Revolutionary War Tory Accompanied by Indians Kill One Settler and Kidnaps a Woman and Her Children

Colonist Loudenslager is shot by a Tory accompanied by indians. He later died of his wounds.

During the troubles which followed immediately after the declaration of war, a great many depredations were committed by the tories, that were invariably charged to the Indians. As we have stated in the preceding chapter, the patriots and the tories, in point of numbers, were about equally divided in many of the settlements of what now constitutes Huntingdon county; yet the victims of tory wrongs could not for a long time bring themselves to believe that they were inflicted by their neighbors. Barns and their valuable contents were laid in ashes, cattle were shot or poisoned, and all charged to the Indians, although scouts were constantly out, but seldom, if ever, got upon their trail.

In a small isolated valley, about a mile south of Jack's Narrows, lived a notorious tory named Jacob Hare. We could not ascertain what countryman Hare was, nor any thing of his previous history. He owned a large tract of land, which he was exceedingly fearful of losing. Hence he remained loyal to the king, under the most solemn conviction, no doubt, that the struggle would terminate in favor of the crown. He is represented as having been a man of little intelligence, brutal and savage, and cowardly in the extreme. Although he did not take up arms positively against the Colonists, he certainly contributed largely to aid the British in crushing them.

A short time previous to the Weston Tory Expedition, a young man named Loudenslager, who resided in the upper end of Kishicoquillas, left his home on horseback, to go to Huntingdon, where Major Cluggage was enlisting men to guard the lead mines of Sinking Valley. It was young Loudenslager's intention to see how things looked, and, if they suited, he would join Cluggage's command and send his horse home. As he was riding leisurely along near the head of the valley, some five or six Indians, accompanied by a white man, appeared upon an eminence, and three of them, including the white man, fired at him. Three buckshot and a slug lodged in his thigh, and one bullet whistled past his ear, while one of the buckshot struck the horse. The animal took fright, and started off at a full gallop. Loudenslager, although his thigh-bone was shattered and his wound bled so profusely that he left a trail of blood in his wake, heroically clung to his horse until he carried him to the Standing Stone fort.

Weak and faint from the loss of blood, when he got there he was unable to move, and some of the people carried him in and cared for him as well as they could; but he was too much exhausted to give any account of the occurrence. After some restoratives were applied, he rallied, and gave a statement of the affair. His description of the white man in company with the Indians was so accurate, that the people knew at once that Hare, if not the direct author, was the instigator, of this diabolical outrage.

Loudenslager, for want of good medical attendance or an experienced surgeon, grew worse, and the commander, to alleviate his sufferings if possible, placed him in a canoe, and despatched him, accompanied by some men, on his way to Middletown,—then the nearest point of any importance; but he died after the canoe had descended the river but a few miles.

The excitement occasioned by the shooting of young Loudenslager was just at its height when more bad news was brought to Standing Stone Fort.

On the same day, the same party that shot Loudenslager went to the house of Mr. Eaton, (though probably unaccompanied by Hare,) in the upper end of the same valley; but, not finding any men about the house,—Mr. Eaton being absent,—they took captives Mrs. Eaton and her two children, and then set fire to all the buildings. The work of devastation was on the point of being completed when Mr. Eaton reached his home. He did not wait to see his house entirely reduced to ashes, but rode to Standing Stone as fast as his horse could carry him, and spread the alarm. The exasperated people could hardly muster sufficient patience to hear the particulars before they started in pursuit of the enemy. They travelled with all the speed that energetic and determined men could command, scouring the country in every direction for a period of nearly a week, but heard no tidings of Mrs. Eaton and her children, and were forced to give her up as lost.

This aroused the wrath of the settlers, and many of them were for dealing out summary punishment to Hare as the instigator; but, in the absence of proof, he was not even brought to trial for the Loudenslager murder, of which he was clearly guilty. The act, however, put people upon their guard; the most notorious known tory in the county had openly shown his hand, and they knew what to expect of him.

Mr. Eaton—broken-hearted, and almost distracted—hunted for years for his wife and children; and, as no tidings could be had of them, he was at last reluctantly forced to believe that the savages had murdered them. Nor was he wrong in his conjecture. Some years afterward the blanched skeletons of the three were found by some hunters in the neighborhood of Warrior's Mark. The identity of the skeletons was proved by some shreds of clothing—which were known to belong to them—still clinging to their remains.

When Captain Blair's rangers, or that portion of them raised in Path Valley, came across to the Juniata, they had an old drum, and—it is fair to infer, inasmuch as the still-house then seemed to be a necessary adjunct of civilization—sundry jugs of whiskey accompanying them. At Jack's Narrows lived a burly old German, named Peter Vandevender, who, hearing the noise, came to his door in his shirt-sleeves, with a pipe in his mouth.

"Waas ter tuyfel ish ter meaning of all dish?" inquired old Vandevender.

"We are going to hunt John Weston and his tories," said one of the men.

"Hunt dories, eh? Well, Captin Plair, chust you go ant hunt Chack Hare. He ish te tamtest dory in Bennsylvania. He dold Weshton ash he would half a gompany to help him after he come mit ter Inchins."

What Vandevender told Blair was probably true to the letter; for one of the inducements held out to the tories to accompany Weston was that they would be reinforced by all the tories in the county as soon as the first blow was struck; but he was not raising a company. He was too cowardly to expose himself to the danger attending such a proceeding.

As soon as Vandevender had communicated the foregoing, the company, with great unanimity, agreed to pay Hare a visit forthwith. The drum was laid aside, and the volunteers marched silently to his house. A portion of them went into the house, and found Hare, while Blair and others searched the barn and outbuildings to find more of the tories. On the arrival of Captain Blair at the house, some of his men, in a high state of excitement, had a rope around Hare's neck, and the end of it thrown over a beam, preparatory to hanging him. Blair interposed, and with great difficulty prevented them from executing summary vengeance upon the tory. In the mean time, one of the men sharpened his scalping-knife upon an iron pot, walked deliberately up to Hare, and, while two or three others held him, cut both his ears off close to his head! The tory, during these proceedings, begged most piteously for his life—made profuse promises to surrender every thing he had to the cause of liberty; but the men regarded his pleadings as those of a coward, and paid no attention to them, and, after cropping him, marched back to Vandevender's on their route in search of Weston.

On their arrival at the Standing Stone, they communicated to the people at the fort what they had done. The residents at the Stone only wanted a piece of information like this to inflame them still more against Hare, and, expressing regrets that he had not been killed, they immediately formed a plot to go down and despatch him. But there were tories at the Stone. Hare soon got wind of the affair, placed his most valuable effects upon pack-horses, and left the country.

The failure of Weston's expedition, and the treatment and flight of Hare, compelled many tories, who had openly avowed their sentiments, to leave this section of the country, while those who were suspected were forced into silence and inactivity, and many openly espoused the cause of the colonies. Still, many remained who refused to renounce their allegiance to the king, and claimed to stand upon neutral ground. Those who had taken up arms against Great Britain, however, declared that there were but two sides to the question, and no neutral ground;—that those who were not for them were against them.

Hare was declared and proclaimed an "attainted traitor," and his property was confiscated and sold. Who became the purchaser we could not ascertain; but, after peace was declared and the treaty between the United States and Great Britain ratified, Hare returned, and claimed the benefit of that part of the treaty which restored their possessions to all those of his Majesty's subjects that had not taken up arms against the colonists. As there was no direct evidence that he killed Loudenslager, Congress was compelled to purchase back and restore his property to him.

He lived and died on his farm. The venerable Mrs. Armitage, the mother-in-law of Senator Cresswell, of Hollidaysburg, remembers seeing him when she was quite young and he an old man. She says he used to conceal the loss of his ears by wearing his hair long.

During life he was shunned, and he died unregretted; but, we are sorry to say, his name is perpetuated: the place in which he lived, was cropped, and died, and is still called Hare's Valley. The people of Huntingdon should long since have changed it, and blotted from their memory a name linked to infamy and crime.

                                                   57 Stories of Indian Capture and Torture

 

Depredations at the Mouth of Spruce Creek- The Indians Murder Levi Hicks and Scalped His Little Girl Who Miraculously Lived

 Depredations at the Mouth of Spruce Creek- The Indians Murder Levi Hicks and Scalp His Little Girl Who Miraculously Lived 

The mouth of Spruce Creek is to the left of the tracks. This is the supposed location of the murder

We have already mentioned the Hicks family in a preceding chapter and incidentally mentioned their captivity for a number of years among the Indians. We have made the most unremitting exertions, yet we have failed to ascertain anything like a satisfactory account of this remarkable family. The name of Gersham Hicks figures in Miner's "History of Wyoming" as an Indian guide, while in the Archives he is noticed as an Indian interpreter, previous to the war of the Revolution. Where they were taken, or when released, is not positively known. One thing, however, is quite certain: that is, that they made themselves masters of both the habits and language of many of the Indians.

Mrs. Fee thinks they came to Water Street immediately after their release from captivity, and settled there. During their captivity they imbibed the Indian habit to such a degree that they wore the Indian costume, even to the colored eagle-feathers and little trinkets which savages seem to take so much delight in. Gersham and Moses were unmarried, but Levi, the elder, brought with him a half-breed as his wife, by whom he had a number of children. They all settled at Water Street, and commenced the occupation of farming. Subsequently, Levi rented from the Bebaults the tub-mill at or near the mouth of Spruce Creek.

TUNNEL ON THE PENNSYLVANIA CENTRAL ROAD AT THE MOUTH OF SPRUCE CREEK.

When the Indian troubles commenced in the spring of 1778, he was repeatedly urged to go either to Lytle's or Lowry's Fort, and let the mill stand until the alarm had subsided. Hicks, however, obstinately refused, declaring that he was safe. It is thus apparent that he relied upon his intimate knowledge of the Indian character and language for safety, in case any of the marauders should find their way to what he looked upon as a sort of an out-of-the-way place,—a fatal case of misplaced confidence, notwithstanding it was asserted that the fall previous a party had attacked his cabin, and that, on his addressing them in their own language, they had desisted.

On the 12th of May, 1778, Hicks started his mill in the morning, as was his usual custom, and then repaired to breakfast. While in the house he procured a needle and thread, returned to the mill, replenished the hopper, and then seated himself near the door and commenced mending a moccasin. He had been occupied at this but a minute or two before he heard a rustling in the bushes some ten or fifteen yards in front of him. The idea of there being Indians in the vicinity never entered his head; nobody had seen or heard of any in the settlement. Consequently, in direct violation of an established custom, he walked forward to ascertain the cause of the commotion in the bushes, leaving his rifle leaning against the mill. He advanced but one or two steps before he was shot through the heart.

His wife, who was in the house at the time, hearing the report, ran to the door, and in an instant comprehended how matters stood. She opened the back door, ran down the river to a fording, crossed over, and, with all the speed she could command, hastened over the mountain to Lytle's Fort. Near Alexandria she met a man on horseback, who, noticing her distracted condition, demanded what the matter was. She explained as best she could, when the man turned back and rode rapidly toward the fort to apprise the people of what had occurred. It was then that the woman fairly recovered her senses, and, on looking around for the first time, she noticed her little son, about ten years old, who had followed her. The sight of him reminded her of her family of children at home, at the mercy of the savages, and all the mother's devotion was aroused within her. She picked up her boy, and, exhausted as she was, hastened toward the fort with him.

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 soon spread over the country, but the usual delays occurred in getting up a scout to follow the marauders. Some declared 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.

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.

                                                 57 horrid stories of captured and tortured

 

 Man, Wife and Their Three Children Murdered by Indians at Raytown Branch, Pennsylvania

The country between the mouth of the Raystown Branch of the Juniata and what is called the Crossings was thinly settled prior to the Revolution. The land, and general appearance of things, did not strike settlers very favorably; hence it may be assumed that it was only taken up about 1772 when the new-comers from the eastern counties had already taken up the choice tracts lying contiguous to the river.

The first depredation committed on the Branch, near its mouth, by the savages, occurred in May 1780. A band of roving Indians were known to be in the country, as several robberies had occurred in Hartslog Valley, at houses belonging to men who with their families were forted either at Lytle's or at Huntingdon. A scout had ranged the entire frontier in search of these depredators, but could not find them. They were seen in Woodcock Valley, and information immediately conveyed to the commander at the fort in Huntingdon. A scout was sent to Woodcock Valley, but got upon the wrong trail, as the Indians had crossed the Terrace Mountain, where, it appears, they divided into two parties. One of them went to the house of one Sanders, on the Branch; and just as the family was seating themselves at the table to eat dinner, five of the savages bounded in, and killed Sanders, his wife, and three children. An Englishman and his wife, whose names are not recollected, were in the house at the time, both of whom begged for their lives, declared they were loyal to the king, and would accompany them. The Indians agreed to take them along as prisoners, notwithstanding at that period scalps commanded nearly as high a price as prisoners. The Englishman and his wife were taken to Montreal.

                                         57 Horrid stories of capture and torture by Indians

 

Moses Donaldson: Capture and Murder of his Wife and Two Children

Moses Donaldson lived in Hartslog settlement, where Hatfield's iron-works are now located, near Alexandria. In 1777, after the first Indian outrages had been committed, the neighboring settlers met, and resolved for their better protection to build a stockade fort somewhere near the river. After the building was decided upon, the location became a subject of contention—one party wanting the fort at Lytle's, another at Donaldson's, and for a while party strife ran high. Lytle, however, succeeded in out-generalling Donaldson,—not because his location was the most eligible, but simply because he was the most popular man. The fort was built at Lytle's, under Donaldson's protest, who declared that he never would go into it,—that if danger threatened he would fort at Standing Stone,—a vow he religiously kept, at the expense of the loss of his wife and two children, we regret to say.

He continued living at his own house until the spring of 1778, when Indian alarms became so frequent that he removed his family to Huntingdon. In a short time the fears of the people were somewhat lulled, and most of them returned to their homes again. Mr. Donaldson, finding his farm-work pressing, returned to his home about the first of June, and prepared to make hay.

On the 11th of the month, a girl who was after cows discovered in Anderson's bottom, near the mouth of Shaver's Creek, an encampment of some five or six Indians. Without their discovering her, she made her way back and communicated the intelligence, and the news was soon circulated among the settlers. The five Indians were considered the advance of a large party; otherwise they might readily have been cut off by a dozen resolute men. Instead of making the least effort to ascertain the number of the savages, the people fled to the forts in the utmost consternation.

On the same evening, a convoy of canoes landed at the mouth of Shaver's Creek, and the soldiers stopped at an old inn on the bank of the creek. They had taken a load of supplies to Water Street Landing for the Lead Mine Fort, and were returning with lead-ore, consigned to Middletown for smelting. The state of affairs was laid before the commander of the convoy, and Mr. Anderson prevailed upon him to stay a day or two, until the alarm had subsided.

On the afternoon of the 12th, Donaldson was warned that the Indians had been seen a second time, and advised to fort at Lytle's without delay. This he refused to do point-blank, but immediately packed up, put his family into a canoe, and started for Huntingdon. When he reached the mouth of Shaver's Creek, he tied the canoe to the root of a tree at the bank of the creek, and went up to transact some business with Mr. Anderson, accompanied by his oldest child—a lad nine or ten years of age,—leaving his wife and two younger children in the canoe.

After an absence of half an hour, the boy returned to the canoe; but, as he came in sight of it, he observed a number of Indians taking his mother and the children out of it. He hastened back to the inn and told the soldiers, but they considered it a fabrication, and paid no attention to what he said. From thence he hastened to Anderson's and told his father, who immediately followed him, and found it only too true that his family had been abducted—that, too, within the hearing, and almost within sight, of twelve soldiers. Donaldson went to the inn, and appealed to the commandant to start his force in immediate pursuit. This, however, was found totally impracticable, as they had been making a sort of holiday by getting drunk, and were unfit for duty of any kind; which was to be regretted, for the timely notice of the outrage would easily have enabled them, had they been in condition, to overtake the savages.

Early next morning the soldiers started in pursuit in one direction, and the people of the settlement formed into a strong party and went in another, and in this manner the entire country was scoured. Toward evening a bonnet belonging to one of the children was found in a rye-field, near where the Maguire farm now stands, which indicated the direction the savages had taken.

Next day the search was resumed and continued until night; but no tidings whatever could be obtained of the route the savages had taken, and they were finally obliged to give them up as lost.

Several years elapsed before their fate was known. Thomas Johnston and Peter Crum, while hunting up Spruce Creek, probably a mile and a half from its mouth, came upon the camp of a friendly Indian family, near whose wigwam an old woman was engaged in boiling sugar, and who informed them that she had long been waiting for some white hunters to come up, as she had something to show them. She then led the way, and, half a mile off, showed them the skeletons of a grown person and two children. This news was communicated to Mr. Donaldson, and he had the skeletons taken to Shaver's Creek, with a view of interring them. But here a new difficulty arose. Mr. Eaton had not yet recovered his family, abducted from Kishicoquillas Valley, and there was no reason why these skeletons might not be those of his family. The matter was finally determined by a weaver, who testified to a piece of Mrs. Donaldson's short-gown, found near her remains.

When we reflect over this act of savage atrocity, we are free to confess that we look upon it as one of the most inhuman and revolting on record. The woman, with her two children, taken to a neighboring wood, and there, in all probability, tomahawked and scalped in succession,—the children witnessing the agony of the dying mother, or perhaps the mother a witness to the butchery of her helpless offspring,—the very recital chills the blood.

The son, who accompanied his father to Anderson's, died at a very advanced age, at or near Lock Haven, a year or two ago.

William Donaldson, of Hollidaysburg, is a son of Moses Donaldson by a second wife.

                                               57 stories of capture and torture by Indians

 

 

A Soldier Helps an Old Woman at Her farm and Pays the Price With Mrs. Houson and the Soldier Brutally Murdered and Scalped

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 attending the erection of a fortress very great, he would agree that his house should be put into repair, pierced for defense 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 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 request 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 someone 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 McClees, 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.

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 witness to speak; but on and around his body, when found, there were unmistakable signs of such actions as are supposed 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 performed, 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 covered 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. That McClees had sold his life dearly was also very apparent. His rifle was gone; but by his side lay his knife, bloody, and the point broken off. Near him lay a tomahawk, 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 attacked 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 commanded 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.

"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.

                                                   57 stories of settlers captured and tortured

 

The Indian Murder of John Guilliford Near Blair Furnace, Pennsylvania

57 stories of Indian torture and capture

 The Indian Murder of John Guilliford Near Blair Furnace, Pennsylvania

Blair Furnace was close to the cabin where john Guilliford was found shot at his cabin door. He was stangely not scalped which was strange because the Englsih were offering money for the scalps of men, women and children.

In the Valley of Tuckahoe, stretching from Altoona to the mouth of the Bald Eagle, there were some depredations 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 ambuscaded 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 appearance in Tuckahoe.

In the fall of 1777, two savages took captive two children 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 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 inexplicable. Coleman and Milligan went in search of the Indians, but did not succeed in getting upon their trail.

 

1768 Father is Murdered by an Indian While his Son Ran and Killed the Indian that Murdered His Father. Exciting Tale

The Moore family, whose name is identified with Scotch Valley as the original settlers, came to this country 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, prospecting 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 stopping 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 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 Kishicoquillas, 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 Highlands of Scotland.

When the war broke out they were all stanch republicans, 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 fourteen 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 Frankstown, 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 for some time, they travelled on with a feeling of entire security, and never for a moment entertained the remotest 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. McCartney 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 defence 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 advantage 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 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 McCartney 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 trying to climb over. His body was removed to the fort by some of the men, while the remainder commenced searching 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 mistaken. 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 Kittaning Run, where he had secreted himself by the side of a log, under some bushes, and completely covered himself 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 Majesty'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 Indians, 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 accompanied by a colony of Scotchmen, consisting of the Crawfords, 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 encountered and triumphed over the most formidable obstacles, until the valley—its natural soil taken into consideration—became one of the finest of its size in the country.

The Moore family were the first persons who conceived 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 Hollidaysburg; 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.

                                    57 stories of Indian torture and capture. Gruesome stories

 Eleven Soldiers Killed by Indians in Pennsylvania

The following is Colonel Piper's official report of the massacre, made to President Reed. It contains no particulars, and is also inaccurate; nevertheless, we deem it worthy of a place, as it bears an official stamp. We copy it from the Archives of 1780:—

Bedford County, August 6, 1780.

Sir:—Your favor of the third of June, with the blank commissions, have been duly received; since which we have been anxiously employed in raising our quota of Pennsylvania volunteers, and at the same time defending our frontiers. But, in our present shattered situation, a full company cannot be expected from this county, when a number of our militia companies are entirely broken up and whole townships laid waste, so that the communication betwixt our upper and lower districts is entirely broken, and our apprehensions of immediate danger are not lessened, but greatly aggravated by a most alarming stroke. Captain Phillips, an experienced, good woodman, had engaged a company of rangers for the space of two months, for the defence of our frontiers, was surprised at his fort on Sunday, the 16th of July, when the captain, with eleven of his company, were all taken and killed. When I received the intelligence, which was the day following, I marched, with only ten men, directly to the place, where we found the house burnt to ashes, with sundry Indian tomahawks that had been lost in the action, but found no person killed at that place; but, upon taking the Indian tracks, within about one half-mile we found ten of Captain Phillips's company, with their hands tied, and murdered in the most cruel manner.

This bold enterprise so alarmed the inhabitants that our whole frontiers were upon the point of giving way; but, upon application to the Lieutenant of Cumberland county, he hath sent to our assistance one company of the Pennsylvania volunteers, which, with the volunteers raised in our own county, hath so encouraged the inhabitants that they seem determined to stand it a little longer. We hope our conduct will receive your approbation; and you'll please to approve it by sending your special order to our county commissioner to furnish these men with provisions and other necessaries until such times as other provisions can be made for our defence. As Colonel Smith will deliver this, I beg leave to recommend you to him, as he is very capable to give full satisfaction to you, in every particular, of our present circumstances.

I have the honor to be,

With all due respect,

Your Excellency's most ob't

And very humble servant,

John Piper.

Overlooking the fact that Colonel Piper, in this semi-official statement, did not even condescend to mention the name of a single one of the brave men who fell by the hands of the ruthless savages, is it not a little strange that the whole report should be filled with gross inaccuracies, not the least of which is that Captain Phillips was killed, when it is notorious that he returned after the war—having been taken prisoner,—and people are still living in the valley who saw him many years after the massacre of his scout?

Captain Phillips, previous to the disaster, resided near what is now Williamsburg. He was a man of some energy, and a skilful and experienced woodman. He had made a temporary fortress of his house, to guard against savage incursions, and his usefulness in protecting the frontier was duly appreciated by the settlers. Through the influence of some of the most prominent men about Clover Creek, Colonel Piper was induced to give Mr. Phillips a captain's commission, with authority to raise a company of rangers to serve for two months, as it was known that there was a large body of savages somewhere in the valley, unmistakeable traces of their presence having been seen at many places along the river.

Captain Phillips commenced recruiting men immediately on the reception of his commission; but, owing to the fact that it was just the beginning of harvest, he met with very little success. By the 15th of July, 1780, he had but ten men collected; but with these he determined to scout through Woodcock Valley and the Cove, in order to protect the farmers in harvesting their grain. To this end he distributed ammunition and provisions, and the party marched from the Cove across the mountain. On entering the valley, they found most of the houses abandoned, but no signs of Indians. Late on Saturday evening they arrived at the house of one Frederick Heater, which had been abandoned by its owner. The house had been pierced with loopholes, to serve as a temporary fortress in case of necessity, but the proprietor, unable to find sufficient men to garrison it, had fled to Hartsock's Fort. At this house Captain Phillips determined to remain over Sunday. The entire force consisted of Captain Phillips, his son Elijah, aged fourteen years, Philip Skelly, Hugh Skelly, P. and T. Sanders, Richard Shirley, M. Davis, Thomas Gaitrell, Daniel Kelly, and two men whose names are no longer remembered. After partaking of their supper they all stretched themselves out on the floor and slept soundly until morning. While preparing their morning meal, one of the Skellys happened to open the door, when he discovered that the house was surrounded by Indians. A glance sufficed to show Captain Phillips how matters stood. There were not less than sixty Indians, and among them two white men, dressed, decorated, and painted, the same as the savages. The captain at first supposed they were marauders, and would probably not stop; but the hope was most delusive. A small shower of rain having fallen the day previous, this savage war-party had tracked Phillips and his men to the very door of Heater's house. Phillips commanded the utmost silence, and awaited with breathless anxiety the further movements of the enemy. Through the window he discovered the savages grouped upon an eminence—some ten of them armed with rifles, and the remainder with bows and arrows—in consultation. Directly one of the savages fired his rifle, which was evidently a ruse to draw the men from the house; but it did not succeed. At last one of the Indians ventured within rifle-range of the house, when Gaitrell, unable to resist the temptation, thrust the muzzle of his rifle through one of the loopholes, fired, and shot him through the left shoulder. The war-whoop was then raised, and the savages ran to and fro for a while, concealing themselves behind trees, some seventy yards from the house, under the impression probably that an immediate action would take place.

No further demonstrations being made by the rangers, the Indians waited but a short time until, at a preconcerted signal, they fired a volley at the door and window of the house, both of which were riddled by the bullets, but no person was injured. The scout, in this agony of suspense, surrounded by a large body of savages, with the greatest bravery stood at the loopholes, and whenever a savage showed himself within rifle-range he was shot at. In this manner two were killed and two wounded. The Indians, in the mean time, continued firing at the door and window; and in this way the fight continued until about the middle of the afternoon, when Philip Skelly shot the chief through the left cheek at a distance of nearly a hundred yards. This so exasperated the Indians that they raised the war-whoop a second time, loud and fierce, and appeared determined to have vengeance.

At this juncture an occurrence took place which seems almost incredible; yet Captain Phillips, whose statement we are giving, vouched for the truth of it, and he was unquestionably a man of veracity. Davis had the muzzle of his rifle out of a loop-hole, and was intently watching for a chance to shoot, when he felt a sudden jarring of the rifle. He withdrew it, and found a sharp-pointed, tapering hickory arrow driven into the muzzle so tight that it took the combined efforts of four men to withdraw it. Whether this new method of spiking a gun was intentional or not, it illustrated most forcibly the wonderful power of the Indian over the bow—whether he fired at the rifle or the loop-hole.

The Indians, finding it impossible to dislodge the rangers from what appeared a stronghold in every sense of the word, by all stratagems yet used, affixed dry leaves and other combustible matter to arrows, set fire to them, and lodged them upon the roof of the house, which soon was on fire in two or three places. The men carried up all the water in the house, and subdued the flames from the inside; but the water was soon exhausted, and a fresh volley of the fire-arrows set the roof in a blaze, and there were no longer means within their reach to quench the destructive element. Still the rangers stood at the loopholes, even when the upper part of the house was all on fire. Certain death stared them in the face; they dared not go out of the house, for they would expose the weakness of their force and meet instant destruction as soon as they passed over the threshold; on the other hand, the fire above them was raging, and they did not know what moment they would be buried beneath the burning timbers. And yet the men never flinched. But, at last, Captain Phillips, seeing the desperate strait to which they were reduced, cried for quarter, and told the savages that he would surrender, on condition that his men should be treated as prisoners and not injured. To this the Indians assented, and the men escaped from the house just in time to save their lives from fire, but only to meet a death equally shocking.

The spokesman for the Indians—one of the white renegades—demanded, in the first place, that all their arms should be delivered up. To this the men readily agreed; and they handed their rifles and knives to the savages. The next demand was that they should suffer themselves to be pinioned, in order that none might escape. This degrading proposition met no favor with the men; but they were compelled to submit, and their hands were secured behind their backs by strong thongs. In this condition they started—as the Indians said—for Kittaning; but, after getting half a mile from the house, some five or six of the Indians, who had Captain Phillips and his son in charge, continued on their route, while the remainder ordered a halt. The ten men were then tied to as many saplings, and two or three volleys of arrows were fired into them.

The fate of the scout was not known until Tuesday.

Some persons passing Heater's house on Monday morning, seeing it in ruins, carried the news to Hartsock's Fort. An express was sent to Colonel Piper, who arrived on the ground with a small force late on Tuesday. About the house they found a number of tomahawks, knives, and other articles, which indicated that an action had taken place; but the fate of the men could not be conjectured.

Finally, some one discovered the tracks, and proposed following them, which they did, and found the men at the place designated, each man with from three to five arrows sticking in him. Some of them had not been killed outright, and it was apparent that their struggles to get loose must have been most desperate. Kelly was one of these, who, in his efforts to free himself, had buried the thong in the flesh of his arm. All of the men were scalped. They were buried on the spot where they appeased the savage appetite for blood; and their mouldering bones still repose there, without even the rudest of stones to commemorate the sad event or perpetuate their memory.

Phillips, in consequence of his rank, was taken prisoner, as at that time officers brought to the British garrison commanded an excellent price. Himself and son were taken to Detroit, and from thence to Montreal, and did not reach their home until peace was declared.

Some of the friends of the persons massacred were disposed to find fault with Captain Phillips, especially as the massacre was so general and yet he and his son had escaped. Of course, Phillips not being present to defend himself, the talk was so much on one side that some went so far as to stigmatize him as a traitor and a coward. On his return, he gave the true version of the affair; and it must be admitted by all that, under the circumstances, he did all that a brave officer could do to save the lives of his men. Their fate weighed heavily on his mind for the balance of his life; and in the thought of their untimely end he forgot all the sufferings and privations he endured while a prisoner in the camp of the enemy.

                                         57 gruesome stories of Indian torture and capture

 

 The Murder of the Breckenridge Family by Indians

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 depredations were ended. In this, they were most signally mistaken.

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 engaged 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 difficulty, 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 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 continue 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 unconsciously wandered a considerable distance from the infant.

John and Thomas returned to the house with the horses late in the afternoon; and, seeing their father and sister murdered, believed that the mother, with the other children, had either met the same fate or been carried into captivity. They lost no time in making their way to Standing Stone Fort, where they communicated the sad intelligence. By that time it was nearly dark, and entirely too late to make any further effort; but at the dawn of day, next morning, a posse of men went to Breckenridge's house, where the murdered father and daughter lay, and, while part of the people employed themselves in removing the bodies preparatory to burial, another party scoured the country in search of the mother, being encouraged to do so by seeing her tracks leading toward Crooked Run. Late in the afternoon they found her, at the edge of the rye-field, leading her child; but the anguish she had endured had in a measure unsettled her mind, and she was unable to tell where she had left the infant. It was deemed advisable to remove her to the fort. By next day, she had so far recovered as to be able to state that she left the infant in the field; whereupon a party set out, and returned with it in the evening.

The infant had apparently not suffered a great deal, except from the annoyance of flies. Its entire face was fly-blown; and yet, strange to say, she recovered, grew to be a strong, healthy woman, got married, and was the mother of Isaac B. Meek, Esq., formerly a member of the legislature from Centre county, and, we are told, died but a few years ago.

John Breckenridge became a distinguished Presbyterian preacher. Mr. Maguire was under the impression that he located among his relatives in Kentucky; but Dr. Junkin, of Hollidaysburg, whose knowledge of church history cannot be questioned, informs us that he officiated for many years in the first Presbyterian church ever built in Washington City.

Woodcock Valley was the scene of the massacre of Captain Phillips's scout,—one of the most cruel and cold-blooded murders on record,—a massacre which hurried into eternity ten as brave men as ever ranged the woods of the Juniata Valley.

                                             57 gruesome stories of Indian torture and capture