, and for the transportation of 
 artillery, and of all the stores requisite for the siege. This was done. 
 The event is known to every body. Lord Cornwallis and his army were 
 made prisoners. This decided the fate of the war. In the succeeding 
 winter, the British government, despairing of conquest, abandoned all of 
 fensive operations in America; and in November, 1782, articles of peace 
 were agreed on. 
 
25 
 
 When the Continental Army was disbanded, he became a resident in 
 the city of Philadelphia. A few years afterwards, a violent controversy, 
 threatening bloodshed and civil war, arose between the State of Penn 
 sylvania and certain emigrants from Connecticut, who claimed and had 
 settled an extensive tract of territory in the " Beautful vale of Wyo 
 ming." Col. Pickering was deputed by the government of Pennsylvania 
 to adjust and compose those difficulties ; the performance of the trust 
 was attended with personal hazard, but he undertook it with fearless 
 ness. A daring outrage was committed on his person in that country, 
 the details of which are interesting, and even romantic. The following 
 account of it is extracted from a narrative, written by himself in the 
 year 1818, at the solicitation of one of his sons, to whom it was address 
 ed. A few copies of it were then printed and circulated among his 
 friends. 
 
 Col. Pickering in that narrative says, 
 
 " Such was the state of things, when I was requested by several of 
 my respectable friends in Philadelphia, where I then resided, to accept 
 of a mission from the legislature to attempt a reconciliation and submis 
 sion of the Connecticut settlers, to the government of Pennsylvania. It 
 was the autumn of 1786. In September I had passed through their set 
 tlements, on my way with a surveyor and two other gentlemen to view 
 that body of lands in and about the Great Bend of the Susquehanna, in 
 which I was interested, and to which I had then thought of removing 
 not having business in Philadelphia to maintain my family. I saw the 
 Starucca tract, and there I had contemplated pitching my tent : the 
 same tract on which your brother Timothy settled in 1801. 
 
 " Having received some information of the mischievous dispute rela 
 tive to the Wyoming lands, I embraced every opportunity, while pass 
 ing among the settlers, to learn their feelings, and ascertain the footing 
 on which their peaceable submission to Pennsylvania might be effected. 
 
 " On my return home to Philadelphia, Mr. Wilson, then a distinguish 
 ed lawyer at the Philadelphia bar, and afterwards a Judge of the su 
 preme court of the United States, called to see me ; and he dili 
 gently inquired concerning the temper and desires of the Connecticut 
 settlers. I informed him that they were entirely satisfied with the con 
 stitution of Pennsylvania, and were ready to submit to its govern 
 ment, provided they could be quieted in possession of their farms. They 
 had settled them, they said, in the fullest confidence that they were cov 
 ered by the charter of Connecticut : they had made very valuable im 
 provements, built houses and barns, and raised good stock of cattle, and 
 an abundance of the necessaries of life when the whole were laid 
 waste and destroyed by the common enemy, in 1778 and more than 
 
 4 
 
26 
 
 all these things, a great number* of their brethren had perished in bat 
 tle : That from these calamities they had not recovered : they were 
 poor, and incapable of removing and seeking new settlements. 
 
 "The next news 1 heard on this subject,wasfrom my friend Dr. Rush. 
 He told me that the General Assembly, then sitting in Philadelphia, had 
 just passed a law, erecting the Wyoming settlement, and a large extent 
 of country above and below it, into a new county, by the name of Lu- 
 zerne ;f that the usual county offices would be created, all of which 
 would be conferred on me, if I would accept them. That being a New- 
 England-man, the Connecticut settlers would place a confidence in my 
 information and advice, which they would be inclined to withhold from 
 a Pennsylvanian ; and thus I might be the happy instrument of putting 
 an end to an inveterate and disastrous controversy. 
 
 " Mr. Wilson also encouraged and advised me to take the step proposed 
 by Dr. Rush. And after taking time for consideration, 1 informed Mr. 
 Wilson that I would engage in this business, provided I might assure the 
 Connecticut settlers that the Legislature would quiet them in their posses 
 sions. I particularly asked his opinion as a lawyer as I also did that 
 of Myers Fisher, a distinguished lawyer of the society of Quakers 
 "Whether an act of the Legislature would be competent for that pur 
 pose, against the claims of Pennsylvania, under titles of the same lands, 
 derived from the proprietaries : or rather, Whether the power of the Le 
 gislature was competent to enact such a law." Both the gentlemen ans 
 wered in the affirmative to accomplish a very great public good. 
 
 " With this understanding, I received from the Executive, appoint 
 ments to various county offices ; and an act of the Legislature author 
 ized me to hold elections of such officers for the county as were in the 
 choice of the people ; and, in a word, to organize the county. 
 
 "The first object was, to reconcile the Connecticut settlers to the 
 government of Pennsylvania. For this purpose, I went to Wyoming, 
 in January, 1787 ; called meetings of them in their villages, announced 
 the erection of the new county, by which, in all suits at law, justice 
 would meet them at their own doors ; and in jury trials, they would be 
 safe in the hands of their peers, their neighbours, instead of being 
 dragged a great distance from their homes, and tried by Pennsylvani- 
 ans, adherents of Penn, whom they deemed hostile to their equitable 
 
 * To the best of my recollection, they told me that the number of their 
 slain and that died of their wounds, amounted to about 170. 
 
 t This was in honor of the Count de la Luzerne, who had been the 
 French minister to the United States, during several years of our revolution 
 ary war. 
 
21 
 
 rights.* I spent a month among them, and with great difficulty suc 
 ceeded, on the ground of their being quieted in their possessions ; as 
 suring them, that I had strong reasons to express the opinion, that the 
 Legislature would pass a law for that purpose. But just as I was dos 
 sing, prosperously, as I thought, my month's labour, a pretty shrewd 
 man, John Jenkins, a major of their militia, the second f leader in the 
 county, in the interests of the Susquehanna Company, rose and said 
 they had too often experienced the bad faith of Pennsylvania, to place 
 confidence in any new measure of its Legislature ; and that if they 
 should enact a quieting law, they would repeal it, as soon as the Connec 
 ticut settlers submitted, and were completely saddled with the laws of the 
 State. This was prophetic but I had then no faith in the prophecy. A 
 new argument then occurred to me, and it was my last. I rBtpaniaSB. 
 that whatever might have been the conduct of Pennsylvania in times 
 past, I was perfectly satisfied that now she was amicably disposed, and 
 sincerely desirous of a fair accommodation ; and that if its Legislature 
 should once pass a law to quiet them in their possessions, it would nev 
 er be repealed. And to give them the strongest evidence in my power 
 that my confidence was not misplaced, I observed, That all the offices 
 conferred upon me were of small value, because of the scanty popula 
 tion of the county ; that I should need some other resource to maintain 
 my family, such as the product of a farm : that I would therefore pur 
 chase of any of them who had land to sell, what would be sufficient for 
 a farm ; that in doing this I would purchase the Connecticut title only, 
 and thus place myself precisely on a footing with them: and that if, as 
 I confidently expected, a quieting law passed, I should hold the land ; 
 if not, I should lose it. A number of the persons present (and it was a 
 public meeting) immediately declared They could ask no more.| 
 
 * These they called Pennamitefand by the latter, the Connecticut set 
 tlers were called Intruders and Yankees. 
 
 i The first, a man, able, bold and energetic, was John Franklin, a native of 
 Connecticut, and who, at this time, was in Connecticut, consulting with the 
 Susquehanna Company (or its active members) on the means of defeating the 
 pacific measures of Pennsylvania here mentioned. Such are my impressions 
 of the fact, from what I then heard ; and the actual state of things, joined 
 with the events of 1787 and 1788, warrants the conclusion. 
 
 t The father of this Major Jenkins had been a leading man, and one of the 
 judges of the county court, when Connecticut exercised a jurisdiction over 
 them. He had died before I ever saw that country. His son, Major Jen 
 kins, had called to converse with me, at my lodgings, some days prior to the 
 occurrence just stated. A sensible old gentleman, (Mr. Stansbury, then a- 
 bout 80 years old,) originally from New-Jersey, but who had long resided 
 at Wyoming, was present during the conversarion. When Jenkins had re- 
 
28 
 
 "I then recommended to them to petition the Legislature, which was 
 in session in Philadelphia, to enact a law to quiet them in their posses 
 sions. They requested me to write a petition for tham. I did so. The 
 great body of the settlers signed it. I carried it to Philadelphia, and 
 presented it to the Legislature. It was referred to a committee, who 
 promptly made a report favourable to the petitioners, and the commit 
 tee were directed to bring in a bill accordingly. The committee put 
 their report into my hands, and requested me to draw the bill. I made 
 a draught, which was necessarily long, to provide for the various mat 
 ters incident to the quieting and confirming of the Connecticut claims. 
 The principal difficulty arose out of the claims of a considerable number 
 of pepgiij? who had received grants of the best parts of the same tracts 
 of which" the Connecticut settlers were possessed grants made prior 
 to the revolution, under the authority of the Penn proprietaries, to whom 
 belonged all the vacant land in the state, as heirs to Willam Penn, the 
 original patentee of the whole province. If the lands purchased of the 
 proprietaries were to be taken from the purchasers, to quiet the Con 
 necticut settlers, justice required that those purchasers should receive 
 an equivalent. If at any time the state of Pennsylvania had been pos 
 sessed of adequate funds, those purchasers might have been indemnified 
 out of the public treasury : but the state had no money, and the state 
 certificates like those of the United States, were then worth only four 
 or five shillings in the pound. It was in the power of the state, howev 
 er, to give a complete indemnity, without increasing its financial bur 
 thens. There were some millions of acres of new, unappropriated lands, 
 of which the Indian title had three years before been extinguished. 
 These were at the disposal of the state.* I therefore introduced into 
 
 tired, he described the Major's character, as crafty, selfish and unprincipled, 
 and concluded with these words, slowly and emphatically pronounced " and 
 his father before him had more sense than honesty." 
 
 * I think it was about the year 1778, that the Legislature of Pennsylvania, 
 by a law enacted for the purpose, stripped the heirs of William Penn, of all 
 the vacant lands (probably six millions of acres) in the state ; leaving 
 them only a few tracts of unsettled land, called Manors, which had been ac 
 tually located and surveyed ; and engaging to pay them only one hundred 
 and thirty thousand pounds sterling by way of indemnity ; when, at that mo 
 ment, there were due to those heirs, about five hundred thousand pounds 
 sterling, for lands they had sold to the inhabitants, and for quit rents. The 
 pretence for this act of violence against the just rights of those heirs, was (as 
 stated in the preamble to the law) that so large a property in the hands of a 
 few individuals, endangered the liberties of the people. But the principal 
 heir lived in England; and the others, John and Richard Penn, had gone 
 thither; a condition of retaining their estates might have been, their not re- 
 
29 
 
 the bill a section to provide for an equitable appraisement of the tract 
 claimed by the Pennsylvanians, in the Wyoming territory ; and in lieu 
 thereof, authorizing them to locate, where they pleased in the great 
 body of vacant lands, such qualities as would be equivalent to those lost 
 at Wyoming ; not acre for acre, but value for value. 
 
 "The bill, with very small alterations, was enacted into a law. 
 Commissioners, of whom I was one, were appointed to examine the 
 claims on both sides ; those of the Connecticut settlers, to ascertain 
 who were entitled to hold by the terms of the quieting and confirming 
 law ; those of the Pennsylvanians, to ascertain the quantity and ap 
 praise the value of each tract. 
 
 " Here it is necessary to mention the rule of discrimination prescribed 
 by the confirming law, in regard to the Connecticut settlers. 
 
 " The decision of the federal court, at Trenton, on the controversy be 
 tween Pennsylvania and Connecticut, was made on the 30th of Decem 
 ber, 1782, in the words following : 
 
 * This cause has been well argued by the learned counsel on both 
 sides. The court are now to pronounce their sentence or judgment.' 
 
 ' We are unanimously of opinion, that the state of Connecticut has no 
 right to the lands in controversy.' 
 
 'We are also unanimously of opinion, that the jurisdiction and 
 pre-emption of all the territory lying within the charter boundary of 
 Pennsylvania, and now claimed by the state of Connecticut, do of right 
 belong to the state of Pennsylvania.'* 
 
 "This decision, pursuant to the articles of the confederation of the 
 states was final. But although the state-claim of Connecticut was thus 
 forever barred, the case of the innocent settlers under that claim, was 
 entitled to commiseration ; and I early understood that the Judges of 
 the Court recommended it to the government of Pennsylvania, to make 
 some equitable provision for their relief a recommendation, to which 
 that government paid no regard. In drawing the bill for the confirm 
 ing law, I marked the line between the settlers prior to the decree of 
 Trenton, and subsequent settlers ; the former entered in full faith of the 
 right of Connecticut; the latter entered with their eyes open with 
 knowledge that the competent court had decided that Connecticut 
 had no right : the former only were to be quieted in their possessions. 
 
 " The Susquehanna Company, claiming solely under the state of 
 
 turning to America. At any rate, a compromise, bearing even a distant ap 
 proach to an equivalent, might have been adopted, to the entire satisfaction 
 ofthePenns. If I mistake not, the conduct of the Legislature of Maryland 
 was similar, or worse, in relation to the heirs of Lord Baltimore, the original 
 proprietor of Maryland. 
 
 * Journals of the old Congress, vol. 8, pages 83, 84, January 1783. 
 
30 
 
 Connecticnt, ought, like the state, to have abandoned their claim : but 
 defeated at law, they had recourse to intrigue, and all the arts of dis 
 ingenuous and cunning men. In addition to the actual settlers at the 
 time of the decree, they invited and encouraged emigrations from the 
 states eastward of Pennsylvania, of all men destitute of property, who 
 could be tempted by the gratuitous offer of lands; on the single condi 
 tion that they should enter upon them armed, " to man their rights," 
 in the cant phrase of those people. These emigrants were called " Half- 
 share men," and were to have each half of a share in a township, which 
 I believe, was 160 or 200 acres ; a whole share being 320 or 400 acres. 
 By this management, the Susquehanna Company hoped to pour in such 
 a mass of young and able bodied men, as would appear formidable to 
 the government of Pennsylvania ; and to subdue and expel whom, 
 would require a considerable military force, to be raised and maintain 
 ed at a heavy expense of treasure, and perhaps of blood; and that to a- 
 void the evils of such internal war, Pennsylvania might be induced to a 
 compromise ; not merely to quiet the actual settlers prior to the decree 
 of Trenton, and the half-share men also, but to permit the company to 
 take if not their whole pretended Indian purchase, 120 miles in length, 
 and in breadth about a degree of latitude yet so much as would make 
 all the members rich. Such a project, to be accomplished by such 
 desperate and flagitious means, it might be expected would meet no 
 countenance from, much less be the very offspring of men, of whom some 
 were of respectable standing in Connecticut: yet such was the fact: 
 and such men, with their associates, were the authors of the outrages 
 committed upon me, while T resided at Wyoming. 
 
 In May, 1787, a quorum of the commissioners met at Wyoming, now 
 Wilkesbarre, and gave notice of the mode in which they meant to pro 
 ceed in examining claims, and calling on the people to prepare the re 
 quisite evidence to support them, to be presented to the commissioners 
 at their next meeting. This next meeting took place, at Wilkesbarre, 
 in August or September following.* Many claims were then present 
 ed, and examined ; and the commissioners were proceeding regularly, 
 with a fair prospect of completing their work, in a reasonable time : 
 when they were interrupted, and, for their personal safety, obliged to 
 retire from the county. John Franklin, a shrewd and resolute man, the 
 prime agent of the Susquehanna Company, and the chosen commander 
 of the militia, with the title of Colonel, had been for some time visiting 
 all the settlements, to stir up the people to an open and forcible opposi 
 tion to the government of Pennsylvania. Evidence of these practices 
 having been communicated (I know not by whom) to Chief Justice 
 
 * I moved my family to Wilkesbarre in July, 1787. 
 
31 
 
 M'Kean, he issued his warrant for the arrest of Franklin, on a charge 
 of Treason against the state. The sheriff of the county (for it had been 
 completely organized, under the authority committed to me, as before 
 mentioned) chosen by the people (according to law and the usage of 
 Pennsylvania) and living among them, was not deemed the proper per 
 son to execute the warrant, though a very worthy man ; but who either 
 would not have been able to arrest Franklin, or by doing it, rendering 
 himself obnoxious to the mass of turbulent men, might be in too great 
 danger of their vengeance. The Chief Justice therefore directed his 
 warrant to four gentlemen of known fortitude, two or three of whom 
 had been officers in the revolutionary war. On their arrival, they shew 
 ed me the Chief Justice's warrant. Franklin was at that time about 20 
 or 25 miles lower down the river, preparing his adherents for the ex 
 plosion. In three or four days he came up to Wilkesbarre. The four 
 gentlemen seized him. Two of their horses were in my stable, which 
 were sent to them, but soon my servant returned on one of them, 
 with a message from the gentlemen, that people were assembling 
 in numbers and requesting me to come with what men were near 
 me, to prevent a rescue. I took loaded pistols in my hands and 
 went with another servant to their aid. Just as I met them, Frank 
 lin threw himself off from his horse, and renewed his struggle 
 with them. His hair was dishevelled and face bloody, from preceding 
 efforts. I told the gentlemen they would never carry him off, unless his 
 feet were tied under the horse's belly. I sent for a cord. The gentle 
 men re-mounted him, and my servant tied his feet. Then, one taking 
 his bridle, another following behind, and the others riding one on each 
 side, they whipped up his horse, and were soon beyond the reach of his 
 friends. 
 
 But this open aid given by me and my servants, in securing Franklin, 
 exposed me to the vengeful resentment of his adherents. I would have 
 avoided this step, if I had not believed the welfare of the good people of 
 the county and the public peace depended on securing the person of 
 that daring man. My particular friends, discreet men, who knew infin 
 itely better than I, the character of his adherents, assured me they 
 would assemble, and retaliate on me the treatment of their leader, and 
 probably do me serious bodily harm ; and advised me to go out of the 
 way and secrete myself, until the fury of the storm should pass over. 
 This was in the afternoon of the 2d or 7th of October. I retired to a 
 close wood not far from the house I occupied. In the evening I return 
 ed to my family. Some of the well disposed neighbours assembled with 
 their arms. The rising of Franklin's men was expected from the oppo 
 site side of the river. I desired my friends to place sentinels along the 
 bank, where they might discover the first movements for crossing the 
 river ; and then sat down to sup with my family. Before I had finished 
 
32 
 
 that meal, a sentinel came in haste from the river, and informed me that 
 Franklin's adherents were crossing in boats. My house was within a 
 furlong of the river. I took up a loaded pistol, and three or four small 
 biscuits, and retired to a neigbouring field. Soon the yell of the insur 
 gents apprised me of their arrival at my house. I listened to their nois 
 es a full half hour ; when, the clamour ceasing, I judged that the few 
 armed neighbours, who had previously entered and fastened the doors, 
 had surrendered. This was the fact. The rioters (as I afterwards 
 learnt from your mother) searching the house for me, and for conceal 
 ed arms, if any there were. 
 
 "While I was listening, Griffith Evans, secretary to the board of com 
 missioners, and a lodger at my house, retiring from it, fortunately taking 
 the same course, joined me. Believing that when they should have 
 searched the house in vain, they would proceed to the near fields, to 
 find me, I told Mr. Evans, it would be well to retire still farther. When 
 we had gained the side of Wilkesbarre mountain, we laid ourselves 
 down, and got some sleep. In the morning I descried, at the distance of 
 a mile, or more, a log house, which was on alot of land I had purchased, 
 and near a mile from the village, and occupied by an honest German, 
 whose daughter lived with your mother, as a maid. I proposed to Mr. 
 Evans, as he had no personal injury to apprehend from the rioters, to go 
 to the log house, and ask the German, in my behalf, to go down to my 
 house, (which, as his daughter was there, would be perfectly natural) 
 and if he could see your mother, enquire what was the state of things, 
 and whether I could return with safety. Mr. Evans waited his return ; 
 and then brought me word, from your mother, that I must remain con 
 cealed ; for they were still searching for me. It was now about eleven 
 o'clock. I told Mr. Evans, that as I could not return to Wilkesbarro, 
 we had better proceed for Philadelphia, and inform the Executive of the 
 state of things at Wyoming. He readily assented ; and we immediate 
 ly commenced our march. It was through pathless woods ; and we had 
 no provisions except the three or four biscuits I had put in my pocket 
 the preceding evening. That we might, not get lost, I proposed turning 
 short to our left, to strike the road leading from Wyoming ; and thence 
 take our departure with more safety. We did so ; and then again dart 
 ing into the woods, proceeded, as nearly as we could judge, in a line 
 parallel to the road, but not in sight of it. A little before sun-setting, 
 we came to a small run of water, which I supposed to be the "nine-mile 
 run," being at that distance from Wilkesbarre. I therefore desired Mr. 
 Evans to go cautiously down the run, till he should strike the road 
 which crossed it. He did so ; it was not far off. On his return, we 
 concluded to lie down, to get some sleep ; intending to rise, when the 
 moon should be up, at about two the next morning, and prosecute our 
 
33 
 
 journey. About two miles from the nine-mile run, was Bear Creek, a 
 stream perhaps 40 or 50 feet wide, and without a bridge. Having 
 several times travelled that road, I knew when we approached it. 
 There I thought it probable the insurgents had posted a small guard to 
 intercept me, leaving their main guard at a deserted cabin four miles 
 back. Mr. Evans proposed to advance alone, to reconnoitre ; and if he 
 discovered there any armed men, to halloo, that I might escape into the 
 woods. I told him that was impracticable ; fatigued, and destitute of 
 provisions, I could not fly ; that each of us had a loaded pistol ; that I 
 presumed the guard at the Creek would not exceed three men ; that if 
 they attempted to take us, we must each kill his man, when the third 
 would be glad to escape. With this determination, we proceeded. 
 The Creek was not guarded ; we forded it, and then marched at our 
 ease. In the morning, we reached the first inhabited house, about 25 
 miles from Wilkesbarre. Here we were refreshed with a comfortable 
 breakfast, and then we went on our way. Having travelled some miles 
 farther, we came to some farmers' houses, where we hired horses ; and 
 then continued our journey to Philadelphia. 
 
 " On my return to Wilkesbarre, I was informed that the arrangement 
 of the guards, to intercept me, was precisely as I had conjectured. A 
 subaltern's command marched to Bear Creek, where they waited till 
 night, when they returned to the cabin ; concluding that I had reached 
 the Creek before them. 
 
 " The insurgents, soon brought to reflection, and deprived of the coun 
 sel and direction of their leader, Franklin, began to relent, and sent a 
 petition to the executive council,* acknowledging their offence, and 
 praying for.a pardon. This was readily granted ; and Colonel Denison, 
 the Luzerne Counsellor, went up with the pardon. It was natural to in 
 fer from this, that I might return in safety to my family. I proceeded ac 
 cordingly : but when within 25 miles, I sent, by a servant who was with 
 me, a letter to your mother, desiring her to consult some of the discreet 
 neighbours, who were my friends, relative to my return. She did so. 
 They were of opinion, that I could not return with safety at present. So 
 I went back to Philadelphia. 
 
 " In September, 1787, the Convention of Delegates from the several 
 states, to form a Constitution for the United States, which had been sit 
 ting several months in Philadelphia, concluded their labours. They 
 recommended that the Constitution should be submitted to a Convention 
 
 * The first constitution of Pennsylvania was then in force. It vested the 
 executive power in the Supreme Executive Council, consisting of a President, 
 Vice President, and one Counsellor from each county. The legislative pow 
 er was vested in a single body, called the General Assembly. 
 
 5 
 
34 
 
 of Delegates to be chosen in each state by the people thereof, under the 
 recommendation of its legislature, for their assent and ratification. Such 
 a convention being called by the Legislature of Pennsylvania, the people 
 ofLuzerne county chose ME their delegate, to represent them in it ! This 
 convention assembled in Philadelphia (where I still remained) I think 
 early in December. After a great deal of discussion, the convention 
 assented to and ratified the Constitution. It was engrossed on parch 
 ment, and received the signatures of nearly all the Delegates, includ 
 ing the opposers while under discussion, with the exception of some 
 three or four obstinate men, and, to the best of my recollection of their 
 characters, as ignorant as obstinate. The opposers of its adoption were 
 the extra-republicans, or democrats the same sort of men who after 
 wards were called anti-federalists, and who uniformly opposed all the 
 leading measures of the federal administration of the general govern 
 ment. 
 
 " I could now no longer doubt that I might return to'Wyoming. I ar 
 rived there the beginning of January, 1788. 
 
 " Franklin remained in jail, at Philadelphia. This put a stop, for a 
 short time, to the unwarrantable measures of the Susquehanna Compa 
 ny ; and damped the zeal of their partisans at Wyoming. Next to his 
 confinement, they seemed to have thought my influence in the county 
 was most adverse to their schemes. How to get rid of me was the 
 question. I presume it engaged their attention for some months. In 
 the spring of 1788, as early I think as April, there were indications of 
 some plot against me ; and then, or soon after, it was menacingly inti 
 mated to me by Major Jenkins, (I doubt not in pursuance of instructions 
 from the Susquehanna Company) in the hope, probably, so to alarm, as 
 to induce me voluntarily to quit the country. In this they were disap 
 pointed. I felt no inclination to abandon my farm and buildings, which 
 had cost me more money than I could again command, nor to relin 
 quish the cause in which I had engaged ; so I pursued ray occupations, 
 as usual. 
 
 " By the month of June, the indications of some sort of an attack upon 
 me, became more apparent. To guard against it, by shutting myself up 
 in my house, would have been fruitless ; because, if determined to ar 
 rest me, my house was not strong enough to exclude them. Besides, 
 if I must abandon my business, I might as well abandon ijj uiillllTji I 
 therefore remained at my post. "*/ 
 
 "On the 26th of June, at about 11 at night, when your mother and I 
 were asleep, and your brother Edward, nine months old, was lying on 
 my arm, I was awakened by a violent opening of the door of the room. 
 " Who's there ?" I asked : " Get up," was the answer. " Don't strike," 
 said I, " I have an infant on my arm." I had no doubt that the intruders 
 were ruffians come to execute the long menaced attack. 
 
35 
 
 I rolled Edward from my arm, rose, and put on my clothes. Your 
 mother slipped out of the other side of the bed ; and putting on some 
 clothes, went to the kitchen, and soon returned with a lighted candle. 
 Then we saw the room filled with men armed with guns and hatchets, 
 having their faces blacked, and handkerchiefs tied round their heads. 
 Their first act was to pinion me ; tying my arms together with a cord, 
 above my elbows, and crossed over my back. To the middle of this 
 cord they tied another, long enough for one of them to take hold of, to 
 prerent my escaping from them. They told me it would be well to 
 take a blanket or outer garment, for I should be along time in a situa 
 tion where I should want it.* I desired your mother to get me an old 
 surtout, which was in the chamber.f She quickly returned, and I re 
 ceived it on one of my arms. They then led me off, and hastened 
 through the village of Wilkesbarre, in perfect silence. Having travel 
 led a couple of miles, they halted a few minutes. Then resuming their 
 march, proceeded to Pittstown, ten or eleven miles up the river from 
 Wilkesbarre. Here they stopped at a tavern and called for whiskey 
 offering some to me, which I did not accept ; I drank some water. 
 
 " In twenty minutes, they left this house, and pursued their march. 
 There were about fifteen of them arranged in my front, my rear, and 
 on both flanks. We were in the darkness and stillness of night. As 
 we proceeded, one of the ruffians at my side thus accosted me "Now 
 if you will only write two or three lines to the Executive Council, they 
 will discharge Colonel Franklin, and then we will release you." In 
 stantly I answered " The executive Council better understand their 
 duty, than to discharge a traitor to procure the release of an innocent 
 man," "Damn him, (exclaimed a voice before me) why don't you 
 tomahawk him ?" This wrath of the ruffian was excited by the word 
 " traitor," applied to their old leader, Franklin. No more words were 
 uttered on this subject. 
 
 We soon reached the river Lachawannack, about two miles from the 
 tavern. After searching a little while, they found a canoe, in which 
 some of them passed over. On its return I stepped in, with the others of 
 
 * When I stepped out of bed, the first garment I took up was a coat, in a 
 pocket of which was a packet of letters which I had written to one or more 
 of jny acquaintances, members of congress, (then sitting at New-York) de 
 tailing the conduct and characters of some of the leaders in the nefarious 
 measures of the Susquehanna Company ; which letters Mr. Andrew Elicot, 
 then at Wilkesbarre, and who was to set off for Philadelphia the next morn 
 ing, was to take with him. I dropped the coat, and felt for a pair of fustian 
 trowsers, and fustain jacket with sleeves. These I put on and my shoes. 
 
 t Your mother afterwards informed me that one of the ruffians followed 
 her to the chamber, and threatened to tomahawk her, if she made any noise. 
 
36 
 
 the gang. The water was low, and the canoe touched the bottom, 
 before we reached the shore. I was going to step out and wade to the 
 shore. "Stop" said one of them, who had a pack at his back. He 
 waded to the shore laid down his pack returned to the side of the 
 canoe, and carried me on his back to the shore ! 
 
 " Proceeding upwards, we in a little while came to a ferry. The day 
 had dawned. They crossed over in a scow (a large flat-bottomed boat) 
 to the western side of the Susquehanna ; and we continued our march, 
 on the shore of the river, for an hour or two ; then struck into the woods, 
 and pursued the course upwards, out of sight of the river. About four 
 in the afternoon, they arrived at a log house near the bank of the river 
 about thirty miles above Wilkesbarre. Here they had victuals cooked, 
 and I ate with a good appetite ; having fasted since I was taken the 
 preceding night. 
 
 " Seeing a bed in the room, I laid myself down upon it. I do not re 
 collect when they unpinioned me. I had lain but a little while, when 
 a man arrived in a boat from Jacob's Plains, a small settlement about 
 two miles and a half above Wilkesbarre. I knew the man. The ruf 
 fians (supposing that I was asleep) inquired with eagerness, what was 
 the news below ; and whether the militia had turned out to pursue 
 them. He answered in the affirmative. I immediately saw that I 
 should not be suffered to keep my place on the bed. In a few min 
 utes, one of them came to the bed side and said " get up." I rose, and 
 they took "me directly back from the river, a quarter of a mile ; and 
 behind a rising ground they rested for the night. Tt thundered ; 
 and a heavy rain soon wet us to the skin. At day-light one of the 
 crew went to the house : and finding all quiet, he returned, and we all 
 went thither. The drying of our clothes, and eating breakfast, employ 
 ed us till about ten o'clock. Standing with them on the bank of the 
 river, I observed a man on the other side, leading a horse. It was on 
 the shore of the river. Being near sighted, I did not know him. But 
 one of them exclaimed "There goes Major Jenkins, now, a damned 
 stinking son of a bitch." By this courteous observation on the second 
 man of the party, and the first in Franklin's absence, it was apparent, 
 that after encouraging and engaging them in the diabolical outrage 
 upon me he had deserted them. He, in fact, kept on his route, went 
 into the state of New- York, and there, being a land surveyor, found 
 employment, during the residue of the season, and until tranquillity was 
 finally restored to the county. 
 
 "By this time, the blacking had disappeared from the faces of the 
 ruffians ; when I found two of them to be sons of one Dudley, a carpen 
 ter, and a near neighbour at Wilkesbarre. The others were all before 
 unknown to me. 
 
 " They now prepared to cross over to the eastern side of the Susque- 
 
37 
 
 hanna. Gideon Dudley came up to me with a pair of handcuffs, with 
 which to manacle me. To this I objected, as they were going- to cross 
 the river in a small canoe, and I desired to have a chance of saving my 
 life by swimming, if it should overset. At this moment Mr. Earl 
 (whom I had not known, but who was father to two of the party) inter 
 posed telling Dudley that there was no danger of an escape, and ad 
 vising him not to put the irons upon me. He accordingly forebore. 
 We crossed the river ; and they pursued their march. In an hour, they 
 halted ; the leader of the band selected four, and bid the rest go on 
 With these four and me, he darted directly into the woods. This ex 
 cited some apprehension in me, of personal mischief; especially as one 
 of them, by the name of Cacly, sustained, as I understood, a very bad 
 character. The leader of this band was a hunter, and had his rifle 
 gun witli him. As we proceeded a fawn was started, and as he bounded 
 along, the hunter shot him, and in five minutes had his skin off, and the 
 carcase slung on his back. At the distance of three or four miles from 
 the river, they halted, close by a very small run of water. A fire being 
 quickly kindled, they began to cook some of the venison. The hunter 
 took his first cut. They sharpened small sticks, at both ends, running 
 one into a slice of the fawn, and setting the other end into the ground, 
 the top of the stick bearing so near the fire as to broil the flesh. Being 
 hungry, I borrowed one of their knives, and followed their example. 
 I observed the hunter tending his steak with great nicety ; and sprink 
 ling it with a little salt. As soon as it was done, he with a very good 
 grace, presented it to me ! 
 
 "Before night, they cut down some limbs of trees, and formed a slight 
 booth, to shelter us from the dew. One of them taking post as a senti 
 nel, we lay down on the ground : my pillow was a stone. In this situa 
 tion we remained about a week. At first, they had some good salt 
 pork, and wheaten bread that lasted two or three days ; after which 
 they got Indian meal, which they made into cakes, or fried, as pancakes, 
 in the fat of the pork. Of the pork they were very sparing ; frying only 
 two or three small slices at a time, and cutting them up in the pan. 
 Such was our breakfast, dinner and supper : my share did not exceed 
 five mouthfuls of pork at each meal.* They fared better sopping up, 
 with their bread or cakes, all the fat in the pan, of which I felt no in 
 clination to participate. It was here I told them they would repent of 
 their doings ; and instead of being supported by four hundred men in 
 the county, as they had professed to believe, that they would be aban 
 doned to their fate. 
 
 * Yet 1 never felt more alert and vigorous in my life ; which I ascribed to 
 my necessary extreme temperance. 
 
38 
 
 "From this station they marched a few miles, and took another, in a 
 narrow valley, a sequestered place, and about two or three miles from 
 the Susquehanna. We had no sooner halted, than they came to me 
 with a chain five or six feet long-, having at one end a band like the 
 bands of horse-fetters. Col. Franklin, they said, had been put in irons, 
 in the Philadelphia jail, and they must put irons on me, although it was 
 not agreeable to them to do it ; " but their great men required it." 
 Satisfied that it would be in vain to remonstrate, I was silent. They 
 fixed the band of the chain round my ankle, securing it with a flat key, 
 which they twisted, to prevent its being got off without a tool to un 
 twist the key. The other end of the chain they fastened by a staple to 
 a tree. In this situation I remained an hour or more ; and they employed 
 themselves in forming a booth with the boughs of trees. This chain, be 
 sides its conformity with the orders of their "great men," saved my gen 
 tlemen from the burthen of mounting guard every night. When we lay 
 down, they placed me in the middle, and one of them wrapped the chain 
 round one of his legs ; so that I could not rise to attempt an escape, 
 without waking him up. But I determined not to make the attempt 
 for T soon considered that my life was not in danger ; and I expected 
 them to grow weary of their enterprise : so I patiently endured present 
 affliction. Besides, if I escaped they could take me again, unless I 
 quitted the county ; which was the precise object of the outrage to 
 get rid of me. 
 
 We had been in this valley but two or three days, when, one morn 
 ing, whilst all my guard were fast asleep, I heard a brisk firing of mus- 
 quetry. It was a skirmish, I had no doubt, between the " Boys" (as 
 these fellows called their party) and the militia, who had come from be 
 low to discover them, and rescue me. But I let them sleep on ; nor did 
 I tell them of the firing, after they awoke. After breakfast, one of 
 them went down to a house by the river, in their interest, and returned 
 in haste, to tell his comrades that the " Boys" and militia had met, and 
 that in the battle, captain Ross, who commanded the militia, was mor 
 tally wounded.* At the close of this, or the next day, they marched 
 down to the river, and sought for a canoe to cross over to the western 
 side ; but could find none. We were now at Black- Walnut Bottom, 
 about 44 miles above Wilkesbarre. Thus disappointed, they marched 
 back into the woods, and we lay down for the night. The next day } 
 towards evening, they went again to the river, and crossed it. It was 
 so dark, that at the distance of thirty or forty yards, we might pass un 
 seen. They passed through a thick wood to the house of one Kilborn, 
 father to two of the party. There we lodged. The next morning they 
 
 * He was badly wounded, but recovered. Gideon Dudley received from 
 the militia a ball through his hand. 
 
pushed back into the woods, about four miles from the river. This was 
 the third and last station. This changing from place to place, was 
 to prevent their being discovered by the militia, who came from below, 
 at different time, to find them. 
 
 "On the 15th of July, Gideon Dudley (who now appeared to have the 
 command) with two others, came out to our station. It was late in the 
 afternoon. After lounging about for some time, as if they did not know 
 what to do with themselves, they approached me ; and Dudley asked 
 " Don't you wish to be set at liberty ?" " To be sure I do" was my 
 answer. After a little pause, Dudley again accosted me "What will 
 you do for us if we will set you at liberty ?" " What do you wish me 
 to do for you ?" was my reply. " Will you intercede for Colonel Frank 
 lin's pardon ?" " No, I will not." This answer was evidently unex 
 pected ; they were confounded ; and retiring, they for sonic time laid 
 their heads together. Then again coming near, one of them asked 
 " Will you intercede for our pardon ?" After a momentary pause, I 
 answered " While I have been in your hands, you have told me of 
 your ' Great Men,' and that you have been acting in obedience to their 
 orders. By them you have been misled and deceived. Give me their 
 names, and I have no doubt of obtaining your pardon." This they could 
 not do, they said, without going down to their Head-Quarters, and con 
 sulting the main body ; and turned on their heels to depart "Stop," said 
 I, " and knock oif this chain." They instantly took off the chain, that 
 I had carried about for ten days. 
 
 " I lay down with my guard that night, not doubting of my speedy 
 release. As soon as it was light, I rose, put the fire-brands together 
 (in the woods, a fire is generally kept up at night even in the warmest 
 weather) ; mixed up some of their miserable coarse Indian meal for 
 cakes, spread the dough on pieces of hemlock bark (the usual trenchers) 
 and set them to the fire. As soon as it was light enough to see our 
 green tea, I went to gather it. This was the winter green, bearing red 
 berries, which went by the name of partridge berries. Infused in boil 
 ing water, the winter green makes a tolerable warm beverage.* 
 
 By thise time rny guard were awake, the tea was boiled and the cakes 
 were baked. I told them that expecting to be released, I had risen and got 
 the breakfast ready, in order to'gain time ; for if released, I had a par- 
 
 * They once asked me if I should like a dish of coffee. " A dish of coffee 
 by all means," I answered. They went to work. Boiling water in their 
 iron pot, to make it clean, then emptying it, they set it over to heat. They 
 next strewed into it some Indian meal ; and when this was roasted, they 
 poured in water ; and as soon as it was boiled, the coffee was made. It was 
 an agreeable change for our green tea. 
 
40 
 
 ti'cular desire to reach home the next day.f I then proposed that we 
 should go to their head-quarters, without delay ; where, if released, it 
 would be well ; if not, I would come back with them again into the 
 woods. They readily assented took up their kettle and frying-pan 
 (our kitchen furniture) and down we marched. When arrived near 
 to their head quarters, they halted. One went to announce our arrival. 
 Two or three came out, Gideon Dudley at their head when he put to 
 me the original question, "Will you intercede for Colonel Franklin's 
 pardon?" "I will answer no question till I am set at liberty," was my 
 return. They conducted me into Kilborn's house. 
 
 "It was now the 16th of July. Nineteen days had passed away, 
 while I had been their prisoner. Having no razor, nor a second shirt, 
 I had neither shaved nor changed my linen during that whole time. 
 They had told me, if I desired clothing or any thing else from home, and I 
 would write for them, they should be brought to me. I accordingly 
 wrote to your mother for clothing and for a book. She sent them up 
 as directed, and they arrived at Zebulon Marcy's at Tunkhannock ; 
 and there I found them, after I was released. The shirt I wore from 
 home, I repeatedly took off, and washed as well as I could, in cold water 
 and without soap. 
 
 " As soon as I entered Kilborn's house, they brought me a razor and 
 soap to shave, and a clean shirt, and pair of stockings ; and told me I 
 was at liberty. They roasted some chickens, and gave me as good a 
 dinner as the poor wretches could furnish. 
 
 " While dinner was preparing, they renewed their request, that I 
 would intercede for Franklin's pardon. This I again peremptorily re 
 fused to do. Then they made the same request for themselves ; and I 
 again told them that I could venture to assure them of pardons, if they 
 would give me the mames of their " Great Men" who had instigated 
 them to commit the outrage I had endured at their hands. They con 
 sulted together for some time ; and finally told me they could not give 
 up their names. " This (I said to them) is a very unwise determination. 
 Here are two-and-twenty of you (I had counted them) who may all ob 
 tain pardon, if you will give me the names of your employers ; and a- 
 mong so many, some one at least, to save himself, will turn states's ev 
 idence; you had better therefore give me the names of the men who 
 have engaged you in this wicked business." "Whoever does it (said 
 Gideon Dudley) ought to go to hell, and be damned everlastingly.'' 
 
 " They then made a last request, that I would write a petition for 
 them to the Executive Council praying for pardons, and carrying it 
 
 f It would be the 17th of July iiiy birth day. 
 
41 
 
 with me to Wilkesbarre, take an opportunity to send it to Philadelphia. 
 With this, undeserving as they were, I complied. 
 
 " It was now late in the afternoon ; and unless I went to Tunkhan- 
 nock (distant twelve miles) that night, I could not reach home the next 
 day. They had a good boat in which they carried me down. It was 
 dark when they landed. I had only set my foot on shore, when the two 
 Earls came to me, aside, and offered to become evidences for the state 
 upon an assurance of pardon. This I ventured to give them : but the 
 rogues, when brought before the court, divulged none of the names of 
 their "great men;" and reluctantly furnished any evidence against 
 their companions. 
 
 " Walking from the landing place about a mile, across the Tunkhan- 
 nock bottom land, we arrived at the house of Zebulon Marcy, to get 
 supper and lodging. There I found the bundle of clothing which your 
 mother had sent up for me ; and there, also, I found an inhabitant of 
 Pittstown, going down the river as far as Lachawonnock Creek.* And 
 Tuttle, one of the " Boys," said he would go down with us, and take 
 his chance. The next morning, we three set off in a canoe. Landing 
 the man destined for Lachawonnock, the other went on with me to 
 Wilkesbarre. On the way, he told me that he had joined the " Boys" 
 but two or three days before, in order to discover where I was, and get 
 me rescued out of their hands. 
 
 " Stepping ashore at Wilkesbarre, I walked directly to our house. 
 You were standing at the front door. As I drew near, you looked a 
 moment appeared frightened and retired. Before I reached the 
 door, your mother came with Edward in her arms. Consternation 
 marked her countenance as if I had been an apparition. My return so 
 soon was wholly unexpected ; and she looked at me as if to satisfy her 
 self of the reality. 
 
 " Without waiting the result of their petition to the Executive Coun 
 cil, most of the actual perpetrators of the outrage upon me, fled to the 
 northward, to escape into the state of New- York. On their way, as 
 they reached Wysocks creek, they encountered a party of militia, un 
 der the command of Captain Roswell Franklin, and exchanged some 
 shots. Joseph Dudley was very badly wounded. The others escaped. 
 Dudley was put into a canoe, and brought down to Wilkesbarre, a dis 
 tance of perhaps 60 or 70 miles. The doctor who was sent for, had no 
 medicine. I had a small box of medicines which had been put up un 
 der the care of my good friend Dr. Rush. Of these, upon applica 
 tion of the physician, I furnished all he desired. But Dudley survived 
 only two or three days. On his death, his friends sent to your mother, 
 to beg a winding sheet which she gave them. 
 
 * Small rivers are, in Pennsyvania, called Creeks. 
 
42 
 
 " In the autumn, a court of Oyer and Termintr was held at Wilkes- 
 barre, by M'Kean, Chief-Justice, and Judge Rush. A number of the 
 villains had been arrested were tried and convicted fined and imprison 
 ed in different sums, and for different lengths of time, according to the ag 
 gravation of their offence. The poor creatures had no money to pay 
 their fines, and the new jail at Wilkesbarre was so insufficient, that all 
 of them made their escape excepting Stephen Jenkins, brother to Maj. 
 John Jenkins. Stephen was not in arms with the party ; but was con 
 cerned in the plot. He might have escaped from the jail with the 
 others ; but chose to stay ; and in consequence received a pardon, after 
 about two months confinement. 
 
 " The fate of Captain Roswell Franklin, a worthy man, whom I have 
 mentioned on the preceding page, I sincerely commiserated. Weari 
 ed with the disorders and uncertain state of things at Wyoming, he 
 removed with his family into the state of New- York, and sat down on a 
 piece of land to which he had no title. Others had done the same. 
 T he country was new, and without inhabitants. They cleared land, 
 and raised crops, to subsist their families and stock. In two or three 
 years, when all their crops were harvested, their hay and grain in stack, 
 and they anticipated passing the approaching winter comfortably, Gov. 
 George Clinton sent orders to the sheriff" of the nearest county, to raise 
 the militia, and to drive off the untitled occupants. These orders were 
 as severely, as promptly, executed ; and the houses and crops all burnt. 
 Reduced to despair, Captain Franklin shot himself. This, as well as I 
 recollect was in the autumn of 1792. 
 
 "Governor Clinton was distinguished for energy of character. Had 
 like prompt and decisive measures been taken at the beginning, with the 
 Connecticut settlers at Wyoming, it would have been happy for them 
 and for Pennsylvania ; the actual sufferers would have been few in 
 number: but the unstable, and generally feeble measures of that gov 
 ernment, instead of intimidating, rather encouraged hardy men, desti 
 tute of property, to become intruders ; and thus, eventually, a great 
 many families were involved in calamities. 
 
 " John Franklin, so often mentioned, having been indicted on the 
 charge of treason, for which he had been arrested, remained a good 
 while in jail. At length he was liberated, on giving bond, with a large 
 penalty, And finally all opposition to the government, in Luzerne coun 
 ty, ceasing, he was fully discharged. The people of the county, after 
 wards chose him to represent them in the state legislature, where, in 
 the house of representatives, he sat, I believe, for several years. Dur 
 ing this period, chance, once or twice, threw him in my way. He was 
 very civil, and I returned his civilities." 
 
 In 1790 Col. P. was elected a Delegate to the Convention of the State 
 of Pennsylvania, for the purpose of revising the Constitution of that State, 
 in which he was associated with many eminent men, among whom were 
 
43 
 
 Thomas Mifflin, Thomas M'Kean, William Lewis, James Ross, Albert 
 Gallatin, and Samuel Sitgreaves. At the instance of Col. Pickering, 
 the following wise and benevolent provision was made an article of the 
 Constitution : 
 
 " The Legislature shall, as soon as conveniently may be, provide by 
 law for the establishment of Schools throughout the State, in such 
 manner that the poor may be taught gratis." 
 
 From the year 1790 to 1794, Col. Pickering was charged, by Gen. 
 Washington, (then President of the United States) with several nego- 
 ciations with the Indian nations on our frontiers : In 1793, in a joint 
 commission with Gen. Lincoln and Beverly Randolph, Esq. of Vir 
 ginia, to treat of peace with the western Indians: And in 1794, he was 
 appointed the sole agent to adjust all our disputes with the six nations ; 
 which were terminated by a satisfactory treaty. 
 
 In the year 1791, General Washington appointed him * Post-Master 
 General. In this office he continued until the close of the year 1794; 
 when, on the resignation of Gen Knox, he was appointed Secretary of 
 War. In August 1795, Mr. Edmund Randolph having resigned the of 
 fice of Secretary of State, General Washington gave Col. P. the tem 
 porary charge of that department also. Some time before the meeting 
 of Congress, which was in December following, he also tendered to 
 Col. Pickering the office of Secretary of State, which, from unaffected 
 diffidence he at first declined. But as soon as Congress assembled, 
 without speaking to Col. P. again, Washington nominated him to the 
 Senate to be Secretary of State : and the Senate approved the nomina 
 tion. He continued in this office until May, 1800 ; when he was re 
 moved by the late President Adams, and was succeeded by John Mar 
 shall, the present Chief Justice of the United States, then and ever 
 since his friend and correspondent. 
 
 At the close of year 1801, Col. Pickering returned to live in Massa 
 chusetts. In 1803, the Legislature appointed him a Senator to repre 
 sent the State in Congress, for the residue of the term of Dwight Fos 
 ter, Esq. who had resigned. In 1805, the Legislature again elected 
 him a Senator, and for the term of six years. 
 
 Being in debt for new lands purchased some years before in the Mid 
 dle and Western states, and by the appreciation of which he had hoped 
 to make eventual provision for his children ; and having no other re 
 sources as soon as he was removed from office, in 1800, he carried his 
 family from Philadelphia into the country ; and with one of his sons 
 went into the back woods of Pennsylvania, the Wyoming country, where, 
 with the aid of some labourers, they cleared a few acres of land, sowed 
 wheat, and built a log hut, into which he meant the next year to remove 
 his family. From this condition he was drawn by the kindness of his 
 friends in Massachuietts. By the spontaneous liberalty of those friends 
 
44 
 
 in taking a transfer of new lands in exchange for money, Col Pickering 
 was enabled to pay his debts, return to his native state, and finally to pur 
 chase a small farm in this County, on which he lived many years, culti 
 vating it with his own hands, and literally with the sweat of his brow. 
 
 Col. P. continued to sustain the office of a Senator in Congress till 
 1811, when he devoted himself entirely to the labours of agriculture. 
 Soon after he was chosen by the Legislature of this state a member of 
 the Executive Council, and, during the late war, when apprehensions 
 were entertained that the enemy contemplated assailing our towns and 
 cities, he was chosen a member of the Board of War for the defence of 
 the State. In 1814 he was chosen a Representative in Congress, and 
 held his seat till March, 1817. 
 
 In his retirement he enjoyed the respect and esteem of his contempo 
 raries ; his devotion to his favorite rural pursuits, his extensive corres 
 pondence with eminent and worthy men in various parts of our country, 
 his love of literature and science, and his zeal in promotion of the inter 
 ests of our best institutions, furnished his mind with active employment. 
 
 The activity of his life, and the magnitude and variety of his public 
 labors, left him little leisure for solitary and continued application to the 
 pursuits of science and literature; he made no pretensions to either; 
 yet few public men possessed knowledge so various and extensive. The 
 productions of his pen bear testimony to his ability, power, elegance, 
 and vigor as a writer. The charms and the variety of his powers in 
 conversation were unrivalled, and made him a favorite of the social cir 
 cle. The grave and the gay, the aged and the young, were delighted 
 with his colloquial eloquence, and instructed by his wisdom. 
 
 In public life he was distinguished for energy, fidelity, firmness, 
 promptitude, perseverance, and disinterestedness. The many arduous 
 and honorable offices he filled were in no instance sought by him, but 
 were conferred on him solely for his fitness and ability to discharge the 
 duties of them to the advantage of the public. 
 
 Of his private virtues there is no difference of opinion. All men of 
 all parties speak of them with admiration. This voluntary homage has 
 been paid to his character amid all the vicissitudes of party. In all the 
 private relations of life he was honest, faithful, and humane. No man 
 ever impeached his integrity with any color of justice. Love of Truth, 
 and Integrity that could not be shaken, were his characteristics. 
 "Where Truth led the way, he did not fear to follow." His man 
 ners were plain and simple, his morals pure and unblemished, and his 
 belief and profession of the Christian Religion were, through a long 
 life, accompanied with practice and conduct in accordance with its di 
 vine precepts. 
 
 During the past year he had been employed in preparations for writ 
 ing the Life of Alexander Hamilton, a task he was eminently qualified 
 to execute, as well by the intimacy of the friendship that long existed 
 
45 
 
 between them, as from his familiar and personal knowledge of and par 
 ticipation in the events and measures to which it related. If his life 
 had been prolonged, it cannot be doubted that he would have reared a 
 monument to the memory of that eminent Statesman, worthy of the 
 brilliant reputation of his fellow soldier during the war for indepen 
 dence, and his colleague in the cabinet of Washington. But the wing 
 of ruthless Time has swept away "both the poet and the song." 
 
 The following notice of the early conduct of Col. Pickering in the 
 Revolution, is taken from the new and improved edition of Dr. Holmes* 
 Annals, a standard work in American History : 
 
 " On the 26th of February, [1775] Gen. Gage, having received intel 
 ligence that some military stores were deposited in Salem, despatched 
 Lieut. Col. Leslie from Castle William, with 140 soldiers, in a transport, 
 to seize them. Having landed at Marblehead, they passed on to the 
 draw-bridge leading to Danvers, where a large number of people had 
 assembled, and on the opposite side of which Col. Pickering had mus 
 tered thirty or forty men, and drawn up the bridge. Leslie ordered 
 them to let it down ; but they peremptorily refused, declaring it to be a 
 private road, by which he had no authority to demand a pass. On this 
 refusal he determined to ferry over a few men in a gondola which lay 
 on the bank ; but the people, perceiving the intention, instantly sprang 
 into the gondola, and scuttled it with their axes. There was danger of 
 instant hostility ; but the prudent interposition of Mr. Barnard, minister 
 of Salem, and other persons, prevented that extremity. To moderate 
 the ardour of the soldiery, the folly of opposing such numbers was 
 stated ; and to moderate the ardour of the citizens, that, at so late an 
 hour, the meditated object of the British troops was impracticable. The 
 bridge was at length let down ; Leslie passed it, and marched about 30 
 rods; and the evening being now advanced, he returned, and embarked 
 for Boston. Some particulars of this transaction are taken from the 
 MSS. of President Stiles ; where he farther writes, that the British sol 
 diers pricked the people with their bayonets ; that Leslie kept his troops 
 at the bridge an hour and a half; that he at length pledged his honor, 
 that, if they would let down the bridge, he would march but thirteen 
 rods over it, and return without doing any thing farther ; that the line 
 was marked ; and that Col. Pickering, with his forty brave men, like 
 Leonidas at Thermopylae, faced the King's troops." He had been cho 
 sen Colonel of the Salem Regiment of Minute Men, on the 13th of the 
 same month in which this occurrence happened. 
 
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