USA > Massachusetts > History of the early settlement of the Juniata Valley : embracing an account of the early pioneers, and the trials and privations incident to the settlement of the valley ; predatory incursions, massacres, and abductions by the Indians during the French and Indian wars, and the War of the Revolution, &c. > Part 19
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As it subsequently appeared, one of the children of Mrs. Hicks,-a girl between three and four years of age,- directly after her escape, went out to see her father, just while the savages were in the act of scalping him. She was too young to comprehend the act clearly, but, seeing the blood about his head, she commenced crying, and screamed, "My pappy! my pappy! what are you doing to my poor pappy ?"
One of the Indians drew his tomahawk from his belt and knocked the child down, after which he scalped it; and, without venturing to the house, the savages departed. Mrs. Hicks reached the fort, and the news of the murder
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soon spread over the country, but the usual delays occurred in getting up a scout to follow the marauders. Some de- clared their unwillingness to go unless there was a large force, as the depredators might only be some stragglers belonging to a large party; others, that their rifles were out of order; and others again pleaded sickness. In this way the day slipped around, and in the mean time the savages got far beyond their reach, even in case the scout could have been induced to follow them.
Next morning, however, a party mustered courage and went over to the mill, where they found Hicks scalped on the spot where he fell, and his rifle gone.
The inside of the house presented one of the saddest spectacles ever witnessed in the annals of savage atrocities. Two of the children were lying upon the floor crying, and the infant in the cradle, for the want of nourishment had apparently cried until its crying had subsided into the most pitiful moanings; while the little girl that had been scalped sat crouched in a corner, gibbering like an idiot, her face and head covered with dry clotted blood !
Of course, considering the start the Indians had, it was deemed useless to follow them; so they buried Hicks near the mill, and removed the family to the fort.
It may seem a little singular, nevertheless it is true, that the child, in spite of its fractured skull and the loss of its scalp, actually recovered, and lived for a number of years after the outrage, although its wounds were never dressed by a physician. It was feeble-minded, however, owing to the fracture.
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As no other family resided near the mill, no person could be induced to take it after Hicks was murdered, and it stood idle for years.
The murder of Hicks created the usual amount of alarm, but no depredations followed in the immediate neighborhood for some time after his death.
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CHAPTER XXV.
STONE VALLEY-McCORMICK'S FORT-MURDER OF MRS. HOUSTON AND JAMES McCLEES-A DEALER IN GRAIN OF THE OLDEN TIME.
IN consequence of the rumors so rife in 1778 of the country being filled with Indians, the people of Stone Valley, north of Huntingdon, determined to build a fort. While concerting the measures for its erection, a Mr. McCormick stated that, inasmuch as the population of the valley was not very large, and the labor and expense attend- ing the erection of a fortress very great, he would agree that his house should be put into repair, pierced for defence, and that the people should fort with him. This proposition was eagerly accepted by the people, who went willingly to work ; and in a very short time his house was converted into Fort McCormick, into which nearly all the settlers of Stone Valley fled at once.
Among others who took up their residence there was an old lady named Houston, who had resided some seven miles up the valley. She was a very amiable old lady, though somewhat garrulous, for which some of the settlers were disposed to ridicule her. It appears she had a small patch of flax out, which gave her more trouble than a hundred acres of wheat would occasion some men. She
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was constantly lamenting the certain loss of her flax, until the very word flax got to be a byword. As the time for pulling the flax approached, the old woman importuned every man in the fort to accompany her to her house only for a day, but her appeals were all in vain; some declared they would not go so far from the fort for a ten-acre field of flax, while an old soldier intimated that he would be pretty sure to be flaxed if he went. In short, her re- quest was treated as a jest. Nevertheless, the old woman indulged some sort of a vague hope that somebody would help her out of her difficulty, and she continued talking about the flax.
One morning, about the middle of August, a number of men were seated in front of the fort, when some one started the ever laughable theme of the old woman's flax- patch; and, while conversing with the usual levity upon the old woman's trials, a young man, named James Mc- Clees, joined the party. After listening to them some time, he got up and said-
" Boys, it is bad enough to be too cowardly to help the old woman gather her flax; to ridicule her misfortune is a shame."
" If you think it is cowardly, why don't you go and help her pull it?" said one of the men, who was evidently piqued at what had been said.
"That is just my intention," said he. " Mrs. Houston, get ready, and I'll go with you to pull your flax."
The dream was at last to be realized, and the old woman's heart was overflowing with gratitude. In a few moments she was ready. McClees shouldered his rifle, and the two departed-alas! to return no more.
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McClees was but eighteen years of age, but extremely well-proportioned, and his vocabulary knew no such word as fear. Sad fate, that his noble and generous impulses should have been the means of cutting him off in the very flower of youth !
Of the manner of his death there was no living wit- ness to speak; but on and around his body, when found, there were unmistakable signs of such actions as are sup- posed to speak as plain as words.
Both had promised to return to the fort in the evening, or the evening following at farthest. The first evening passed, and they came not; the second evening, and still no sign of them. This created alarm, and the necessary arrangements were made to go in search of them.
As soon as the ordinary duty of the morning was per- formed, as many armed men as it was deemed safe to spare were sent up the Valley. When they arrived at Mrs. Houston's house they found all quiet, and no signs of either Mrs. Houston or McClees having been there. They then started up the hill-side, toward the flax-patch; but before they reached it they found the dead body of Mrs. Houston. She had been killed apparently by cuts from a hatchet on the forehead, and her scalp was taken off. The flax was untouched, which rendered it probable that she was attacked and killed while on her way to the patch.
A hundred yards farther on lay McClees, literally co- vered with blood, and stabbed and cut in every part of his body. As there were no bullet-wounds upon him, it was evident that the fight was a hand-to-hand encounter, and the struggle must have been a long, fearful, and bloody one.
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That McClees had sold his life dearly was also very ap- parent. His rifle was gone; but by his side lay his knife, bloody, and the point broken off. Near him lay a toma- hawk, also bloody, and the ground was clotted with blood for a circuit of twenty yards. In addition to these, eagle- feathers, beads, and shreds of buckskin, were found lying about where the struggle had taken place.
The nature of this fearful fight could only be guessed at by these tokens ; but the true state of it was revealed in a few years after; for within a mile of where the struggle took place, on the bench of the mountain, two hunters found the remains of three Indians covered with bark. The supposition was that McClees had been at- tacked by five of them, and killed two outright and mortally wounded a third before they despatched him.
A hero such as this brave youth proved himself in that desperate encounter certainly deserved a better fate.
In concluding our reminiscences of Stone Valley we cannot omit giving an anecdote, characteristic of the times, told us by an old friend.
Far up Stone Creek lived an old gentleman named O'Burn. In 1777, being a thrifty farmer, he raised nearly a thousand bushels of wheat. The year following, times became very hard- wheat was high, and com- manded a price which placed it almost beyond the reach of poor men. The fact that O'Burn had a large quantity of wheat attracted to his house numerous customers; and the manner in which he dealt with them may be inferred from the following :-
A man reputed to be rich rode up to his house, when Mr. O'Burn made his appearance in the doorway.
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"Mr. O'Burn, have you any wheat?"
"Plenty of it. Have you the money to pay for it?"
"Certainly."
" A horse to carry it, and bags to put it in, I see."
"Oh, yes; every thing," said the stranger.
"Well, then," replied O'Burn, "you can go to Big Valley for your wheat; mine is for people who have no money to pay, no bags to put it in, and no horses to carry it off!"
We regret to say that the race of O'Burns became extinct some years ago.
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CHAPTER XXVI.
TUCKAHOE-MURDER OF JOHN GUILLIFORD.
IN the Valley of Tuckahoe, stretching from Altoona to the mouth of the Bald Eagle, there were some depre- dations committed, but never any of a very serious nature, except upon one occasion. The cause of this can be traced, in a great measure, to the fact that Thomas and Michael Coleman and Michael Wallack lived in the upper end of the valley. These men were so well known and so much feared by the Indians, that, although the Kittaning Path, leading to the Bald Eagle Valley, ran directly through Tuckahoe, they always avoided it, for fear of finding those old and experienced hunters am- buscaded along their route. Besides, Captain Logan, a friendly chief, lived for some years in what is now known as Logan's Valley. He was also known and feared, and he was constantly on the watch to guard against the incursions of hostile savages. Add to this the fact that the valley was thinly populated, and the risk attending the hunting for scalps immeasurably great, small roving parties, on but two or three occasions, made their appear- ance in Tuckahoe.
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In the fall of 1777, two savages took captive two chil- dren while at play, near a cabin located somewhere in the neighborhood of where Mr. Hutchinson now lives. Thomas Coleman happened to be out hunting, and saw them come up the path. Each one was carrying a child, but neither of them had fire-arms, so that he felt quite at ease. From behind the tree where he stood, he might easily have shot one of the savages, but he would not run the risk for fear of hitting the child; so, waiting until they had passed him, he jumped into the path, levelled his gun at them, and shouted "surrender!" The affrighted savages dropped the children and disappeared in the woods.
On another occasion they entered the valley, stole three horses, and set fire to a stable. A number of pioneers tracked them through the old war-path to the top of the mountain; which was quite as far as it was prudent to venture, as that was considered the line dividing the white settlements from the Indian country.
The only massacre in Tuckahoe ever committed by the savages took place in the summer of 1778. A man named John Guilliford cleared a small patch of land a short distance south of where Blair Furnace now stands, and erected his cabin near where John Trout's house is. In the spring of 1778, he abandoned his ground and cabin after the first alarm of Indian depredations, and sought safety in Fetter's Fort. In the course of the summer, after the alarm had somewhat subsided, Guilliford went down to see how his crops were progressing. His body was found the same day by Coleman and Milligan. It was lying at the threshold of his cabin door; so that, in
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all probability, he was shot just as he was coming out of his house. Coleman and Milligan dug a grave near the hut, and buried him as he was, without a coffin. The most remarkable feature about this murder was that Guilliford was not scalped. When we remember that scalps were paid for at the British garrison at Detroit, the omission to scalp Guilliford appears almost inex- plicable. Coleman and Milligan went in search of the Indians, but did not succeed in getting upon their trail.
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CHAPTER XXVII.
EARLY SETTLEMENT OF SCOTCH VALLEY-THE MOORE FAMILY-MASSA- CRE OF WILLIAM MOORE-INDIAN SHOT BY A BOY, ETC.
THE Moore family, whose name is identified with Scotch Valley as the original settlers, came to this coun- try probably about the year 1768, from Scotland. It consisted of Samuel Moore, his seven sons and two daughters,-viz .: Daniel, William, John, Samuel, James, David, Joseph, Elizabeth, and Jane. Their first stopping- place in the interior was in Kishicoquillas Valley, where the hardy Scots commenced clearing land; but the yield not being such as they were led to expect, the two elder brothers, Daniel and William, were sent abroad by the old patriarch to look for better land and more of it. Accordingly, they shaped their course westward, prospect- ing as they went, until they reached what is now known as Scotch Valley. How they found their way to that place, an unbroken wilderness, five miles from the nearest human habitation, or what the inducements were for stop- ping there, were puzzling questions then. Let the reader now look at the fine farms of Scotch Valley, and he will see that, in selecting the spot, the Moores were actuated by a sagacity that enabled them to see those fine lands
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blooming like the rose in the future. They immediately occupied a large tract of land, built a cabin, and commenced clearing. The year following they went to Kishicoquil- las, and brought on the father and the remainder of the family.
Beneath their sturdy blows the giant oaks fell, and the wilderness was turned into fields of waving grain, and they soon had a home that made them even forget the High- lands of Scotland.
When the war broke out they were all stanch repub- licans, active and energetic men, and were foremost in all measures of defence for the frontier.
William Moore, second son of Samuel, a useful man, loved and respected by all who knew him, met his death at the hands of an Indian, in August, 1778. It appears that one morning two of their horses were missing, when William and a lad named George McCartney, about four- teen years of age, started in pursuit of them-as a matter of course not neglecting the caution of the day, to take their rifles with them. At that time two paths led to Fetter's Fort from Scotch Valley,-one by way of Franks- town, through Adam Holliday's farm, fording the river near where the plank-road bridge now crosses south of Hollidaysburg; the other led through the flat, back of the Presbyterian graveyard, and north of Hollidaysburg. This was the most direct route; but, in order to make a thorough research, they went by way of the river road, and reached Fetter's Fort without obtaining any tidings of the missing animals. After remaining at the fort a short time, they started on their way home by the back or direct road. No Indians having been seen in the country
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for some time, they travelled on with a feeling of entire security, and never for a moment entertained the re- motest idea of coming in contact with savages. When they came to a pile of drift-wood,-in what is now known as McCahen's Bottom, half a mile west of Hollidaysburg,- while Moore was in the act of trying to get over the drift, he was shot by an Indian from an ambuscade. The bullet entered his back, passed through the left ventricle of the heart, and he fell dead against the drift.
McCartney, who was some distance off, on the impulse of the moment commenced running. In the mean time the Indian had come from his place of concealment, and, seeing him, drew his tomahawk and followed. McCart- ney soon finding that the savage was the fleetest, and must overtake him, cocked his gun while running, suddenly wheeled, and aimed at the Indian. This unexpected de- fence from a mere boy rather took the Indian by surprise, and he jumped behind a tree, and McCartney did the same, still keeping the aim ready to shoot in case the Indian moved from the cover of the tree. While in this position, the Indian commenced loading his rifle, and, after ramming home the powder, he accidentally dropped his ramrod, which he stooped to pick up; in doing which he exposed his posterior, which McCartney took advan- tage of, and fired. The Indian gave a scream of mingled rage and pain, dropped his rifle, and ran, picking up leaves on his way, which he endeavored to thrust into the bullet- hole to stanch the blood.
Young McCartney, satisfied with the exploit, and thankful that his life had been spared, did not pursue the savage. His first impulse was to do so; but fearing that
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the chase might lead him into an encampment of the enemy, since it invariably turned out that where there was one more were not far off, he returned with all despatch to Fetter's Fort. The men at the fort had heard both shots, but supposed that Moore and McCart- ney had started game of some kind; consequently, they were unprepared for any news of the kind. Fortunately, there happened to be a very large force at Fetter's at the time, and, under the impression that there must be more Indians in the neighborhood, a strong, experienced force at once started out.
When they arrived at the drift, they found the body of Moore, stark in death, leaning against it, with his rifle grasped in his uplifted hands, as if in the very act of try- ing to climb over. His body was removed to the fort by some of the men, while the remainder commenced search- ing for the Indian. By his blood they tracked him nearly a mile up the run, and even found a place where he had evidently stopped to wash the blood off; but at length they lost all traces of his trail. They continued their march, however, to Gap Run, in order to ascertain whether there was any fresh Indian trail. In their conjectures that there were other Indians near they were not mis- taken. Half a mile west of where Hutchinson's Mill now stands, they found traces of a fresh encampment of a very large party, whose trail they followed several miles up the Kittaning War-Path; but they soon abandoned all hope of overtaking them, and returned to the fort.
The dead body of the Indian shot by McCartney was found, some time afterward, by a Mr. Hileman, up Kit- taning Run, where he had secreted himself by the side of
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of a log, under some bushes, and completely covered him- self with brush and leaves previous to giving up the ghost, in order to prevent the whites from finding his body. The ruling passion was strong even in death !
His rifle, which was kept at Fetter's, as a trophy, was a brass-barrelled smooth-bore, with the British coat of arms stamped upon it,-conclusive evidence that the entire savage band had been armed and equipped by. his Ma- jesty's officers at Detroit, and were on a scalp-hunting expedition.
During the troubles of 1779-80, when the frontier-men fled before the assaults and merciless massacres of the In- dians, the Moores returned to their former residence in Kishicoquillas. But the restless Scots did not remain away from their farm long. Some of them returned in a year; but the old patriarch, Samuel, did not return until after the surrender of Cornwallis. He was then accom- panied by a colony of Scotchmen, consisting of the Craw- fords, Irwins, Fraziers, Stewarts, and Macphersons, and others, constituting from twenty-five to thirty persons.
The late Mr. Maguire, then quite a lad, was at Shaver's Creek when they passed on their way west. They were all in full Highland costume, with bonnet and kilt, armed with claymores and Queen Anne muskets. He had seen Indians before, but never any Highlanders, and, while listening to their Gaelic dialect, he wondered to himself what tribe they belonged to.
These men settled in the upper end of the valley; hence the name-"Scotch Valley." By their sinewy arms and sturdy blows the oaks of the forest fell, and by their unremitting toil to gain a home in the New World they
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encountered and triumphed over the most formidable obstacles, until the valley-its natural soil taken into con- sideration-became one of the finest of its size in the country.
The Moore family were the first persons who con- ceived the idea of running arks down the river from Frankstown. This they accomplished successfully before the close of the last century, and afterward engaged in running flat-boats between Frankstown and Middletown.
Of the third generation of the Moore family but three remain in this vicinity,-viz .: T. B. Moore, in Hollidays- burg; Jesse Moore, at the old homestead, in Scotch Valley; and Johnston Moore, in Ebensburg. Others, however, live in the West; and the fourth generation, whose number we are not able to compute, are scattered over the Union.
The descendants of the men who wound their way up the Juniata, in Highland costume, nearly three-quarters of a century ago, with all their worldly possessions upon pack-horses, are also numerous; and many of them have risen to wealth and eminence by their own unaided exertions.
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CHAPTER XXVIII.
WOODCOCK VALLEY - MASSACRE OF ELDER - THE BRECKENRIDGE FAMILY - FIGHT WITH, AND DESTRUCTION OF, CAPTAIN PHILLIPS'S SCOUT BY THE INDIANS-CRUEL MASSACRE OF TEN MEN.
WOODCOCK VALLEY, located north of Huntingdon, is one of the oldest-settled valleys in the county. In the days of Indian depredations, it was a favorite haunt of the savage, whose great war-path from the West to the East went through a part of it.
The first murder committed in it during the Revolu- tionary struggle occurred at Coffey Run, near the present residence of Mr. Entriken. The victim was a man named Elder, the husband of the woman mentioned in a . preceding chapter as having been carried a captive to Detroit by the Indians. As there is no living witness who was present, the circumstances connected with his massacre are merely traditionary. He was on his way home in company with Richard Shirley, when he was shot and scalped; in which condition he was found by a scouting party a day or two after the occurrence. This was in 1778, and the same year a number of captives were taken from the valley; but the accounts are so vague that we can give no reliable data.
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The Breckenridge family lived about three miles south- east of McConnelstown, on the road which now leads from Huntingdon to Bedford, on the farm at present occupied by Ludwig Hoover. The family consisted of the father, mother, two sons,-John and Thomas, aged respectively eighteen and sixteen years,-a girl aged fourteen, another aged three years, and an infant at the breast. They had, during the alarms of massacres, forted at Hartsock's Fort, which was almost in sight of their farm; but in the spring of 1779, the alarm having in a great measure subsided, they, as well as the rest of the settlers, went home, and the fort was abandoned, under the full impression that they would have no further use for it, -- that Indian depreda- tions were ended. In this they were most signally mis- taken.
In July-probably about the middle of the month,- one morning, directly after breakfast, the sons, John and Thomas, started in search of a horse that had broken from his enclosure the night previous. After they had gone, the old lady occupied herself in her household duties, while the oldest daughter repaired to the spring-house in the meadow,-a distance of probably five hundred yards from the house,-for the purpose of churning. While en- gaged in this occupation, she was suddenly confronted by five Indians. Probably overcome by fright, she made no effort to escape, but screamed at the top of her voice. The father, without suspecting the real cause of the diffi- culty, started, unarmed, in the direction of the spring- house, and when within twenty yards of it a bullet from one of the Indian rifles struck him, and he fell dead in the path. Mrs. Breckenridge was looking out of the
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window at the time, and, fearing that their next move would be in the direction of the house, she snatched the infant out of the cradle, and, taking in her arms the other child, escaped. Instinctively she took the path toward Standing Stone,-a direction in which the Indians were not likely . to follow. She pursued the path along Crooked Run for a few miles, and then sank exhausted upon the ground. As soon as she rallied, she endeavored to con- tinue her way to the Stone; but to her dismay she found that she had wandered from the path and was lost. In this condition, she wandered about the woods with her children the whole day and the entire night. Next day, the oldest child complained bitterly of hunger, when the mother fortunately came to a rye-field. The rye was just beginning to head, in spots, and she gathered a number of heads, rubbed out the kernels, and gave them to the child. As the operation was a tedious one, in consequence of the scarcity of the grain, she took off her under-garment, wrapped up the infant and laid it down, and went to work to procure sufficient to appease the appetite of the child, and while so engaged she un- consciously wandered a considerable distance from the infant.
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