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James T. Fields

T Jane McCrea. expected reward, and even came to violence and blows. In the midst of it, a chief coolly drew a pistol and fired at Miss McCrea. Pierced to the heart she fell and expired without a struggle. The Indian then her sad fate amid the complexities of civil war seized her long auburn locks, and in a moment HERE are few American women around whom more interest has centred than Jane McCrea, investing her career with everything that can awaken the sympathy of the human heart.

Born in the parsonage of a little Episcopal church in New Jersey, over which her father presided till his death, a few years before the outbreak of the Revolution, she had grown up a beautiful blue-eyed girl, with auburn hair and a fresh, complexion. Her brother having resolved to try his fortunes in Northern New York, she accompanied him to the upper Hudson, bounded up with the scalp-cry, as he tossed the bloody trophy in the air. It was all he bore to Captain Jones to prove that he had fulfilled his commission. The body of the murdered girl, left under the tree, gashed and mangled, was found by the American party sent out in pursuit of the savage assailants.