About December, 1777, a number of families came into the fort from the neighborhood of Johnstown. Among them were Samuel Adams, one Thornton, and Bridges. After the alarm had somewhat subsided, they agreed to return to their property. A party started with pack-horses, reached the place, and, not seeing any Indians, collected their property and commenced their return. After proceeding some distance, a dog belonging to one of the party showed signs of uneasiness and ran back. Bridges and Thornton desired the others to wait while they would go back for him. They went back, and had proceeded but two or three hundred yards when a body of Indians, who had been lying in wait on each side of the way, but who had been afraid to fire on account of the number of the whites, suddenly rose up and took them prisoners. The others, not knowing what detained their companions, went back after them.

When they arrived near the spot the Indians fired on them, but without doing any injury. The whites instantly turned and fled, excepting Samuel Adams, who took a tree, and began to fight in the Indian style. In a few minutes, however, he was killed, but not without doing the same fearful service for his adversary. He and one of the Indians shot at and killed each other at the same moment. When the news reached the fort a party volunteered to visit the ground. When they reached it, although the snow had fallen ankle-deep, they readily found the bodies of Adams and the Indian, the face of the latter having been covered by his companions with Adams's hunting-shirt.

A singular circ.u.mstance also occurred about that time in the neighborhood of the Alleghany Mountain. A man named Wells had made a very considerable improvement, and was esteemed rather wealthy for that region. He, like others, had been forced with his family from his house, and had gone for protection to the fort. In the fall of the year, he concluded to return to his place and dig his crop of potatoes. For that purpose, he took with him six or seven men, an Irish servant girl to cook, and an old plough-horse. After they had finished their job, they made preparations to return to the fort the next day. During the night, Wells dreamed that on his way to his family he had been attacked and gored by a bull; and so strong an impression did the dream make that he mentioned it to his companions, and told them that he was sure some danger awaited them. He slept again, and dreamed that he was about to shoot a deer, and, when c.o.c.king his gun, the main-spring broke. In his dream he thought he heard distinctly the crack of the spring when it broke. He again awoke, and his fears were confirmed, and he immediately urged his friends to rise and get ready to start.

Directly after he arose he went to his gun to examine it, and, in c.o.c.king it, the main-spring snapped off. This circ.u.mstance alarmed them, and they soon had breakfast, and were ready to leave. To prevent delay, the girl was put on the horse and started off, and, as soon as it was light enough, the rest followed. Before they had gone far, a young dog, belonging to Wells, manifested much alarm, and ran back to the house. Wells called him, but, after going a short distance, he invariably ran back.

Not wishing to leave him, as he was valuable, he went after him, but had gone only a short distance toward the house, when five Indians rose from behind a large tree that had fallen, and approached him with extended hands. The men who were with him fled instantly, and he would have followed, but the Indians were so close that he thought it useless. As they approached him, however, he fancied the looks of a very powerful Indian, who was nearest him, boded no good, and being a swift runner, and thinking it "neck or nothing" at any rate, determined to attempt an escape. As the Indian approached, he threw at him his useless rifle, and dashed off toward the woods in the direction his companions had gone.

Instead of firing, the Indians commenced a pursuit, for the purpose of making him a prisoner, but he outran them. After running some distance, and when they thought he would escape, they all stopped and fired at once, and every bullet struck him, but without doing him much injury or r.e.t.a.r.ding his flight. Soon after this he saw where his companions concealed themselves, and, as he pa.s.sed, he begged them to fire on the Indians, and save him; but they were afraid, and kept quiet. He continued his flight, and, after a short time, overtook the girl with the horse. She quickly understood his danger, and dismounted instantly, urging him to take her place, while she would save herself by concealment. He mounted, but without a whip, and for want of one could not get the old horse out of a trot. This delay brought the Indians upon him again directly, and as soon as they were near enough they fired--and this time with more effect, as one of the b.a.l.l.s struck him in the hip and lodged in his groin. But this saved his life; it frightened the horse into a gallop, and he escaped, although he suffered severely for several months afterward.

The Indians were afterward pursued, and surprised at their morning meal; and, when fired on, four of them were killed, but the other, though wounded, made his escape. Bridges, who was taken prisoner near Johnstown when Adams was murdered, saw him come to his people, and describes him as having been shot through the chest, with leaves stuffed in the bullet-holes to stop the bleeding.

The first white child born in Raystown was William Frazer. When the Revolution broke out, Bedford county furnished two companies, a greater portion of one of the companies being recruited in what now const.i.tutes Huntingdon and Blair counties. Among these were a man named McDonald, another named Fee, from the mouth of Raystown Branch, and George Weston, a brother of the tory shot at Kittaning, and a man named Cluggage.

The town of Bedford was for a long time the residence of General A. St.

Clair and a number of others who subsequently figured prominently in the affairs of the nation. For pure patriotism and a willingness to spend their blood and treasure for the cause of liberty, as well as the defence of their brethren on the confines of the county, few towns could excel Bedford, which reflected such credit upon them as will be remembered by the grateful descendants of the frontier-men when history fails to do them justice.

CHAPTER XIII.

RAYSTOWN BRANCH, CONTINUED--MURDER OF SANDERS AND HIS FAMILY-- ENGLISHMAN AND WIFE TAKEN PRISONERS--FELIX SKELLY AND MRS.

ELDER TAKEN CAPTIVES--THEIR RETURN, ETC.

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 a.s.sumed 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 Woodc.o.c.k Valley, and information immediately conveyed to the commander at the fort in Huntingdon. A scout was sent to Woodc.o.c.k 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 were 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.

The day following the above ma.s.sacre, the other party of savages, who it appears had taken the country nearer the Juniata to range through, made their appearance at the house of a Mrs. Skelly, who was sick in bed at the time, and her nearest neighbor, Mrs. Elder, being there on a visit. It was a beautiful May-day Sabbath afternoon, when Mrs. Elder prepared to go home, and Felix Skelly, the son, agreed to accompany her part of the way. They had gone probably a hundred rods through a meadow, when Mrs. Elder noticed a savage, partly concealed behind some elder-bushes. She stopped suddenly, and told Felix, who had got a little in advance, to return, as there were Indians about. Skelly said he thought not, and advised her to come on, or it would be night before he could return. Mrs. Elder stood still, however, and soon saw the figure of the Indian so plainly as not to be mistaken, when she screamed to Felix to run, and, when in the act of turning around, a savage sprang from behind an elder bush into the path, and seized her by the hair. Another seized Skelly, and in a moment the shout of victory went up, and three or four more Indians came from their places of concealment. Finding themselves captives, and unable to remedy matters, they submitted with a good grace.

Fortunately for them, the warrior who had command of the party could speak a little English, and was a little more humane than the generality of savages of the day. He gave Mrs. Elder positive a.s.surance that no harm should befall her. He would not, however, give the same a.s.surance to Skelly. They took up their line of march over the Terrace Mountain, crossed over to the base of the Alleghany, avoiding as much as possible the white settlements, and crossed the mountain by the Kittaning Path.

Skelly, although but seventeen years of age, was an athletic fellow, well built, and weighed in the neighborhood of one hundred and eighty pounds. The Indians, noticing his apparent strength, and in order probably to tire him so that he would make no effort to escape, loaded him down with the plunder they had taken in Hartslog Valley. In addition to this, they found on the Alleghany Mountains some excellent wood for making bows and arrows, a quant.i.ty of which they cut and bound together, and compelled Skelly to carry. Mrs. Elder was obliged to carry a long-handled frying-pan, which had been brought all the way from Germany by a Dunkard family, and had, in all probability, done service to three or four generations. Of course, Mrs. Elder, burdened with this alone, made no complaint.

At length the party reached an Indian town on the Alleghany River, where it was determined that a halt should take place in order to recruit. One of the Indians was sent forward to apprise the town of their coming; and on their entering the town they found a large number of savages drawn up in two lines about six feet apart, all armed with clubs or paddles. Skelly was relieved of his load and informed that the performance would open by his being compelled to run the gauntlet.

Skelly, like a man without money at one o'clock who has a note to meet in the bank before three, felt the importance and value of _time_; so, walking leisurely between the lines, he bounded off at a speed that would have done credit to a greyhound, and reached the far end without receiving more than one or two light blows. He was then exempt, as no prisoner was compelled to undergo the same punishment twice.

The Indians, disappointed by the fleetness of Skelly, expected to more than make up for it in pummelling Mrs. Elder; but in this they reckoned without their host. The word was given for her to start, but the warrior who had captured her demurred, and not from disinterested motives, either, as will presently appear. His objections were overruled, and it was plainly intimated that she must conform to the custom. Seeing no method of avoiding it, Mrs. Elder, armed with the long-handled pan, walked between the lines with a determined look. The first savage stooped to strike her, and in doing so his scant dress exposed his person, which Mrs. Elder saw, and antic.i.p.ated his intention by dealing him a blow on the exposed part which sent him sprawling upon all-fours. The chiefs who were looking on laughed immoderately, and the next four or five, intimidated by her heroism, did not attempt to raise their clubs. Another of them, determined to have a little fun, raised his club; but no sooner had he it fairly poised than she struck him upon the head with the frying-pan in such a manner as in all likelihood made him see more stars than ever lit the "welkin dome." The Indians considered her an Amazon, and she pa.s.sed through the lines without further molestation; but, as she afterward said, she "did it in a hurry."

The squaws, as soon as she was released, commenced pelting her with sand, pulling her hair, and offering her other indignities, which she would not put up with, and again had recourse to her formidable weapon--the long-handled pan. l.u.s.tily she plied it, right and left, until the squaws were right glad to get out of her reach.

In a day or two the line of march for Detroit was resumed, and for many weary days they plodded on their way. After the first day's journey, the warrior who had captured Mrs. Elder commenced making love to her.

Her comely person had smitten him; her courage had absolutely fascinated him, and he commenced wooing her in the most gentle manner.

She had good sense enough to appear to lend a willing ear to his plaintive outpourings, and even went so far as to intimate that she would become his squaw on their arrival at Detroit. This music was of that kind which in reality had "charms to soothe the savage," and matters progressed finely.

One night they encamped at a small Indian village on the bank of a stream in Ohio. Near the town was an old deserted mill, in the upper story of which Skelly and the rest of the male prisoners were placed and the door bolted. That evening the Indians had a grand dance and a drunken revel, which lasted until after midnight. When the revel ended, Skelly said to his comrades in captivity that he meant to escape if possible. He argued that if taken in the attempt he could only be killed, and he thought a cruel death by the savages would be his fate, at all events, at the end of the journey. They all commenced searching for some means of egress, but none offered, save a window. The sash was removed, when, on looking out into the clear moonlight, to their horror they discovered that they were immediately over a large body of water, which, formed the mill-dam, the distance to it being not less than sixty feet. They all started back but Skelly. He, it appears, had set his heart upon a determined effort to escape, and he stood for a while gazing upon the water beneath him. Every thing was quiet; not a breath of air was stirring. The sheet of water lay like a large mirror, reflecting the pale rays of the moon. In a minute Skelly formed the desperate determination of jumping out of the mill-window.

"Boys," whispered he, "I am going to jump. The chances are against me; I may be killed by the fall, recaptured by the savages and killed, or starve before I reach a human habitation; but then I _may escape_, and, if I do, I will see my poor mother, if she is still alive, in less than ten days. With me, it is freedom from this captivity _now_, or death."

So saying, he sprang from the window-sill, and, before the affrighted prisoners had time to shrink, they heard the heavy plunge of Skelly into the mill-dam. They hastened to the window, and in an instant saw him emerge from the water unharmed, shake himself like a spaniel, and disappear in the shadow of some tall trees. The wary savage sentinels, a few minutes after the plunge, came down to ascertain the noise, but Skelly had already escaped. They looked up at the window, concluded that the prisoners had amused themselves by throwing something out, and returned to their posts.

The sufferings of Skelly were probably among the most extraordinary ever endured by any mortal man. He supposed that he must have walked at least forty miles before he stopped to rest. He was in a dense forest, and without food. The morning was hazy, and the sun did not make its appearance until about ten o'clock, when, to his dismay, he found he was bearing nearly due south, which would lead him right into the heart of a hostile savage country. After resting a short time, he again started on his way, shaping his course by the sun northeast, avoiding all places which bore any resemblance to an Indian trail. That night was one that he vividly remembered the balance of his life. As soon as it was dark, the cowardly wolves that kept out of sight during the day commenced howling, and soon got upon his track. The fearful proximity of the ravenous beasts, and he without even so much as a knife to defend himself, drove him almost to despair, when he discovered a sort of cave formed by a projecting rock. This evidently was a wolf's den.

The hole was quite small, but he forced his body through it, and closed the aperture by rolling a heavy stone against it. Soon the wolves came, and the hungry pack, like a grand chorus of demons, kept up their infernal noise all night. To add to the horrors of his situation, he began to feel the pangs of both hunger and thirst. With the break of day came relief, for his cowardly a.s.sailants fled at dawn. He ventured out of the den, and soon resolved to keep on the lowlands. After digging up some roots, which he ate, and refreshing himself at a rivulet, he travelled on until after nightfall, when he came upon the very edge of a precipice, took a step, and fell among five Indians sitting around the embers of a fire. Uninjured by the fall, he sprang to his feet, bounded off in the darkness before the Indians could recover from their surprise, and made good his escape.

In this way he travelled on, enduring the most excruciating pains from hunger and fatigue, until the fourth day, when he struck the Alleghany River in sight of Fort Pitt; at which place he recruited for a week, and then returned home by way of Bedford, in company with a body of troops marching east.

His return created unusual gladness and great rejoicing, for his immediate friends mourned him as one dead.

Mrs. Elder gave a very interesting narrative on her return, although she did not share in the sufferings of Skelly. She was taken to Detroit, where she lived in the British garrison in the capacity of a cook. From there she was taken to Montreal and exchanged, and reached home by way of Philadelphia.

Felix Skelly afterward moved to the neighborhood of Wilmore, in Cambria county, where he lived a long time, and died full of years and honors.

CHAPTER XIV.

STANDING STONE, ANCIENT AND MODERN--MURDER OF FELIX DONNELLY AND HIS SON FRANCIS, ETC.

As an Indian post of ancient date, none is more universally known than "Standing Stone," where Huntingdon now stands. The very earliest traders could never ascertain by Indian tradition how long it had been a village, but that it dated back to a very remote period may be judged from the fact that the land on the flat between Stone Creek and Huntingdon was under cultivation one hundred and five years ago. It was used as one extensive corn-field, with the exception of that portion lying near the mouth of the creek, where the Indian town stood, and where also was a public ground, used on great occasions for councils or dances.

The Standing Stone--that is, the _original_ stone--was, according to John Harris, fourteen feet high and six inches square. It stood on the right bank of Stone Creek, near its mouth, and in such a position as to enable persons to see it at a considerable distance, either from up or down the river.

About this self-same Standing Stone there still exist contradictory opinions. These we have endeavored to ascertain; and, after weighing them carefully, we have come to the conclusion that no person now living ever saw part or parcel of the _original_ stone, notwithstanding Dr. Henderson delivered what some are disposed to believe a portion of it to the Historical Society of Pennsylvania.

The original Standing Stone, we are induced to believe, in addition to serving a similar capacity to that of a guide-board at a cross-road, was the official record of the tribe. On it, no doubt, were engraved all the important epochs in its history,--its wars, its mighty deeds, its prowess in battle, and its skill in the chase. It might, too, have served as a sacred tablet to the memory of many a n.o.ble chief who fell by the arrow of an enemy. These things were, no doubt, in cabalistic characters; and, although each inscription may have been small, its meaning may have taken in almost an unbounded scope, as Indian brevity generally does.

This stone was once the cause of a war. The Tuscaroras, residing some thirty or forty miles down the river,--probably in Tuscarora Valley,--wished to declare war against the tribe at Standing Stone, for some real or fancied insult, and for this purpose sent them repeated war-messages, which the tribe at the Stone refused to give ear to, knowing as they did the strength and power of the enemy. Taking advantage of the absence of a large part of the tribe on a hunt, the Tuscaroras, in great force, came upon the village, captured the stone, and carried it off. Immediately after the return of the warriors, the entire available war-force was despatched after the depredators, who were soon overtaken. A b.l.o.o.d.y conflict ensued, and the trophy was recaptured and carried back in triumph.

Dr. Barton, it is said, discovered that the word _Oneida_ meant "Standing Stone," in the language of the Southern Indians.[2] The _Oneida_ tribe of the Iroquois had a tradition that their forefathers came from the South; consequently, the tribe at Standing Stone may have been part of the Oneida tribe instead of Delawares, as was generally supposed. The Tuscaroras, according to history, came from the South and became one of the Iroquois confederation in 1712. The language of the two tribes in question, although not identical, bore a strong affinity to each other. Hence we may surmise that the characters upon the stone were understood by the Tuscaroras, and that it possessed, in their eyes, sufficient value to move it some forty or fifty miles, under what we should call disadvantageous circ.u.mstances, especially when it is known that stones of a better finish could have been found anywhere along the Juniata River.

[2] Morgan, in his "League of the Iroquois," gives it a different interpretation.

There is no doubt at all but what the original stone was removed by the Indians and taken with them in 1754 or 1755, for it is a well-ascertained fact that the Indians in the valley, with some few exceptions, (Aughwick, for instance,) joined the French in the above years.

The first survey of the land on which Huntingdon now stands was made by Mr. Lukens, in behalf of a claimant named Crawford, in 1756. It is therein named as "George Crogan's improvement." It is not improbable that Crogan may have claimed the improved fields and site of the deserted village, but that he ever made any improvement beyond probably erecting a trading-post there is a matter of some doubt. His whole history proves that he was no _improving_ man.

On the second stone erected were found the names of John and Charles Lukens, Thomas Smith, and a number of others, with dates varying from 1768 to 1770, cut or chiselled. This stone was most unquestionably erected, by some of the men whose names it bore, on the same spot where the original stone stood, but was subsequently removed to or near where the old court-house in Huntingdon formerly stood. This position it occupied for many years, and might still stand as a monument of the past, had not some Vandal taken it into his head to destroy it. One piece of it still remains in a wall of the foundation of a house in Huntingdon.

The old Indian graveyard (and an extensive one it must have been) was on the high ground, near where the present Presbyterian church stands.

To the credit of the Huntingdon folks be it said, they have never permitted a general exhumation of the bones of the Indians, to fill scientific cabinets, gratify the morbid appet.i.tes of the curious, or even to satisfy the less objectionable zeal of the antiquarian.

The few white settlers who lived at the Stone, in 1762, partially erected a stockade fort; but before the spring of 1763 they were forced to abandon it, as well as their houses, and fly to Carlisle for protection. When the settlers returned, in 1770, the fort still stood, though partially decayed. Immediately on the breaking out of the war of the Revolution, the fort was rebuilt on a more extended scale by the few inhabitants of the town and surrounding country. It was located near where the court-house now stands, immediately on the bluff, and, according to the traces of it discovered by the present generation, must have covered ten acres of ground. It was strongly built; and, when the savages were in the midst of their depredations, it was the only reliable refuge--before the erection of the Lead Mine Fort, in Sinking Valley--for all the people residing as far west as the base of the Alleghany Mountains.

No actual attempt was ever made against Standing Stone Fort; neither were there ever any Indians seen, except on two or three occasions, very close to it. A party of lurking savages were once surprised and shot at by a number of scouts on the hill where the graveyard now stands; but they made good their escape without any injury being done.

At another time, by a display of cool courage, as well as shrewdness, that would do any general credit, the commander of the fort unquestionably saved the place from total annihilation. One morning a large body of savages appeared upon the ridge on the opposite side of the river, and, by theirmanoeuvering, it was clearly evident that they meditated an attack, which, under the circ.u.mstances, must have proved disastrous to the settlers, for not more than ten men able to bear arms were in the fort at the time--the majority having left on a scouting expedition. The commander, with judgment that did him infinite credit, marshalled his men, and paraded them for half an hour in such a manner as to enable the Indians to see a constant moving of the middle of the column, but neither end of it, while the drums kept up a constant clatter. In addition to this, he ordered all the women out, armed them with frying-pans, brooms, or whatever he could lay his hands upon, and marched them about the enclosure after the same manner in which he did the men. The enemy could only make out the dim outlines of the people and hear the noise. The stratagem succeeded, and, after a very short council of war, the Indians disappeared.