
The monument at the site of the Boyd and Parker ambush. The monument reads: “Sacred To The Memory of Lieut. Thomas Boyd and Sergt. Michael Parker Who were captured and afterward tortured and killed. Afar their bones may lie/but here their patriot blood/baptized the land for aye/and wideened freedom’s flood”
Photo credit: Ed Dehm, CC BY-SA 3.0 httpcreativecommons.orglicensesby-sa3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
In the darkness of September 1779, Thomas Boyd heard the muffled squeal of death.
Murphy, he thought. Can’t that man follow orders?
Boyd—an officer barely into his twenties—missed the fatal irony of his question.
But he did sense his mission was compromised. Boyd had orders to scout the British forces, not to engage them. Timothy Murphy’s shot must have echoed through the woods, alerting the Seneca. Worse, the others got away. No doubt the Indian would quickly warn his brothers. The encounter yielded one scalp, a horse saddle, and a bridle.1 It seemed hardly worth the risk Sullivan’s men now faced.
The scouts needed to get out. And they needed to get out quickly. More importantly, Boyd needed to get word back to the General sooner. He dispatched two runners to ride ahead. They returned to report discovering a handful of Seneca on horseback up ahead.2
The young lieutenant remained confident that he would meet up with the main army soon enough. He rode on with his troops. They had not gotten far before they came upon Continue Reading “Thomas Boyd And The Brutality Of The Western Frontier”












Jasper Parrish And The Terror At Civilization’s Edge
Massacre of Wyoming (Pennsylvania), 1858, by Alonzo Chappel, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Captain Zebulon Parish saw the man hurry out of the dense woods into the field. The smell of burning wood wafted through the air around him. In the distance, black smoke rose above the treetops. He thought he heard muffled screams, but it might have been the wind whipping through the forest.
His eyebrow furled as the curious settlers assembled. He was the captain. They looked to him for guidance.
Zebulon recognized the man. It was Lebbeus Hammond.1 He didn’t look too good. Out of breath, he huffed and puffed, “We’ve been attacked!”
This is bad, was Zebulon’s immediate conclusion.
His mind raced. They’re probably coming for us next. How long do we have? And should we prepare for defense or run? Continue Reading “Jasper Parrish And The Terror At Civilization’s Edge”