Century history of Butler and Butler County, Pa., and representative citizens 20th, Part 9

Author: McKee, James A., 1865- ed. and comp
Publication date: 1909
Publisher: Chicago, Richmond-Arnold Pub. Co.
Number of Pages: 1526

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In her narrative, she says: "I then looked up and saw the house full of In- dians, every one having his gun in his left hand and his tomahawk in his right. Be-

holding the dangerous situation in which I was, I immediately jumped to the floor upon my feet, with the young child in my arms. I then took up a petticoat to put on, having only the one in which I slept; but the Indians took it from me, and as many as I attempted to put on, they suc- ceeded in taking from me, so that I had to go just as I had been in bed. While I was struggling with some of the savages for clothing, others of them went and took the two children out of another bed, and immediately took the two feather beds to the door and emptied them. The savages immediately began their work of plunder and devastation. What they were unable to carry with them, they destroyed. While they were at their work, I made to the door and succeeded in getting out with one child in my arms and another by my side; but the other little boy was so much displeased at being so early disturbed in the morning that he would not come to the door.

"When I got out, I saw Mr. Wolf, one of the soldiers, going to the spring for water, and beheld two or three of the sav- ages attempting to get between him and the blockhouse; but Mr. Wolf was uncon- scious of his danger, for the savages had not yet been discovered. I then gave a terrific scream, by which means Mr. Wolf discovered his danger, and started to run for the blockhouse. Seven or eight of the Indians fired at him, but the only injury that he received was a bullet in his arm, which broke it. He succeeded in making his escape to the blockhouse. When I raised the alarm, one of the Indians came up to me with his tomahawk, as though about to take my life; a second came and placed his hand before my mouth and told me to hush, when a third came with a lifted tomahawk and attempted to give me a blow; but the first that came raised his tomahawk and averted the blow; and claimed me as his squaw.

"The commissary and his waiter who

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had been sleeping in the store-room, near the blockhouse, being aroused by Mrs. Harbison's scream and the report of the Indian's guns, attempted to make their escape. The commissary succeeded in reaching the blockhouse amid a rain of bullets, one or two of which cut the hand- kerchief which he wore about his head. The waiter, on coming to the door, was met by two Indians who fired at him, and he fell dead. The savages then set up their tremendous and terrifying yells, and pushed forward and attempted to scalp the men that they had killed, but they were prevented by the heavy fire which was kept up through the port-holes of the block- house.

"In this scene of horror and alarm," says Mrs. Harbison, "I began to meditate on escape, and for that purpose I at- tempted to direct the attention of the In- dians from me, and to fix it on the block- house, and thought that if I could succeed in this I would retreat to a subterranean rock with which I was acquainted, which was in the run near which we were. For this purpose I began to converse with some of those who were near me, respecting the strength of the blockhouse, the number of men in it, etc., and, being informed that there were forty men there, and that they were excellent marksmen, they immedi- ately came to the determination to retreat and for this purpose they ran to those who were besieging the blockhouse and brought them away. They then began to flog me with their wiping-sticks, and to order me along. Thus what I intended as a means of my escape was the means of accelerat- ing my departure in the hands of the sav- ages. But it wos no doubt ordered by a kind Providence for the preservation of the fort and its inhabitants, for, when the savages gave up the attack and retreated, some of the men in the house had the last load of ammunition in their guns, and there was no possibility of procuring more,

for it was all fastened up in the storehouse which was inaccessible.

"The Indians, when they had flogged me away along with them, took my oldest boy, a lad about five years of age, along with them, for he was still at the door by my side. My middle little boy, who was about three years of age, had by this time ob- tained a situation by the fire in the house, and was crying bitterly to me not to go, and making bitter complaints of the depre- dations of the savages.

"But these monsters were not willing to let the child remain behind them; they took him by the hand to drag him along with them, but he was so very unwilling to go, and made such a noise by crying, that they took him by the feet and dashed his brains out against the threshold of the door. They then scalped and stabbed him and left him for dead.

"When I witnessed this inhuman butch- ery of my own child, I gave a most inde- scribable and terrific scream, and felt a dimness come over my eyes next to blind- ness, and my senses were nearly gone. The savages then gave me a blow across my face and head, and brought me to my sight and recollection again. During the whole of this agonizing scene I kept my in- fant in my arms.

"As soon as their murder was effected, they marched me along to the top of the bank, about forty or sixty rods, and there they stopped and divided the plunder which they had taken from our house, and here I counted their number, and found them to be thirty-two, two of whom were white men painted as Indians.

"Several of the Indians could speak English well. I knew several of them well, having seen them go up and down the Alle- gheny River. I knew two of them to be from the Seneca tribe of Indians, and two of them Munseys; for they had called at the shop to get their guns repaired, and I saw them there.

HISTORY OF BUTLER COUNTY

"We then went from this place about forty rods, and they then caught my uncle, John Currie's, horses, and two of them, into whose custody I was put, started with me on the horses toward the mouth of the Kiskiminetas, and the rest of them went off toward Puckety. When they came to the bank which descended toward the Alle- gheny, the bank was so very steep, and there appeared so much danger in descend- ing it on horseback, that I threw myself off the horse in opposition to the will and command of the savages.

"My horse descended without falling, but the one on which the Indian rode who had my little boy, in descending, fell, and rolled over repeatedly, and my little boy fell back over the horse, but was not mate- rially injured. He was taken up by one of the Indians, and we got to the bank of the river, where they had secreted some bark canoes, under the rocks opposite the island that lies between the Kiskiminetas and Buffalo. They attempted in vain to make the horses take the river. After try- ing for some time to effect this, they left the horses behind them and took us in one of the canoes to the point of the island, and there they left the canoe.

"Here I beheld another hard scene, for, as soon as we landed my little boy, who was still mourning and lamenting about his little brother, and who complained that he was injured by the fall in descending the bank, was murdered.

"One of the Indians ordered me along, probably that I should not see the horrid deed about to be perpetrated. The other then took his tomahawk from his side, killed and scalped him. When I beheld the second scene of inhuman butchery, I fell to the ground senseless, with my infant in my arms, it being under, with its little hands in the hair of my head. How long I remained in this state of insensibility I knew not.

feeling myself exceedingly overcome with sleep. I cast my eyes around and saw the scalp of my dear little boy, fresh bleeding from his head, in the hand of one of the savages, and sank down to the earth again upon my infant child. The first thing I re- member after witnessing this spectacle of woe was the severe blows I was receiving from the hands of the savages, though at that time I was unconscious of the in- juries I was sustaining. After a severe castigation, they assisted me in getting up, and supported me when up.

"Here I cannot help contemplating the peculiar interposition of Divine Provi- dence in my behalf. How easily might they have murdered me. What a wonder their cruelty did not lead them to effect it. But instead of this, the scalp of my little boy was hid from my view, and in order to bring me to my senses again, they took me back to the river and led me in, knee- deep. This had the intended effect. But 'the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.'

"We now proceeded on our journey by crossing the island, and coming to a shal- low place where we could wade out, and so arrive to the Indian side of the country. Here they pushed me into the river before them, and had to conduct me through it. The water was up to my breast but I sus- pended my child above the water, and, through the assistance of the savages, got safely out.

"From thence we rapidly proceeded for- ward, and came to Big Buffalo. Here the stream was very rapid and the Indians had again to assist me. When we had crossed this creek, we made a straight line to the Connoquenessing Creek, the very place where Butler now stands, and from thence we traveled five or six miles to Little Buffalo, and crossed it at the very place where Mr. B. Sarver's mill now (1836) stands, and ascended the hill."

"The first thing I remember was my [The foregoing paragraph is quite ob- raising my head from the ground, and my scure and misleading. The Indians, of

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course, did not go to "the very place where Butler now stands" and then retrace their way to Little Buffalo. They crossed Little Buffalo on the way to the Connoquenessing at the place where Sarver's mill stood in later years, and where now is Sarversville. They undoubtedly crossed the Connoque- nessing where the Cunninghams afterward built their mill, and where now stands the George Walter mill in Butler borough, at the foot of Washington Street. At this place the rocks originally projected far over the water, and the narrow chasm could be easily spanned by a log. The crossing was a favorite one with the In- dians, and the rocks on either side of the creek bore hieroglyphic inscriptions. These rocks were recently destroyed in grading for the tracks of the Bessemer Railroad.]

The journal continues: "I now felt weary of my life, and had a full deter- mination to make the savages kill me, thinking that death would be exceedingly welcome when compared with the fatigue, cruelties and miseries I had the prospects of enduring. To have my purpose effected, I stood still, one of the savages before me, and the other walking on behind me, and I took from off my shoulder a large pow- der-horn they made me carry, in addition to my child, who was one year and four days old. I threw the horn on the ground, closed my eyes and expected every moment to feel the deadly tomahawk. But, to my surprise, the Indians took it up, cursed me bitterly and put it on my shoulders again. I took it off the second time and threw it on the ground, and again closed my eyes with the assurance that I should meet death; but, instead of this, one of the savages again took up the horn, and with an indignant, frightful countenance, came and placed it on again. I took it off a third time, and was determined to effect it, and therefore threw it as far as I was able to over the rocks. The savages immedi- ately went after it, while the one who had

claimed me as his squaw, and who had stood and witnessed the transaction, came up to me and said, 'Well done, that I did right and was a good squaw, and that the other was a lazy -, he might carry it himself.' I cannot now sufficiently ad- mire the indulgent care of a gracious God, that, at this moment, preserved me amid so many temptations from the tomahawk and the scalping-knife.

"The savages now changed their posi- tion, and the one who claimed me as his squaw went behind. This movement, I be- lieve, was to prevent the other from doing me an injury; and we went on until we struck the Connoquenessing at the salt lick about two miles above Butler, where was an Indian camp, where we arrived a little before dark."

[This camp was in the ravine which opens into the valley near the Kearns farm. The distance from Butler is con- siderably less than two miles.]

"The camp was made of stakes driven into the ground, sloping, and covered with chestnut bark, and appeared sufficiently long for fifty men. The camp appeared to have been occupied for some time. It was very much beaten, and large beaten paths went out of it in various directions.

"That night, they took me from the camp about three hundred yards, where they cut the brush in a thicket and placed a blanket on the ground, and permitted me to sit down with my child. Then they pinioned my arms back, only with a little liberty, so that it was with difficulty I man- aged my child. Here in this dreary situa- tion, without fire or refreshment, having an infant to take care of, and my arms bound behind me, and having a savage on each side of me who had killed two of my dear children that day; I had to pass the first night of my captivity.

"The trials and dangers of the day I had passed had so completely exhausted nature, that, notwithstanding my unpleas- ant situation and my determination to

HISTORY OF BUTLER COUNTY

escape if possible, I insensibly fell asleep, and repeatedly dreamed of my escape and safe arrival in Pittsburg, and several things relating to the town, of which I knew nothing at the time, but found to be true when I got there. The first night passed away, and I found no means of escape, for the savages kept watch the whole of the night, without any sleep.

"In the morning, one of them left us to watch the trail or path we had come, to see if any white people were pursuing us. During the absence of the Indian, who was the one that claimed me, the one who re- mained with me, and who was the mur- derer of my last boy, took from his bosom his scalp and prepared a hoop, and stretched the scalp on it. *

* I med- itated revenge! While he was in the very act, I attempted to take his tomahawk, which hung by his side and rested on the ground, and had nearly succeeded, and was, as I thought, about to give the fatal blow, when, alas! I was detected."

The Indian who went upon the lookout in the morning became Massy Harbison's guard in the afternoon, asked her many questions concerning the whites and the strength of the armies they proposed send- ing out, and boasted largely about the In- dians' achievements the preceding fall at the defeat of St. Clair. He gave the woman a small piece of dry venison, but, owing to the blows she had received about the face and jaws, she was unable to eat, and broke it into pieces for her child. On the second night (May 23), she was re- moved to another station in the same small valley or ravine, and there guarded as she had been the night before. When the day broke, one of the Indians went away, as upon the preceding morning, to watch the trail, and the other fell asleep.

Then Massy Harbison concluded it was time to escape. She thought of the ven- geance, but found it was impossible to in- jure the sleeping savage, for she could effect nothing without putting her child

down and she feared that if she did it would cry and defeat her design of flight.

She contented herself with taking from a pillow-case of plunder the Indians had stolen from her house a short gown, hand- kerchief, and child's frock, and so made her escape. The sun was about half an hour high. She at first, to deceive the Indians, took a course leading in an oppo- site direction from her home, and then went over a hill and came to the Connoque- nessing about two miles from the place where she had crossed it the day before with her captors, and went down the stream till about two o'clock in the after- noon, over rocks, precipices, thorns, briars, etc., suffering great pain, as her feet and legs were bare, but fleeing on unmindful of it, to put as great a distance between herself and the savage enemy as was pos- sible. She discovered, by the sun and the running of the stream, that she was going from, instead of toward home, and changed her course. She ascended a hill and sat there until the evening star made its appearance, when she discovered the way she should travel the next morning, and having collected some leaves, she made a bed, lay down and slept, although her feet, being full of thorns, caused her much pain. She had no food for herself or child. At daybreak, she resumed her travel toward the Allegheny River. Noth- ing very material occurred during the day.

"In the evening" (we again quote from Massy Harbison's narrative), "about the going down of the sun, a moderate rain came on, and I began preparing for my bed, by collecting some leaves together, as I had done the night before, but could not collect a sufficient quantity without setting my little boy on the ground; but as soon as I had put him out of my arms he began to cry. Fearful of the consequences of his noise in this situation, I took him in my arms and put him on my breast imme- diately, and he became quiet. I then stood and listened, and distinctly heard the foot-

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steps of a man coming after me, in the same direction I had come! The ground over which I had been traveling was good and the mold light. I had, therefore, left my footmarks, and thus exposed myself to a second captivity. Alarmed at my perilous situation, I looked around for a place of safety, and, providentially, saw a large tree, which had fallen, into the tops of which I crept, with my child in my arms, and there I hid myself securely un- der the limbs. The darkness of the night greatly assisted me, and prevented me from detection.

"The footsteps I heard were those of a savage. He heard the cry of the child, and came to the very spot where child cried, and there he halted, put down his gun, and was at this time so near that I heard the wiping-stick strike against the gun dis- tinctly. * All was still and quiet; the savage was listening, if, by possibility, he might again hear the cry he had heard be- fore. My own heart was the only thing I feared, and that beat so loud that I was apprehensive it would betray me. It is almost impossible to conceive or to believe the wonderful effect my situation pro- duced upon my whole system.

"After the savage had stood and listened, with nearly the stillness of death, for two hours, the sound of a bell, and a cry like that of a night owl-signals which were given to him from his savage companions -induced him to answer, and, after he had given a most horrid yell, which was calculated to harrow up my soul, he started and went off to join them."

After the retreat of the Indian, Mrs. Harbison concluded that it was unsafe to remain where she was until morning, lest a second and more thorough search should be made, which would result in her re- capture, with difficulty arose and traveled on a mile or two. Then, sinking down at the foot of a great tree, she rested until

daybreak. The night was cold, and rain fell.

On the morning of the fifth day of her suffering and strange experience, Massy Harbison, wet and exhausted, hungry and wretched, started again on her way toward the Allegheny. About the middle of the forenoon, she came to the waters of Pine Creek, which falls into the Allegheny about four miles above Pittsburg. She knew not at the time what stream it was she had reached, but crossed it and followed a path along its bank. Presently she was alarmed at seeing mocassin tracks, made by men traveling in the same direction she was. After she had walked about three miles, she came to a fire burning on the bank of the stream, where the men whose tracks she had seen had eaten their breakfast. She was in doubt whether the men were white or Indians, and determined to leave the path. She ascended a hill, crossed a ridge toward Squaw Run, and came upon a trail. While she stood meditating whether to follow the path or seek her way through the underbrush, she saw three deer coming toward her at full speed. They turned to look at their pursuers. She looked, too, and saw the flash of a gun. She saw some dogs start after the deer, and, thinking that the chase would lead by the place where she stood, fled, and con- cealed herself behind a log. She had scarcely crouched in her hiding-place be- fore she found that, almost within reach of her outstretched hand, was a nest of rattlesnakes. She was compelled to leave, and did so, fearing that she would be ap- prehended by the hunters, whom she sup- posed were Indians.

The woman now changed her course, and, bearing to the left, came to Squaw Run, which she followed the remainder of the day. During the day it rained, and so cold and shivering was the fugitive, that, in spite of her struggles to remain silent, an occasional groan escaped her. She suf-

HISTORY OF BUTLER COUNTY

fered also intensely from hunger. Her jaws had so far recovered from the blows of the Indians that she was able to eat food, if she could have procured it. She picked grape-vines and obtained a little substance from them.

In the evening, she came within a mile of the Allegheny, but was ignorant of it. There, under a tree, in a tremendous rain- storm, from which she sheltered her babe as well as she could, she remained all night.

Upon the morning of the fifth day (Sunday, May 27), she found herself un- able, for a considerable time, to arise from the ground, and when, after a long strug- gle, she regained her feet, nature was so nearly exhausted, and her spirits so com- pletely depressed, that she made very slow progress. After going a short distance, she came to a path, which, as it had been traveled by cattle, she imagined would lead her to the abode of white people, but she came to an uninhabited cabin. Here she was filled with a feeling of despair, and concluded that she would enter the cabin and lie down and die; but the thought of what then would be the fate of her babe spurred her courage. She heard the sound of a cow-bell, which imparted a gleam of hope. Pushing on with all of the strength she could command in the direc- tion from which the sound came, she ar- rived at the bank of the Allegheny, oppo- site the blockhouse, at Six Mile Island, and was safe. Three men appeared on the opposite bank, and, after some delay, caused by the suspicion that she was sent there as a decoy from the Indians, one of them, James Crozier, came over in a canoe and took her to the south side of the river. Crozier had been one of the nearest neigh- bors of Massy Harbison before she was captured by the Indians, but so greatly was she altered by the horrors she had witnessed, the cruelty practiced upon her, and by exposure, fatigue and starvation, that he did not know her.

When she landed on the inhabited side of the river and found herself secure, the brave woman, who had endured so much, gave way under the terrible strain, and was carried to the fort by the people, who came running from it to see her. During the terrible six days, in which she had seen two of her children murdered, had herself been severely beaten by the inhuman sav- ages, and had suffered the keenest anguish and despair, she had not shed a tear; but now that danger was removed, the tears flowed freely "and imparted a happi- ness," reads her narrative, "beyond what I have ever experienced before, or expect to experience in this world."

After careful treatment Massy Harbison recovered her health and senses. Two of the women in the fort, Sarah Carter and Mary A. Crozier, drew the thorns from her feet and Mr. Felix Negley, who had the curiosity to count them, found that one hundred and fifty had been removed. Aft- erward more were taken out at Pittsburg. At the request of the magistrates of Pitts- burg, Mrs. Harbison made a deposition detailing the atrocities committed by her captors, which was soon afterward pub- lished in all the leading newspapers throughout the country. The truthfulness of Massy Harbison's story was attested to by Robert Scott, an early pioneer of Butler who was on the Allegheny River from 1790 to 1800. Subsequently "A Nar. rative of the Sufferings of Massy Harbi- son from Indian Barbarity," communi- cated by herself, was edited and published in 1825 by John Winter. This publication run through four editions up to 1836, and the narrative has been incorporated in Brackenridge's "Recollections of the West" and other histories of Western Pennsylvania.

Mrs. Harbison met her husband in Pittsburg and shortly after went with him to Coe Station in Westmoreland County. After the lands northwest of the Alle- gheny were opened for settlement they re-

عن ٢٨٢٥

GEN. RICHARD BUTLER

.75

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moved to Buffalo Township, Butler County, where John Harbison carried on a mill for a number of years. The de- scendants of Massy Harbison still reside in Buffalo and Clinton Townships, some of them only a few miles distant from the place where she was captured and her chil- dren murdered on the 22d of May, 1792. The location of the old Massy Harbison farm in Buffalo Township has been known in later years as the Weaver farm. The children of John and Massy Harbison were John, James, Betsy, Peggy, William, Mattie, Thomas, Nelly Jane, Benjamin, and Sina. Two were killed by the Indians, and John was the child she carried in her arms at the time of her escape from the captivity of the savages. He grew to manhood, went west, and died at the age of eighty-eight.

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Century history of Butler and Butler County, Pa., and representative citizens 20th, Part 9

Author: McKee, James A., 1865- ed. and comp Publication date: 1909 Publisher: Chicago, Richmond-Arnold Pub. Co. Number of Pages: 1526

Author: McKee, James A., 1865- ed. and comp
Publication date: 1909
Publisher: Chicago, Richmond-Arnold Pub. Co.
Number of Pages: 1526