Читать книгу History of the Early Settlement of the Juniata Valley - U. J. Jones - Страница 9

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[For the facts on which the two chapters following are based we are indebted to a gentleman named Andrew Banks, an old resident of Lost Creek Valley, Juniata county. He was born near York, and settled near his late place of residence in 1773, and was nearly eighty-nine years of age when we called upon him early in December, 1855. We found him enjoying the evening of a long and well-spent life, with his sense of hearing somewhat impaired, but his intellect and memory both good. He was a man of considerable intelligence, and we found him quite willing to give all he knew of the past worthy of record. He died about the last of the same month.]

The river, from the island to Newport, is hemmed in by mountains; and while it afforded excellent territory for hunting, fishing, and trapping, it held out no inducements for the Indians to erect their lodges along it. The first Indian village above the mouth of the river was located on the flat, a short distance above where the town of Newport now is. Another was located at the mouth of a ravine a little west of Millerstown. At the former place the Cahoons, Hiddlestons, and others were settled, who were ejected, and had their cabins burnt by Secretary Peters. After the purchase of these lands at Albany, in 1754, both these towns were destroyed, and the Indians went to Ohio.

Lost Creek Valley, unquestionably one of the most beautiful valleys in the Juniata region, was entered by some Indian traders as early as 1740. They found it occupied by two or three Indian settlements, and they made a successful barter with the aborigines. The next year they essayed to revisit the place, but were unable to find it. The following summer they found it again; hence arose the name of the lost creek. There is no record of any massacres by the Indians in this valley, and the impression is that they left it about 1754, some going toward the frontier, and others to the head of Tuscarora Valley.

The first settlement on the river, in what now constitutes Juniata county, was made in 1751, by an adventurous Scotch-Irishman known as Captain James Patterson. He came across the country from Cumberland county, accompanied by some five or six others, most of whom settled very near to where Mexico now stands. Patterson was a bold and fearless man; and he had not long resided in his new location before the Indians of the neighborhood both hated and feared him. He and his companions cleared the land on both sides of the river, built two large log-houses, and pierced them with loopholes, so that they might defend themselves from any attacks the savages might make. Patterson soon became aware of the fact that his reckless daring, especially in braving the proclamations of the proprietors in settling upon unpurchased Indian lands, had inspired the Indians with fear; hence he did not condescend to make an effort to purchase from the Indians, or even build a fort for the protection of his little colony. In addition to his recklessness, he possessed a good share of cunning, that on many occasions served his purpose. For instance, he used to keep a target, the centre of which was riddled with bullets, leaning against a tree. Whenever he found a party of friendly Indians approaching, he used to stand under his door and blaze away at the target, but always stop when the Indians were near the house. The Indians would invariably examine the target, measure the distance—about four hundred feet—with the eye, and conclude among themselves that Patterson would be an exceedingly tough customer in a fight! His reputation for shooting obtained for him among the Delawares the name of "Big Shot."

Patterson was a very bold squatter, and staked off for himself a large body of land, declaring that Providence had designed it for the use of Christian people to raise food upon, and not for Indian war-dances. But, with all his fancied security and his contemptuous opinion of the "cowardly red-skins," they put him to his trumps at last. In the year 1755 they no longer visited his settlement on the friendly mission of bartering furs and venison for rum and tobacco, but they commenced prowling about in small parties, painted for war, armed with the rifle—the use of which they had already acquired—and exceedingly dangerous-looking knives and tomahawks. Patterson became alarmed, and, actuated by a settled conviction that "discretion" was the better part of valor, himself and his companions crossed the Tuscarora Mountain and took refuge in Sherman's Valley. A few years after he returned, but he found his land parcelled, and occupied by others, who held deeds of purchase for it from the proprietory government. Nothing daunted, however, he took possession of another piece of land, and commenced cultivating it, without going through the land-office formula of obtaining a legal title for it. He was a man of some intelligence, and held in supreme contempt the Penn family and their treaties with the Indians. He declared that the Albany treaty did not give them a shadow of right to the land; and, as it was not considered morally wrong for the Penns to wheedle the Indians out of millions of acres of land for the paltry sum of £400, he did not see any wrong in his cheating the Penn family out of a farm.

For some years peace and quiet reigned in the neighborhood; but in the spring of 1763 the red man again lifted the hatchet, and the settlers were thrown into awe and consternation. Constant rumors were afloat of their depredations, and at length a scouting party returned with the unwelcome intelligence that a body of Shawnees were encamped in Tuscarora Valley. As speedily as possible, all the movable effects were placed upon pack-horses, and the settlers, by extremely cautious manœuvering, succeeded in escaping safely, and again took up their residence in Sherman's Valley.

The spring having been exceedingly favorable, the grain crop was ready to cut early in July, and a party was formed by the settlers, and some few others, to go back and assist each other in getting in their harvest. On their arrival they set vigorously to work; and, no traces of savages being perceptible, in their anxiety to get in the grain they appeared to forget them, notwithstanding each man carried with him his trusty rifle wheresoever he went. On Sunday, while resting from their labors, some ten or twelve Shawnee Indians approached the house of William White, where all the settlers were spending the Sabbath. They crawled up to the house unperceived, and fired a volley through the open door, killing Mr. White and wounding some of his family. The wildest consternation seized upon the party within, and, in the great confusion which followed, all escaped by the back-door except William Riddle. Some swam the river; others escaped in different directions. Riddle did not see a son of his, aged about twelve years, escape; and, without probably being conscious of what he was doing, walked toward the front-door, where a savage fired at him. The muzzle of the gun was so near Riddle's face that the discharge literally filled it with gunpowder. The ball grazed, but did not injure him. At the moment the savage discharged his rifle, Riddle was tripped by something upon the floor, and fell. The Indians took it for granted that both were killed, and set up a loud shout of victory. While holding a consultation about their future movements, Riddle jumped up suddenly and ran. Several Indians fired, and for a short distance pursued him; but he soon distanced the fleetest runner among them. The marauders then returned, and, after scalping Mr. White, plundered the house of all the ammunition they could find, some few other trifling articles, and then set fire to it.

On taking their departure from the place, from a high bluff near the house they discovered Riddle's son, who was trying to conceal himself in a rye-field. They captured him and took him along with them. In order to give an account of his captivity, we shall be compelled to defer an account of the further depredations of the same band until the next chapter.

Some years after peace was restored—the precise year not known, but supposed to have been in 1767—Riddle started for the frontier in search of his son. This was a time of almost profound peace, which followed the numerous massacres of the few preceding years, and a time, too, when the Indians had been taught some severe lessons, and were disposed to act friendly toward the whites. Riddle travelled on horseback, and passed numerous Indian villages, but could hear no tidings of his son until he came upon an encampment of Shawnee Indians near Lake Erie. As he neared the village, he saw the warriors returning from the chase, and among them a youthful-looking brave with an eagle-feather waving on his cap, and all the paraphernalia of a young chief decorating his person. His bearing erect, his step firm, he trod the path with a proud and haughty air. But a single glance sufficed for Riddle to recognise in the youthful warrior his son John. Dismounting from his horse, he sprang forward and attempted to throw himself into his arms; but, strange to say, his advances were repulsed! Even when the lad was convinced that he was Riddle's offspring, he refused to go with him, but declared his determination to remain with the tribe.

During the few years that he had been among the sons of the forest, he had most thoroughly imbibed their habits and a strong love for their wild and romantic life. The chase, the woods, the council-fires and the wigwams, the canoe and the dance of the squaws, were enchantment to him, in the enjoyment of which he lost all recollections of home or his parents; and when his father declared that he would use a parent's prerogative to force him to accompany him, young Riddle, almost frantic with despair, called upon his warrior friends to interfere in his behalf. But the Indians, fearful of the consequences that might result from any interference of the kind, acknowledged Riddle's right to reclaim his son, since the red man and the white man had smoked the pipe of peace. It was, therefore, with great reluctance that John Riddle prepared to depart immediately. He took a hasty farewell of his warrior companions, and, mounting behind his father, they turned their faces toward the valley of the Juniata. Mr. Riddle, with commendable zeal and a great deal of prudence, put as much ground between him and the Shawnee village, before nightfall, as possible. He pitched his tent for the night on the edge of a thicket, and partook of some provisions which he had in his saddle-bag; and, after talking for an hour or two, they stretched themselves before the fire to sleep. Young Riddle appeared resigned, and had even conversed gayly and cheerfully with his father; but the old man had his misgivings, and he feared that treachery was hidden beneath this semblance of cheerfulness. The consequence was that he lay awake for hours; but at length the fatigues of the day overcame him, and he sank into a deep sleep, from which he did not awake until the sun was up, and then only to find that his son had fled! The emotions of a father under such circumstances may be imagined, but certainly they cannot well be described. A man of less energy would have given up the object of his mission as hopeless, and returned home.

Not so, however, with Riddle, for he hastened back to the Indian village, and asked the Indians sternly for his son. Unused or unwilling to dissemble, they frankly told him that he was in the council-house, and demanded their protection; that he had eaten, drank, and smoked, with the red man, and that he was unwilling to acknowledge a pale-face as a father or a brother. This highly incensed Riddle, and he declared that if his son were not delivered up to him, he would bring the forces from the nearest fort and exterminate them; and, further, that, if any injury befell him, his friends, who knew his mission, would follow and avenge him. A council was immediately called, and the subject debated. The young warriors of the village were determined that young Riddle should remain among them at all hazards; but the counsel of the older chiefs, who evidently foresaw what would follow, prevailed, and young Riddle was again placed in charge of his father. The old man, profiting by experience, took his son to a frontier fort, and from thence home, reasoning with him all the way on the folly of adopting the life of a savage.

Riddle grew to manhood, and reared a large family in Walker township, all of whom many years ago went to the West. He is represented by Mr. Banks as having been a quiet and inoffensive man, except when he accidentally indulged in the too free use of "fire-water." It was then that all the characteristics of the red man manifested themselves. "On such occasions his eye flashed, and all his actions betokened the wily savage."