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 23
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Late in the fall of that year, two boys, aged respectively eight and ten years, while engaged at play near a house in the neighborhood of Manor Hill, were taken captive by two lurking savages, who came suddenly upon them, and immediately started in the direction of the mountain. After travelling some eight miles, they halted, built a fire in the woods, leaned their rifles against a tree, and cooked some dried venison, of which they all partook. After the meal, one of them drew from his pouch a canteen filled with whiskey, which they drank at short intervals until it was entirely drained of its contents. By that time they had become very garrulous and very brave. They told war-stories, sang war-songs, danced war-dances, and chal- lenged the whole settlement to mortal combat. The other
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Indian then pulled out his canteen, also filled with fire- water, which was consumed in like manner; but, by the time it was drank, their mirth and boasting gave way to the stupor of inordinate intoxication, and, wrapping their blankets around them, they stretched themselves before the fire, and were soon in a deep sleep.
The eldest boy, who had feigned sleep some time previous, now got up and shook the younger, who also got upon his feet. He then took one of the rifles, cocked it, and rested it on a log, with the muzzle within a few inches of the head of one of the savages, and then motioned the younger boy to hold it. He then got the other rifle, and in like manner placed its muzzle near the head of the other savage. So far, the whole proceeding had been carried on by pantomimic action, and not a word spoken; but, every thing being now in readiness, the boy whispered " Now !" and both rifles went off at the same time. The elder boy killed his man outright; but the weight of the butt of the rifle in the hands of the younger threw the muzzle up, and he merely tore his face very badly. The wounded savage attempted to rise, but, before he could do so, the boys commenced running for home; nor did they stop until they reached it, which was at two o'clock in the morning and just as a party had assembled to go in search of them.
Their story was soon told; but so incredible did it appear that no person believed them. Instead of giving credit to their narrative of improbabilities, the parents were inclined to whip them and send them to bed, for getting lost in the woods and then lying about it. Next day, however, they persisted so strongly in their statement, and
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told such a straightforward story, that at length a party of some six or eight persons agreed to go to the place, providing the children accompanied them. To this they readily assented; and the anxiety they manifested to go soon removed all doubt as to the truth of their state- ment.
In due time they reached the spot, where they found a dead Indian, the two rifles and canteens; but the wounded savage was missing. Where he had lain there was a pool of blood; and, as it was probable that he had not gone far, a proposition was made to search for him, which was about being acted upon, when one of the men noticed blood upon the trunk of the tree under which they stood, which caused him to look up, and among its top branches he saw the wounded savage. The frightful wound upon his face awakened the pity of some of the men, and they proposed getting him down; but an old ranger, who was in the party, swore that he had never had a chance at an Indian in his life, especially a treed one; that he would rather lose his life than miss the opportunity of shooting him; and, before an effort could be made to prevent it, the savage received a ball through his brain, came crash- ing down through the limbs of the tree, and fell by the side of his dead companion. Their bodies were not dis- turbed; but their rifles were carried home, and given to the boys, who kept them as trophies of the event.
This daring and heroic act on the part of children so young illustrates most forcibly the kind of material people were made of who flourished in "the days that tried men's souls."
In 1782, Miss Elizabeth Ewing and Miss McCormick
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were abducted by the Indians, between Shaver's Creek and Stone Valley. They had been to the former place, and were returning home by a path, when they were sur- prised and taken prisoners by a small band of roving Indians. It was late in October, at a time when no sus- picion was entertained that the Indians would ever again enter the valley. None had been seen or heard of for months, and all the alarms and fears of savages had sub- sided; hence their absence was little thought of until they had been several days gone. It was then deemed entirely too late to send a force to recapture them.
When captured, they had some bread with them, which they scattered along the path they took, in hopes that if their friends followed it would give them a clue to the route they took. The wily savages detected the strata- gem, and took the bread from them. They next broke the bushes along the path; but the Indians saw the object of this, too, and compelled them to desist. They then travelled for, seven days, through sleet, rain, and snow, until they reached the lake, where Miss McCormick was given as a present to an old Indian woman who happened to take a fancy to her.
Miss Ewing was taken to Montreal, where, fortunately for her, an exchange of prisoners took place soon after, and she was sent to Philadelphia, and from thence made her way home. From her Mr. McCormick learned the fate of his daughter-her communication being the first word of intelligence he had received concerning her. He soon made his arrangements to go after her. The journey was a long one, especially by the route he proposed to take, -by way of Philadelphia and New York; nevertheless,
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the love he bore his daughter prompted him to undertake it cheerfully.
After many days' travelling he arrived at the place where Miss Ewing and Miss McCormick parted; but, alas! it was only to realize painfully the restless and migratory character of the Indians, who had abandoned the settlement and gone into the interior of Canada. Again he journeyed on, until he finally reached the place where the tribe was located, and found his daughter in an Indian family, treated as one of the family, and subject to no more menial employment than Indian women gene- rally. The meeting of father and daughter, which neither expected, must have been an affecting one- a scene that may strike the imagination more vividly than pen can depict it.
Mr. McCormick made immediate arrangements to take his daughter with him; but, to his surprise, the Indians objected. Alone, and, as it were, in their power, he was at a loss what course to pursue, when he bethought him- self of the power of money. That was the proper chord to touch; but the ransom-money asked was exorbitantly large. The matter was finally compromised by Mr. Mc- Cormick paying nearly all the money in his possession, retaining barely enough to defray their expenses; after which they went on their way rejoicing, and, after a weary journey, reached their home in safety.
It may be as well to mention that Miss McCormick was a sister to Robert McCormick, Sr., long a resident of Hollidaysburg, who died a year or two ago in Altoona, and the aunt of William, Robert, and Alexander McCor- mick, now residents of Altoona.
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And now we come to the last Indian massacre in the Valley of the Juniata. It occurred on the left bank of the Little Juniata, near the farm of George Jackson, in the latter part of August, 1781.
At that time there was a regular force of militia in the garrison at Huntingdon, another at Shaver's Creek, and another at Fetter's. The Indians were well aware of this, for they constantly kept themselves advised by spies of the progress of affairs in the valley. The settlers, feeling secure in the presence of the militia, abandoned the forts and went to their farms. During the summer of 1781, the alarms were so few that people began to consider the days of their trials and tribulations as passed away; but it appears that it was ordained that another black crime should be added to the long catalogue of Indian cruelties.
One evening George Jackson, hearing a noise in a corn- field adjoining his house, went to the door to ascertain the cause. Dark as the night was, he made out the figures of two men, who he thought were stealing corn, or at least about no good; so he let loose his dogs-a hound and a bull-dog-upon them. The hound gave tongue, and both started directly into the field, where they bayed for some time; but the men did not quit the field. In ten minutes the dogs returned, and Mr. Jackson found that the skull of the bull-dog had been wounded with a tomahawk. This circumstance led him to suspect the real character of the intruders, and he went into his house, took down his rifle, and returned to the porch. The light which shone out of the door when Jackson opened it revealed the position of affairs to the Indians, and they ran to the other end of the corn-field, closely pursued by the hound.
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Peter Crum, a worthy man, well known and highly re- spected by all the settlers in the neighborhood, was a near neighbor of Jackson's. He had rented the Minor Tub Mill, and on the morning after the above occurrence he went to the mill a little before daylight and set it going, then raised a net he had placed in the stream the night before; after which he started leisurely on his way home to get his breakfast. In his left hand he carried a string of fish, and over his right shoulder his rifle; for, notwithstanding the great security people felt, they were so much in the habit of constantly having a rifle for a travelling companion, that many of the old pioneers carried it on all occasions during the remainder of their lives.
When Crum reached the bend of the river, a mile below his mill, at a time when an attack from Indians would probably have been the last thing he would have thought of, he heard the sharp crack of a rifle, and on looking around saw two Indians on the hill-side. He dropped his fish, and opened the pan of his rifle to look at the priming, when he noticed that he was shot through the right thumb-at least it was so conjectured. Catching a glimpse of one of the Indians, he attempted to fire, but the blood of his wound had saturated the priming. The Indians noticed his unavailing effort to shoot, and, probably thinking that he was trying to intimidate them with an empty gun, jumped into the road. One of them, it ap- peared, was armed with a rifle, the other with a heavy war-club. The latter, it is supposed, approached him from behind, and dealt him a blow upon the skull, which felled him, and the blow was evidently followed up until the entire back part of his head was crushed in the most
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shocking manner, after which they scalped him, and dis- appeared.
When found, (which was supposed to be within two hours after the murder,) Crum was lying with his face to the ground, his rifle by his side, and the Indian war-club, clotted with blood and brains, lying across his body,- a sad sight for his wife, who was among the first on the spot after the tragedy.
This murder, committed in open daylight on a fre- quented road, in the very heart of a thickly-populated country, did not fail to produce the most intense excite- ment, and a party of rangers started at once after the marauders. They soon got upon their trail, and followed them to the top of the mountain, getting sight of them several times; but they were always out of rifle-range. They knew they were pursued, and took such a route as the rangers could not follow, and so eluded them, and carried in triumph to the British garrison at Detroit the last scalp taken by the red men in the Juniata Valley.
PULPIT ROCKS, WARRIOR RIDGE.
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CHAPTER XXXIII.
WARRIOR RIDGE - WARRIOR'S MARK - JOB CHILLAWAY, SHANEY JOHN, AND CAPTAIN LOGAN, THE LAST RED MEN IN THE JUNIATA VALLEY.
WARRIOR RIDGE, between Alexandria and Huntingdon, derives its name from an Indian path which ran along the summit of it. The Pulpit Rocks, not unlike the altars of the Druids, shaped into fantastic forms by the hand of nature, as well as the wild romantic scenery around them, at once suggest the idea of a place of meeting of the warriors,-a spot where the councils of the brave were held, with the greensward of the mountain for a carpet and the blue vault of heaven for a canopy. Were we not so well aware of the fact that the Indians preferred the lowlands of the valleys for places of abode, we could almost fancy the neighborhood of Pulpit Rocks to have been a glorious abiding-place; but of the occurrences and events that took place on the ridge we are in hopeless ignorance. Had some Indian historian of an early day transmitted to posterity, either by written or oral tra- dition, one-half the events of Warrior Ridge, we might add considerable interest to these pages; but as it is, we
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must content ourself, if not our readers, with this brief notice of the famous Warrior Ridge.
Warrior's Mark was another celebrated place for the In- dians. It lies upon a flat piece of table-land, and is just the kind of a place where savages would be likely to meet to debate measures of great importance and to concoct schemes for their future movements. The name of the place originated from the fact of certain oak-trees in the vicinity having a crescent or half-moon cut upon them with hatchets, so deep that traces can still be seen of them, or, at least, could be some years ago. The signification of them was known to the Indians alone ; but it is evident that some meaning was attached to them, for, during the Revolution, every time a band of savages came into the valley one or more fresh warrior marks were put upon the trees. The Indian town stood upon the highway or path leading from Kittaning, through Penn's Valley, to the Susque- hanna. It was still considerable of a village when the white men first settled in the neighborhood, but imme- diately on the breaking out of the Revolution the Indians destroyed it, and moved to Ohio, and at this day there is not a trace of its existence left.
The first white settlers in Warrior's Mark were the Ricketts family. They were all wild, roving fellows, who loved the woods better than civilization; and their whole occupation, over and above tilling a very small patch of land, appeared to be hunting for wild game. Their arrival was followed by two or three other families; and when the Indian troubles commenced, the house of Ricketts was converted into a fortress, and the men turned their attention to protecting the frontier. One of
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them-Captain Elijah Ricketts-became quite an active and prominent man.
We have no record of any murder ever having been committed in the immediate vicinity of Warrior's Mark. Several captives were taken from thence, either in 1777 or 1778, but were exchanged and found their way back; we are, however, without particulars, either as to their names, capture, or release.
The three last Indians in the valley were Job Chilla- way, a Delaware, Shaney John, a Mingo, and Captain Logan, a Cayuga. They were all friendly to the whites, and served the cause of liberty in the capacity of spies.
Job Chillaway is represented by the late E. Bell, Esq., in his MS., as a tall, muscular man, with his ears cut so as to hang pendant like a pair of ear-rings. He was employed as early as 1759 by the Colonial Govern- ment as a spy, and his name is frequently mentioned in the archives. Levi Trump, in writing to Governor Denny, from Fort Augusta, on April 8, 1759, when the French were using their most powerful exertions to swerve the Six Nations from their fealty to the colony, says :-
Job Chillaway, a Delaware Indian, arrived here on the 5th inst., and brought with him a message from a grand council of the Six Nations held near Onondaga, to King Teedyuscung, informing him that deputies from said council would soon be at Wyoming. On what errand they did not say; but Job says he thinks it his duty to inform his brothers what he knows of the affair :- that he was present at the opening of this council; which was by four chiefs, of different nations, singing the war-song and hand- ing round an uncommonly large war-belt; that one of them,
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after some time, said: "What shall we do? Here is a hatchet from our fathers, to strike our brothers; and here is another from our brothers, to strike our fathers. I believe 'twill be best for us to do as we have done heretofore; that is, cast them both away."
In 1763, Chillaway still remained loyal to the co- lony, although nearly all of his tribe had taken up the hatchet against the English. Colonel James Irvine, under date of November 23, 1763, writes from " En- sign Kerns," near Fort Allen, to John Penn, as fol- lows : -
SIR :- On the 16th instant Job Chillaway arrived here, being sent by Papunchay* to inform us that he and about twenty-five In- dians (women and children included) were on their way from Weyalusing. The day after Job's arrival he delivered a string of wampum, and the following message in behalf of himself, Papunchay, John Curtis, &c., which he desired might be trans- mitted to your honor, viz .:
" BROTHER :-
"We are very glad that you have taken pity on us, according to the promises you made us since we had any correspondence together.
" Brother,-We are glad to hear you have pointed out two ways to us,-one to our brother, Sir William Johnson, the other to you. Our hearts incline toward you, the Governor of Philadel- phia.
" Brother,-Take pity on us, and keep the road open, that we may pass without being hurt by your young men.
"Brother,-Point out the place where you intend to settle us, and we shall be glad, let that be where it will."
* Papunchay was the chief of the last of the Delaware warriors who remained loyal,-the great body having, by 1763, gone over to the French.
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Job informed us that there were fifteen Muncy warriors, who, for three nights before he left Papunchay, encamped close by their encampment. How far they intended to proceed, or what were their intentions, he could not find out. As it was expected that Papunchay was near the frontiers, Colonel Clayton marched with fifty men, (mostly volunteers,) on the 20th inst., with Job Chilla- way, in hopes of surprising the warriors. We were out three days without discovering either them or Papunchay. What hath detained the latter we know not. Job hath desired me to wait for them at this place a few days longer. On their arrival here, I purpose to conduct them to Philadelphia, unless I receive orders to the contrary from your honor.
Whether Papunchay continued loyal after 1763 is not known; but Chillaway was a spy, in the employ of Asher Clayton, at Lehigh Gap, as late as May, 1764.
About 1768, he made his way to the Juniata Valley. He first located near the mouth of the Little Juniata; but as soon as settlements were made by the whites he went up Spruce Creek; but there, too, the footprints of the white invader were soon seen, and he removed to the mountain, where hunting was good. He continued for many years after the Revolution to bring venison down into the settlements to trade off for flour and bread. In his old age he exhibited a passion for strong drink, and by the white man's baneful fire-water he fell. He was found dead in his cabin, by some hunters, about the close of the last century.
Of Shaney John not much is known. He came to the valley probably about the same time Chillaway did, and the two were boon-companions for many years. Shaney John moved to the Indian town called the Bald Eagle's
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Nest, nearly opposite Milesburg, Centre county, where he died.
The most prominent friendly Indian that ever resided in the valley, however, was Captain Logan. This, of course, was not his proper name, but a title bestowed upon him by the settlers. He is represented as having been a noble and honorable Indian, warm in his attachment to a friend, but, like all Indians, revengeful in his character. A kindness and an insult alike remained indelibly stamped upon the book and page of his memory; and to make a suitable return for the former he would have laid down his life-shed the last drop of his heart's blood. He was a man of medium height and heavy frame; not- withstanding which he was fleet of foot and ever on the move.
He came to the valley before Chillaway did, and set- tled with his family in the little valley east of Martin Bell's Furnace, which is still known as Logan's Valley. He had previously resided on the Susquehanna, where he was the captain of a brave band of warriors; but, unfor- tunately, in some engagement with another tribe, he had an eye destroyed by an arrow from the enemy. This was considered a mark of disgrace, and he was de- posed; and it was owing to that cause that he aban- doned his tribe and took up his residence in the Juniata Valley.
One day, while hunting, he happened to pass the beau- tiful spring near the mouth of the Bald Eagle-now in the heart of Tyrone City. The favorable location for both hunting and fishing, as well as the charming scenery, fascinated Logan; and he built himself a wigwam, im-
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mediately above the spring, to which he removed his family.
Here he lived during the Revolutionary war, not alto- gether inactive, for his sympathies were on the side of liberty. During that time he formed a strong attach- ment to Captain Ricketts, of Warrior's Mark, and they became fast friends. It was to Ricketts that Captain Logan first disclosed the plot of the tories under John Weston; and Edward Bell gave it as his firm con- viction that Logan was among the Indians who shot down Weston and his men on their arrival at Kit- taning.
Although Logan had learned to read from the Mo- ravian missionaries when quite a lad, he knew very little of the formula of land purchases; so he failed to make a regular purchase of the spot on which his cabin stood, the consequence of which was that, after the war, some envious white man bought the land and warned the friendly savage off. Logan was too proud and haughty to contest the matter, or even bandy words with the intruder; so he left, and located at Chickalacamoose, where Clearfield now stands, on the West Branch of the Susquehanna.
Captain Logan continued visiting the valley, and espe- cially when any of his friends among the pioneers died. On such occasions he generally discarded his red and blue eagle-feathers, and appeared in a plain suit of citi- zens' clothes.
But at length Logan came no more. The Great Spirit called him to a happier hunting-ground; and all that is mortal of him-unless his remains have been 23
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ruthlessly torn from the bosom of mother earth-lies beneath the sod, near the mouth of Chickalacamoose Creek.
It is to be regretted that more of his history has not been preserved, for, according to all accounts of him, he possessed many noble traits of character. Unlike Logan the Mingo chief, Captain Logan the Cayuga chief had no biographer like Thomas Jefferson to embellish the pages of history with his eloquence. Well may we say, "The evil that men do lives after them, while the good is oft interred with their bones."
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CHAPTER XXXIV.
CONCLUSION.
PUSHING the light canoe on the lagoons in search of fish and lassoing the wild horse on the pampas of the South, chasing the buffalo on the boundless prairies and hunting the antlered stag in the dense forests of the West, is now the Indian's occupation; and there he may be found, ever shunning the haunts of civilization.
The Delaware Indians have been exterminated, and their very name (Lenni Lenape) blotted from existence, save where it appears upon the pages of history.
Of the Shawnees, once the powerful warlike tribe that was known and feared from the seaboard to the lakes, but a few degenerate families reside in the Far West.
Of the Great Confederation of the Iroquois but a rem- nant exists to remind us of its former greatness, its councils, its wars, and its "talks." They reside in West- ern New York, in a semi-civilized but degraded state, and are but sorry representatives of the once proud and stately warriors the crack of whose sharp and unerring rifles made the woods ring, and whose canoes danced upon the waves of the blue Juniata more than a hundred years ago.
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But they are all gone, and the bones of their ancestors are the only relics which they have left behind them. The hand of the same inscrutable Providence that suffered them to march as mighty conquerors from the West to the East, crushing out the existence of a weaker people in their triumphant march, stayed them, blighted them in the noon- day of their glory, and, like the receding waves of the sea, drove them back in the direction whence they came, where they scattered, and the ties which bound them to- gether as tribes dissolved even as would ice beneath the rays of a tropical sun.
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