Indian Massacres at the Great Cove, Pennsylvania

"The Great Cove, Little Cove, and Canolloways," are mentioned frequently in government papers as far back as 1749, Indian traders having penetrated them at a much earlier date than that; yet they only figure prominently from that period. The Great Cove, now known as Morrison's, commences at Pattonsville, in Bedford county, and ends at Williamsburg, on the Juniata—bounded by Dunning's and Lock Mountains on the west, and Tussey Mountain on the east. For fertile limestone land, beautiful scenery, and splendid farms, few valleys in the State equal—none surpass—Morrison's Cove.

The earliest settlement of the cove was effected by Scotch-Irish, as early as 1749; but they shared the fate of the burnt-cabin folks when Secretary Peters answered the prayers of the Indians, and were expelled. Nothing daunted, however, many of them returned, and commenced improving; that, too, before the scions of "Father Onus" had acquired the right, title, and interest, to all and singular these fine lands, for the munificent sum of £400!

The greater portion of the beautiful valley, however, was almost unexplored until the Penns made the new purchase. About 1755, a colony of Dunkards took up the southern portion of the Cove, and their descendants hold possession of it to this day. They have unquestionably the finest farms, as well as the most fertile land, in the State; and right glad should we be to end their portion of the chapter by saying so, or even by adding that for thrift and economy they stand unsurpassed; but a sense of candor compels us to speak of them as they are,—"nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice."

In the first place, let it be understood that we are in no particle indebted to them for one iota of the blessings of government we enjoy. They are strict non-resistants; and in the predatory incursions of the French and Indians, in 1756-63, and, in fact, during all the savage warfare, they not only refused to take up arms to repel the savage marauders and prevent the inhuman slaughter of women and children, but they refused in the most positive manner to pay a dollar to support those who were willing to take up arms to defend their homes and their firesides, until wrung from them by the stern mandates of the law, from which there was no appeal.

They did the same thing when the Revolution broke out. There was a scarcity of men. Sixty able-bodied ones among them might readily have formed a cordon of frontier defence, which could have prevented many of the Indian massacres which took place between 1777 and 1780, and more especially among their own people in the Cove. But not a man would shoulder his rifle; they were non-resistants! They might, at least, have furnished money, for they always had an abundance of that, the hoarding of which appeared to be the sole aim and object of life with them. But, no; not a dollar! They occupied neutral ground, and wished to make no resistance. Again; they might have furnished supplies. And they did furnish supplies to those who were risking their lives to repel the invaders,—but it was only when the almighty dollar accompanied the demand.

After the massacre of thirty of them, in less than forty-eight hours, Colonel Piper, the lieutenant-colonel of Bedford county, made a stirring appeal to them. But it was of no avail; they were non-resistants, and evidently determined to remain such.

Of the peculiar religious tenets of these primitive people we do not profess to know any thing; hence our remarks are unbiassed. We are solely recording historical facts.

As a curious anomaly in the history of the present generation, it may be stated that, although they perform that part of the compact between government and a good citizen which relates to paying taxes, they never vote, neither can the most seductive persuasions of politicians bring them to the polls. Like their forefathers, they are non-resistant—producers, but non-consumers.

During the Indian wars of 1762, quite a number of murders were committed in the Cove, and many captives taken, but the particulars are too vague for history. Although we made every effort to ascertain the names of some of the massacred and the circumstances attending their massacre, we signally failed. It may, therefore, be supposed that, in the absence of any record, there is no other method of ascertaining facts extant.

During the Great Cove massacre, among others carried into captivity was the family of John Martin. This incursion was indeed a most formidable one, led by the kings Shingas and Beaver in person. How many were killed there is no living witness to tell; neither can we conjecture the number of prisoners taken. The following petition was sent by John Martin to council:—

August 13, 1762.

The Humble Petition of Your Most Obedient Servant Sheweth, Sir, may it pleas Your Excellancy, Hearing me in Your Clemancy a few Words. I, One of the Bereaved of my Wife and five Children, by Savage War at the Captivity of the Great Cove, after Many & Long Journeys, I Lately went to an Indian Town, viz., Tuskaroways, 150 miles Beyond Fort Pitts, & Entrested in Co^l. Bucquits & Co^l. Croghan's favor, So as to bear their Letters to King Beaver & Cap^t. Shingas, Desiring them to Give up One of my Daughters to me, Whiles I have Yet two Sons & One Other Daughter, if Alive, Among them—and after Seeing my Daughter with Shingas he Refused to Give her up, and after some Expostulating with him, but all in vain, he promised to Deliver her up with the Other Captives to y^r Excellency.

Sir, y^r Excellency's Most Humble Serv^t, Humbly & Passionately Beseeches Y^r Beningn Compassion to interpose Y^r Excellencies Beneficent influence in favor of Y^r Excellencies Most Obedient & Dutiful Serv^t.

John Martin.

After the march of General Forbes from Raystown, and immediately preceding it, no Indian depredations were committed in the Cove up to the commencement of hostilities between the Colonies and Great Britain. The Indians in the French interest were constantly on the alert; and their spies prowling on the outskirts did not fail to report at head-quarters the arrival at Raystown of Colonel Boquet and his army, the formidable bearing and arms of which convinced the savages that it was prudent to keep within the bounds of the French power.

The first Indian depredations of the Revolution in the Juniata Valley were committed in November, 1777. A large body of Indians—not less than thirty—armed with British rifles, ammunition, tomahawks, scalping-knives, and all other murderous appliances they were capable of using, came into the settlement with the avowed intention of gathering scalps for His Britannic Majesty's officers at Detroit. Their coming was not unlooked-for, but the settlers were unprepared for them. The constant rumors afloat that a large body of savages, British, and tories, were coming, struck the people with so much panic that there was no effort made to give any such force as might come a warlike reception, but their energies were concentrated in measures of defence.

The first Indian depredators, or at least the greater portion of them, were seen at a camp-fire by a party of hunters; and if the proper exertions had been made to cut them off, few other outrages would have followed. The supposition is that there were two parties of about fifteen each, who met at or near Neff's Mill, in the Cove. On their way thither, the one party killed a man named Hammond, who resided along the Juniata, and the other party killed a man named Ullery, who was returning from Neff's Mill on horseback. They also took two children with them as prisoners.

The alarm was spread among the inhabitants, and they fled to the nearest forts with all despatch; and on this first expedition they would have had few scalps to grace their belts, had the Dunkards taken the advice of more sagacious people, and fled too; this, however, they would not do. They would follow but half of Cromwell's advice:—they were willing to put their "trust in God," but they would not "keep their powder dry." In short, it was a compound they did not use at all.

The savages swept down through the Cove with all the ferocity with which a pack of wolves would descend from the mountain upon a flock of sheep. Some few of the Dunkards, who evidently had a latent spark of love of life, hid themselves away; but by far the most of them stood by and witnessed the butchery of their wives and children, merely saying, "Gottes wille sei gethan." [3] How many Dunkard scalps they carried to Detroit cannot now be, and probably never has been, clearly ascertained,—not less than thirty, according to the best authority. In addition to this, they loaded themselves with plunder, stole a number of horses, and under cover of night the triumphant warriors marched bravely away.

Thomas Smith and George Woods, both, we believe, justices of the peace at the time, wrote to President Wharton as follows:—

November 27, 1777.

Gentlemen:—The present situation of this country is so truly deplorable that we should be inexcusable if we delayed a moment in acquainting you with it. An Indian war is now raging around us in its utmost fury. Before you went down they killed one man at Stony Creek; since that time they have killed five on the mountain, over against the heads of Dunning's Creek, killed or taken three at the Three Springs, wounded one, and killed some children by Frankstown; and had they not providentially been discovered in the night, and a party gone out and fired on them, they would, in all probability, have destroyed a great part of that settlement in a few hours. A small party went out into Morrison's Cove scouting, and unfortunately divided; the Indians discovered one division, and out of eight killed seven and wounded the other. In short, a day hardly passes without our hearing of some new murder; and if the people continue only a week longer to fly as they have done for a week past, Cumberland county will be a frontier. From Morrison's, Crayl's, and Friend's Coves, Dunning's Creek, and one-half of the Glades, they are fled or forted; and, for all the defence that can be made here, the Indians may do almost what they please. We keep out ranging-parties, in which we go out by turns; but all that we can do in that way is but weak and ineffectual for our defence, because one-half of the people are fled: those that remain are too busily employed in putting their families and the little of their effects that they can save and take into some place of safety, so that the whole burden falls upon a few of the frontier inhabitants, for those who are at a distance from danger have not as yet offered us any assistance. We are far from blaming the officers of the militia because they have not ordered them out, for if they had, they really can be of little or no service, not only for the foregoing reasons, but also for these:—Not one man in ten of them is armed. If they were armed, you are sensible, take the country through, there is not one fourth man that is fit to go against Indians, and it might often happen that in a whole class there might not be a single person who is acquainted with the Indians' ways of the woods; and if there should be a few good men, and the rest unfit for that service, those who are fit to take the Indians in their own way could not act with the same resolution and spirit as if they were sure of being properly supported by men like themselves. The consequence would be that the Indians, after gaining an advantage over them, would become much more daring and fearless, and drive all before them. A small number of select men would be of more real service to guard the frontiers than six times that number of people unused to arms or the woods. It is not for us to dictate what steps ought to be taken, but some steps ought to be taken without the loss of an hour. The safety of your country, of your families, of your property, will, we are convinced, urge you to do every thing in your power to put the frontiers in some state of defence. Suppose there were orders given to raise about one hundred rangers, under the command of spirited officers, who were well acquainted with the woods and the Indians and could take them in their own way. They could be raised instantly, and we are informed there are a great number of rifles lying in Carlisle useless, although the back country is suffering for the want of arms. It was a fatal step that was taken last winter in leaving so many guns when the militia came from camp; about this place, especially, and all the country near it, they are remarkably distressed for the want of guns, for when the men were raised for the army you know we procured every gun that we could for their use. The country reflect hard on us now for our assiduity on those occasions, as it now deprives them of the means of defence. But this is not the only instance in which we hear reflections which are not deserved. The safety of our country then loudly called on us to send all the arms to the camp that could be procured, and it now as loudly calls on us to entreat that we may be allowed some as soon as possible, as also some ammunition; as that which was intrusted to our care is now almost delivered out to the officers who are fortifying, and what remains of it is not fit for rifles. We need not repeat our entreaties that whatever is done may be done as soon as possible, as a day's delay may be the destruction of hundreds.

We are, in haste, gentlemen,

Your most obedient, humble servants,

George Woods.
Thomas Smith.

Bedford, November 27, 1777.

The persons mentioned as having been killed belonged mostly to the Cove; but the number was greatly exaggerated, as in fact but two were killed and one wounded. The other five escaped, and did not return until after the report of their death had gone abroad. The names of the killed we could not ascertain.

The band of Indians, after the Dunkard massacre, worked their way toward the Kittaning war-path, leaving behind them some few stragglers of their party whose appetite for blood and treasure had not been satiated. Among others, an old and a young Indian stopped at Neff's Mill. Neff was a Dunkard; but he was a single exception so far as resistance was concerned. He had constantly in his mill his loaded rifle, and was ready for any emergency. He had gone to his mill in the morning without any knowledge of Indians being in the neighborhood, and had just set the water-wheel in motion, when he discovered the two Indians lurking, within a hundred yards, in a small wood below the mill. Without taking much time to deliberate how to act, he aimed through the window, and deliberately shot the old Indian. In an instant the young Indian came toward the mill, and Neff ran out of the back door and up the hill. The quick eye of the savage detected him, and he fired, but missed his aim. Nothing daunted by the mishap, the savage followed up the cleared patch, when both, as if by instinct, commenced reloading their rifles. They stood face to face, not forty yards apart, on open ground, where there was no possible chance of concealment. The chances were equal: he that loaded first would be victor in the strife, the other was doomed to certain death. They both rammed home the bullet at the same time—with what haste may well be conjectured. This was a critical juncture, for, while loading, neither took his eye off the other. They both drew their ramrods at the same instant, but the intense excitement of the moment caused the Indian to balk in drawing his, and the error or mishap proved fatal, because Neff took advantage of it, and succeeded in priming and aiming before the Indian. The latter, now finding the muzzle of Neff's rifle bearing upon him, commenced a series of very cunning gyrations and contortions to destroy his aim or confuse him, so that he might miss him or enable him to prime. To this end, he first threw himself upon his face; then, suddenly rising up again, he jumped first to the right, then to the left, then fell down again. Neff, not the least put off his guard, waited until the Indian arose again, when he shot him through the head.

Neff, fearing that others might be about, left the mill and started to the nearest settlement. A force was raised and the mill revisited; but it was found a heap of smouldering cinders and ashes, and the dead bodies of the Indians had been removed. It is altogether likely that the rear of the savage party came up shortly after Neff had left, fired the mill, and carried away their slain companions.

For the part Neff took in the matter he was excommunicated from the Dunkard society. Nevertheless, he rebuilt his mill; but the Dunkards, who were his main support previously, refused any longer to patronize him, and he was eventually compelled to abandon the business.

On the 4th of May, 1781, a band of marauding savages entered the Cove and murdered a man, woman, and two children, and took one man prisoner, within a mile of the fort of John Piper, who was then colonel of the county. Names or particulars could not be ascertained.

At another time—period not remembered—several prisoners were taken.

The name of the Cove was changed from the "Great Cove" to "Morrison's Cove," in honor of a Mr. Morris, as early as 1770.

57 gruesome stories of capture and torture 

 

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.

 

 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

 

Indian Massacres  Around Franktown, Pennsylvania

OLD INDIAN TOWN OF FRANKSTOWN — INDIAN BURIAL-PLACES — MASSACRE OF THE BEDFORD SCOUT, E

Frankstown is probably the oldest place on the Juniata River—traders having mentioned it as early as 1750. The Indian town was located at the mouth of a small run, near where McCune's Mill now stands, and at one time contained a considerable number of inhabitants. The Indian name of the place was Assunepachla, which signifies a meeting of many waters, or the place where the waters join. This would seem to be an appropriate name, since, within a short distance of the place, the river is formed by what was then known as the Frankstown Branch, the Beaver Dam Branch, the Brush Run, and the small run near McCune's Mill.

The name of Frankstown was given it by the traders. Harris, in his report of the distances between the Susquehanna and the Alleghany, called it "Frank (Stephen's) Town." The general impression is that the town was named by the traders in honor of an old chief named Frank. This, however, is an error. It was named after an old German Indian trader named Stephen Franks, who lived contemporaneously with old Hart, and whose post was at this old Indian town. The truth of this becomes apparent when we remember that the Indians could not pronounce the r in their language; hence no chief was likely to bear the name of Frank at that early day. Old Franks, being a great friend of the Indians, lived and died among them, and it was after his death that one of the chiefs took his name; hence arose the erroneous impression that the name was given to the town in honor of the chief.

How long Assunepachla was an Indian settlement cannot be conjectured, but, unquestionably, long before the Indians of the valley had any intercourse with the whites. This is evidenced by the fact that where the town stood, as well as on the flat west of the town, relics of rudely-constructed pottery, stone arrow-heads, stone hatchets, &c., have repeatedly been found until within the last few years.

The use of stone edge-tools was abandoned as soon as the savages obtained a sight of a superior article,—probably as early as 1730. The first were brought to the valley by Indians, who had received them as presents from the proprietary family.

It is stated that the first brought to Assunepachla cost a special trip to Philadelphia. Three chiefs, having seen hatchets and knives at Standing Stone, were so fascinated with their utility that they resolved to have some. Accordingly they went to work at trapping; and in the fall, each with an immense load of skins, started on foot for Philadelphia, where they arrived after a long and fatiguing march. They soon found what they wanted at the shop of an Englishman; but, being unable to talk English, they merely deposited their furs upon the counter and pointed to the tomahawks and knives. This indicated trade; and the Englishman, after a critical examination of their skins, which he found would yield him not less than £100, threw them carelessly under the counter, and gave them a hatchet and a knife each. With these the savages were about to depart, well satisfied; but the trader suddenly bethinking himself of the possibility of their falling in with the interpreters, and their ascertaining the manner in which they had been swindled, called them back, and very generously added three clasp-knives and a quantity of brass jewelry.

With these they wended their way back, proud as emperors of their newly-acquired weapons. Never did chiefs enter a place with more pomp and importance than our warriors. The very dogs barked a welcome, and the Indians came forth from their wigwams to greet the great eastern travelers. Their hatchets, knives, and trinkets passed from hand to hand, and savage encomiums were lavished unsparingly upon them; but when their practicability was tested, the climax of savage enthusiasm was reached. The envied possessors were lions: they cut, hewed, and scored, just because they could.

But—alas for all things mutable!—their glory was not destined to last long. The traders soon appeared with the same kind of articles, and readily exchanged for half a dozen skins what the warriors had spent a season in trapping and a long journey to procure.

On the point of Chimney Ridge, near Wert's farm, below Hollidaysburg, was an Indian burial-place, and another on the small piece of table-land near the mouth of Brush Run. At both places, skeletons of mighty chiefs and all-powerful warriors have been ruthlessly torn from their places of sepulture by the plough, and many other relics have been exhumed.

The greater portion of the warriors residing at Frankstown went to Ohio in 1755, and took up the hatchet for their "brothers," the French, and against Onus, or their Father Penn. This act, the colonial government persuaded itself to believe, was altogether mercenary on the part of the savages. The real cause, as we have already stated, was the dissatisfaction which followed the purchase of the Juniata Valley by the Penns, for a few paltry pounds, from the Iroquois, at Albany, in 1754.

The town of Frankstown still continued to be a prominent Indian settlement until the army of General Forbes passed up the Raystown Branch when the spies sent out brought such exaggerated reports of the warlike appearance and strength of the army that the settlement was entirely broken up, and the warriors, with their squaws, pappooses, and movable effects, crossed the Alleghany by the Kittaning War-Path, and bade adieu to the valley which they were only too well convinced was no longer their own.

The remains of their bark huts, their old corn-fields, and other indications of their presence, were in existence until after the beginning of the present century.

On the flat, several white settlers erected their cabins at an early day, and a few near the old town, and others where the town of Frankstown now stands.

During the Revolution, as we have stated, a stable erected by Peter Titus was turned into a fortress. In summer, the location of the fort can still be traced by the luxuriant growth of vegetation upon it. This fort was called Holliday's Fort. The fort at Fetter's, a mile west of Hollidaysburg, was known as the Frankstown garrison. In those days there was no such place as Hollidaysburg, and the Frankstown district took in a scope of country which now serves for five or six very large townships; in short, every place was Frankstown within a radius of at least ten miles.

Holliday's Fort was a mere temporary affair; while the Frankstown garrison was a substantial stockade, manned and provisioned in such a manner that a thousand savages could by no possible means have taken it. It never was assaulted except upon one occasion, and then the red-skins were right glad to beat a retreat before they were able to fire a gun.

Near this fort occurred the massacre of the Bedford scout. This was unquestionably the most successful savage sortie made upon the whites in the valley during the Revolution; and, as some of the bravest and best men of Bedford county fell in this massacre, it did not fail to create an excitement compared to which all other excitements that ever occurred in the valley were perfect calms.

We shall, in the first place, proceed to give the first report of the occurrence, sent by George Ashman, one of the sub-lieutenants of the county, to Arthur Buchanan, at Kishicoquillas. Ashman says:—

Sir:—By an express this moment from Frankstown, we have the bad news. As a party of volunteers from Bedford was going to Frankstown, a party of Indians fell in with them this morning and killed thirty of them. Only seven made their escape to the garrison of Frankstown. I hope that you'll exert yourself in getting men to go up to the Stone; and pray let the river-people know, as they may turn out. I am, in health,

Geo. Ashman.

Of course Colonel Ashman was not near the place, and his despatch to Buchanan is, as a natural consequence, made up from the exaggerated reports that were carried to him at the instance of the affrighted people residing in the vicinity where the massacre occurred. The following is the official report, transmitted by Ashman to President Reed:—

Bedford County, June 12, 1781.

Sir:—I have to inform you that on Sunday, the third of this instant, a party of the rangers under Captain Boyd, eight in number, with twenty-five volunteers under Captain Moore and Lieutenant Smith, of the militia of this county, had an engagement with a party of Indians (said to be numerous) within three miles of Frankstown, where seventy-five of the Cumberland militia were stationed, commanded by Captain James Young. Some of the party running into the garrison, acquainting Captain Young of what had happened, he issued out a party immediately, and brought in seven more, five of whom are wounded, and two made their escape to Bedford,—eight killed and scalped,—Captain Boyd, Captain Moore, and Captain Dunlap missing. Captain Young, expecting from the enemy's numbers that his garrison would be surrounded, sent express to me immediately; but, before I could collect as many volunteers as was sufficient to march to Frankstown with, the enemy had returned over the Alleghany Hill. The waters being high, occasioned by heavy rains, they could not be pursued. This county, at this time, is in a deplorable situation. A number of families are flying away daily ever since the late damage was done. I can assure your Excellency that if immediate assistance is not sent to this county that the whole of the frontier inhabitants will move off in a few days. Colonel Abraham Smith, of Cumberland, has just informed me that he has no orders to send us any more militia from Cumberland county to our assistance, which I am much surprised to hear. I shall move my family to Maryland in a few days, as I am convinced that not any one settlement is able to make any stand against such numbers of the enemy. If your Excellency should please to order us any assistance, less than three hundred will be of but little relief to this county. Ammunition we have not any; and the Cumberland militia will be discharged in two days. It is dreadful to think what the consequence of leaving such a number of helpless inhabitants may be to the cruelties of a savage enemy.

Please to send me by the first opportunity three hundred pounds, as I cannot possibly do the business without money. You may depend that nothing shall be wanting in me to serve my country as far as my abilities.

I have the honor to be

Your Excellency's most obedient, humble servant,

George Ashman, Lieut. Bedford County.

It would appear that even a man holding an official station is liable to gross mistakes. In this instance, Ashman, who lived remote from the scene of the disaster, was evidently misled by the current rumors, and such he transmitted; for there are still persons alive, who lived at the time of the occurrence in the immediate vicinity, who pronounce Ashman's statement as erroneous, and who give an entirely different version of the affair.

The seventy Cumberland county militia, under strict military discipline, were sent first to Standing Stone, and afterward to Frankstown, early in the spring of 1781. They were under the command of Colonel Albright and Captain Young, and were sent with a view to waylaying the gaps of the Alleghany Mountains, and preventing any savages from coming into the valley. Instead of doing so, however, they proved themselves an inefficient body of men, with dilatory officers, who chose rather the idle life of the fort than scouting to intercept the savages. In fact, these men, in the service and pay of the Supreme Executive Council of the State to protect the frontier, were never one solitary cent's worth of advantage to the inhabitants. Such a force, one would suppose, would have inspired the people with confidence, and been fully able to cope with or repel the largest war-party of savages that ever trod the Kittaning War-Path during the Revolutionary struggle.

Notwithstanding the presence of this large body of men, stationed as it were almost at the mouth of the gap through which the Indians entered the valley, the depredations of the savages were almost of daily occurrence. The inefficiency of the Cumberland militia, who either could not or would not check the marauders, at length exasperated the settlers to such an extent that they resolved to form themselves into a scouting party, and range through the county for two months.

This project was favored by Colonel Ashman, and he agreed to furnish a company of rangers to join them. The enrolment of volunteers by Captain Moore, of Scotch Valley, assisted by his lieutenant, a Mr. Smith, from the vicinity of Frankstown, proceeded; and on the second of June, 1781, these men met at Holliday's Fort, then abandoned for want of provisions. There they were joined by the rangers, under command of Captain Boyd and Lieutenant Harry Woods, of Bedford, but, instead of there being a company, as the volunteers were led to expect, there were but eight men and the two officers above named.

From Holliday's Fort they marched to Fetter's, where they contemplated spending the Sabbath. It was their intention to march through the Kittaning Gap to an old State road, (long since abandoned,) from thence to Pittsburg, and home by way of Bedford.

While debating the matter and making the necessary arrangements, two spies came in and reported that they had come upon an Indian encampment near Hart's Sleeping Place, which had apparently been just abandoned, as the fire was still burning; that, from the number of bark huts, the savages must number from twenty-five to thirty.

This raised quite a stir in the camp, as the scouts evidently were eager for the fray. The officers, who were regular woodsmen, and knew that the Indians would not venture into the settlement until the day following, were confident of meeting them near the mouth of the gap and giving them battle. They at once tendered to Colonel Albright the command of the expedition; but he refused to accept it. They then importuned him to let a portion of his men, who were both anxious and willing, accompany them; but this, too, he refused.

Nothing daunted, however, the rangers and the volunteers arose by daybreak on Sunday morning, put their rifles in condition, eat their breakfast, and, with five days' provisions in their knapsacks, started for the mountain.

We sincerely regret that the most strenuous effort on our part to procure a list of this scout proved futile. Here and there we picked up the names of a few who were in it; but nothing would have given us greater pleasure than to insert a full and correct list of these brave men. In addition to the officers named, we may mention the following privates:—James Somerville, the two Colemans, two Hollidays, two brothers named Jones, a man named Grey, one of the Beattys, Michael Wallack, and Edward Milligan.

The path led close along the river, and the men marched in Indian file, as the path was narrow. When they reached the flat above where Temperance Mill now stands, and within thirty rods of the mouth of Sugar Run, the loud warwhoop rang upon the stillness of the Sabbath morning; a band of savages rose from the bushes on the left-hand side of the road, firing a volley at the same time, by which fifteen of the brave scout were stretched dead in the path. The remainder fled, in consternation, in every direction,—some over the river in the direction of Frankstown, others toward Fetter's Fort. A man named Jones, one of the fleetest runners, reached the fort first. To screen the scout from the odium of running, he reported the number of the enemy so large that Albright refused to let any of his command go to the relief of the unfortunate men.

As the Colemans were coming to the fort, they found the other Jones lying behind a log for the purpose of resting, as he said. Coleman advised him to push on to the fort, which he promised to do.

Captain Young at length started out with a party to bring in the wounded. The man Jones was found resting behind the log, but the rest was a lasting one; he was killed and scalped. Another man, who had been wounded, was also followed a short distance and killed and scalped,—making, in all, seventeen persons who fell by this sad and unlooked-for event. In addition to the seventeen killed, five were wounded, who were found concealed in various places in the woods and removed to the fort. Some reached the fort in safety, others were missing,—among the latter, Harry Woods, James Somerville, and Michael Wallack.

It appears that these three men started over the river, and ran up what is now known as O'Friel's Ridge, hotly pursued by a single savage. Woods and Wallack were in front, and Somerville behind, when the moccasin of the latter became untied. He stooped down to fix it, as it was impossible to ascend the steep hill with the loose moccasin retarding his progress. While in this position, the Indian, with uplifted tomahawk, was rapidly approaching him, when Woods turned suddenly and aimed with his empty rifle [5] at the Indian. This caused the savage to jump behind a tree scarcely large enough to cover his body, from which he peered, and recognised Woods.

"No hurt Woods!" yelled the Indian; "no hurt Woods!"

This Indian happened to be the son of the old Indian Hutson, to whom George Woods of Bedford paid a small annual stipend in tobacco, for delivering him from bondage. Hutson had frequently taken his son to Bedford, and it was by this means that he had become acquainted with Harry and readily recognised him. Woods, although he recognised Hutson, had been quite as close to Indians as he cared about getting; so the three continued their route over the ridge, and by a circuitous tramp reached the fort in the afternoon.

Many years afterward, long after the war, when Woods lived in Pittsburg, he went down to the Alleghany River to see several canoe-loads of Indians that had just arrived from above. He had scarcely reached the landing when one of the chiefs jumped out, shook him warmly by the hand, and said—

"Woods, you run like debble up Juniata Hill."

It was Hutson—by this time a distinguished chief in his tribe.

The fate of the unfortunate scout was soon known all over the country, expresses having been sent in every direction.

On Monday morning Captain Young again went out with a small party to bury the dead, and many of them were interred near the spot where they fell; while others, after the men got tired of digging graves, were merely covered with bark and leaves, and left on the spot to be food for the wolves, which some of the bodies unquestionably became, as Jones sought for that of his brother on Tuesday, and found nothing but the crushed remains of some bones.

In 1852, a young man in the employ of Mr. Burns exhumed one of these skeletons with the plough. It was found near the surface of the earth, on the bank of the river. The skull was perforated with a bullet-hole, and was in a remarkable state of preservation, although it had been in the ground uncoffined for a period of seventy-one years! It was placed in the earth again.

Immediately after the news of the massacre was spread, the people from Standing Stone and other places gathered at Fetter's; and on the Tuesday following a party of nearly one hundred men started in pursuit of the Indians. Colonel Albright was solicited to accompany this force with his command and march until they overtook the enemy; but he refused. The men went as far as Hart's Sleeping Place, but they might just as well have remained at home; for the savages, with the scalps of the scout dangling from their belts, were then far on their way to Detroit.

When the firing took place, it was plainly heard at the fort; and some of the men, fully convinced that the scout had been attacked, asked Colonel Albright to go out with his command to their relief. He merely answered by saying that he "knew his own business."

For his part in the matter, he gained the ill-will of the settlers, and it was very fortunate that his time expired when it did. The settlers were not much divided in opinion as to whether he was a rigid disciplinarian or a coward.

Men, arms, and ammunition, in abundance followed this last outrage; but it was the last formidable and warlike incursion into the Juniata Valley.

OLD BRIDGE NEAR PETERSBURG.

57 gruesome stories if Indian capture and torture

 

 

Colonists Capture and Revenge at Shaver's Creek, Pennsylvania. Exciting Stories

SHAVER'S CREEK — MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF OLD SHAVER — HEROIC CONDUCT OF TWO CHILDREN — ABDUCTION OF MISS EWING AND MISS McCORMICK — PETER CRUM, THE LAST VICTIM OF THE SAVAGES, ETC.

The original settlement at Shaver's Creek was made in 1770, by an old gentleman named Shaver. He was followed by Anderson, Maguire, the Donnelleys, and some few others. Old Shaver met his death in a most singular manner. One evening he left his home just at twilight, for the purpose of putting his horse into a pasture-field. He did not return; but his absence created no special alarm, as this was before the war, and before any savages had appeared in the valley with murderous intent. Next morning, however, his family not finding him, a search was instituted, and his body, minus the head, was found in a lane near the pasture-field. This was regarded as a most mysterious murder, and would have been charged to the Indians at once, had they ever been known to take a man's head off on any previous occasion. But as they always found the scalp to answer their purpose, and never encumbered themselves with the head, people shrewdly suspected that the Indians had nothing to do with the murder. The family offered a reward of £50 for the head; and, although the country was searched in every direction, it never was found.

The most active and energetic man in the Shaver's Creek settlement during the Revolutionary war was Samuel Anderson. He succeeded, mainly by his own exertions and the aid of a few neighbors on the creek and the Little Juniata, in erecting a block-house fort on the flat near the mouth of the creek, which was more or less occupied while the war continued; and it is but a few years since the last vestiges of this old fort were swept away by a freshet.

The fort itself never was assailed; and it just happens to strike us forcibly at this time as a singular fact that the Indians, during the Revolutionary war, always kept clear of the forts. Whether they did not understand the nature of them, or feared the numbers usually congregated in them, we do not pretend to say; but they always kept at a respectful distance from them. Anderson's Fort, like the others, was frequently disturbed by alarms—sometimes real and sometimes false.

An amusing instance of a false alarm at Anderson's Fort was given the writer. In 1779, all manner of rumors and reports were afloat. Everybody was forted, and the Indians formed the entire subject of conversation. One afternoon, a half-witted, cowardly fellow was sent up the path to bring the cows to the fort. He had been out about fifteen minutes when he returned, looking wild and haggard, and almost out of breath, declaring that the Indians were coming down the creek in full force. In an instant the whole fort was in commotion: men seized their rifles, dogs barked, children screamed, and everybody swore that the audacious savages should have a warm reception. The entire force of the garrison rallied out to a hill, and, with cocked rifles, awaited the appearance of the enemy on the brow. Lo! he came; but, instead of Indians, the alarm was suddenly quieted by the appearance of three cows! A mock court-martial was ordered to try the half-witted chap for raising a false alarm, and the jokers of the fort convicted him and passed sentence of death upon him. The joke came near proving fatal to the poor fellow, who for a long time could not be divested of the idea that he was to be shot.

In 1779, one of the most remarkable cases on record occurred up Shaver's Creek. The particulars are vague; but of the actual occurrence of what we are about to relate there is no doubt whatever—the circumstance having been mentioned to us by two or three persons.

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 challenged the whole settlement to mortal combat. The other 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 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 statement.

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 crashing down through the limbs of the tree, and fell by the side of his dead companion. Their bodies were not disturbed; 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 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 surprised and taken prisoners by a small band of roving Indians. It was late in October, at a time when no suspicion 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 subsided; 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 stratagem, 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, 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 generally. 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 himself 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. McCormick 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 McCormick, now residents of Altoona.

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.

Peter Crum, a worthy man, well known and highly respected 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 appeared, 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 shocking manner, after which they scalped him, and disappeared.

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 frequented road, in the very heart of a thickly-populated country, did not fail to produce the most intense excitement, 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.