Page images
PDF
EPUB

Alleghanies, over whose cloud cap't summit, the "sons" of Noah securely sail their freighted arks, where four thousand years ago this ancient Patriarch would have left his boat to rot. Underneath your feet lies mouldering the remains of those who, once like you "lived and moved and had their being," some of whom fell as falls the withered leaf touched by the frosts of age, others were cut off in the prime of life ere their high wrought hopes had learned reality, the fate of some of those, an aged matron of now four score years and ten, learned to me, tha I might give to fame and you, that when fond memory recalls the associations of this day, your thoughts might wander back to "the time that tried men's souls," and give you cause to thank Heaven who cast your lot in a land of peace, of order and of law, in whose defence we know you all would freely peril life, and for your country's honor bravely die.

A few months after the close of the war of Independence, some twenty-five families returned to their form-` er homes, in what was then considered the Back Woods, and resumed the occupation of their farms, erection of houses, &c. &c., and for some two or more years remained unmolested, when suddenly a large band of Indians surprised the white inhabitants of this settlement, murdering the inhabitants, burning their dwellings, &c. Some fled on the first alarm, others collected at a fort which once stood where now stands James A. McAhan's Mill, (then Ulrich's) which you can see from where you now stand. Amongst those who fled were the parents and family of our informant, and fourteen other families

these had barely time to quit their dwellings ere the Indians arrived, the flames of their burning houses served to light their steps through the horrors of a night's march. On their first day's journey, when within two miles of the Raystown Branch of the Juniata, they met five hunters going west to hunt, whom they advised of their danger and urged them to return. The hunters not believing that there was danger so near continued. on their route, but had not gone more than two miles

when they were all shot dead by the Indians, who were in pursuit of the retreating families (who were totally unarmed) and consequently must have fallen an easy prey to their savage pursuers.

Of those who took refuge in the fort was a Wm. Moore, who wishing to visit his farm and look after his horses. left the fort accompanied by a boy named McCartney, then only thirteen years of age. Those two had gone less than one-fourth of a mile from the fort when Moore was shot at by an Indian, who lay concealed behind a thorn bush which he had cut down to hide him from observation-the dead body of Mr. Moore was found with his feet in the water, on the opposite bank of the Juniata river, where you now ford the stream, on the farm of Mr. Robert Thomson. The boy, McCartney, seeing Moore fall, hid behind a tree-the Indian made signs shewing how he would cut off the scalp of the boy. McCartney placed his hat on the top of his gun, and holding it partly past the tree, which the Indian (supposing contained the head of the boy) fired at, and McCartney at the same instant letting fall the hat-the Indian dropped his gun, ran forward exclaiming, "Pooh, Pooh, a dead man. At this critical period young McCartney fired, killing the Indian, and immediately dropping his gun, fled to the fort yelling and screaming at every bound. On arriving at the fort he fell into fits, and it was many days ere the excitement of that trying hour was erased from his memory so as to allow him to sleep in repose. Often did he, in his sleeping hours, seem to re-enact the scene of the Indian's death and his own flight to the fort. Young McCartney's name is yet held in fond remembrance-his noble daring is the subject of just encomium. The Indian's gun and tomahawk, together with a purse of $50, were given him. Some years after this young McCartney moved to the yet farther west, settled down and prospered well. The body of William Moore lies interred on the west side of the Hill, in front of Camp Warren, within drum beat of where you now stand-the sound of your martial music reaches not his ear, long

since has his body returned to its native earth, and his spirit to the God who gave it-hurried home by the leaden messenger of death shot from an Indian's gun, whose spirit at the same moment was ushered into eternity and together, white spirit and red, met where war's trade is forever ended.

66

Eyes left, you see at a distance of some six hundred yards from you a cluster of Lombardy poplar trees, underneath whose conical shade lies the remains of three youths, two boys and one girl, children of William Holliday, "the father of all." Their several names were Jane, Adam, and Patrick-these, together with their father, were making hay in this field some months after the first band of Indians had left this settlement, when they were surprised by Indians, and all three of them killed in sight of their father, who being at a short distance from his children escaped, pursued by an armed Indian, whilst the cries of his daughter rang in his ear, calling on him to wait for her—“Õh, dear father, wait for me. But there was no time to wait, every instant was pregnant with danger-his death could not avert her fate, it was a trying moment for a parent's heart. He succeeded in mounting a horse which fell (not dead) shot in the grissel of the neck, by a rifle ball from the Indian's gun -ere the Indian could re-load, Mr. Holliday mounted a horse of Angis M'Donald, which had followed after, and made his escape, pursued by the Indian, to near Water street (some 17 miles.) Arriving at Huntingdon he collects some men, who returned and assisted in burying. the children, whom they wrapped in a blanket and interred in one grave, around which lie the remains of their parents, brothers, sisters and relations, who have since died at or near this place. North of this, at a distance of two hundred yards from this grave yard, you see in good preservation the old mansion house of Mr. Holliday. Near this once stood a building called the Commissary house-this the Indians burnt at a subsequent period, together with a large quantity of grain, and attempted to burn the dwelling house, which during an

entire night and part of one day they besieged, frequently succeeding in setting fire to the same which those within as often extinguished. After they had exhausted their supply of lead, Mrs. Holliday melted her pewterware into bullets, and thus saved the lives of those within.

During the period this settlement was subjected to the inroads of hostile Indians, it was usual to retreat to the Old Fort referred to. Intelligence having been communicated that Indians were about,' two companies were sent from the Fort, one of which unexpectedly fell in with a company of twenty-five Indians, who were preparing their victuals in a dense thicket. The Indians perceived the whites approach, ere they (the whites) were aware of their danger, having gone not over two miles from the Fort, the Indians concealed themselves behind a fallen tree until the whites came near enough, when the Indians fired, killing and wounding many of the company, which consisted of 25 men. On receiving the Indian's fire, the officer in command ordered the men to tree, some obeyed whilst others fled, and thus the entire company, with the exception of only two or three, fell an easy prey to the savage foe. Should you wish to visit the place where lay bleached by the storms of many years, the unburied bones of some twenty-three of the first white inhabitants of Franklin and Bedford settlements, you will go 24 miles north of this, on the road to Tuckahoe, near where once stood an old Fulling Mill, at what is called the Big Spring, on a farm late the property of B. O'Friel, deceased-near this was the scene of a tragic event, which brought sorrow and death into almost every family of the then infant settlement.

The Union Cavalry, Captain Bell, will pass this spot on their return home. To them, we would respectfully suggest, that at some not long distant day, they (the Union Cavalry) will set up a stone to mark the place where fell so many brave citizen-soldiers, and now when on your homeward march from "Camp Warren," we humbly crave that you'll fire one volley o'er their grave to appease the manes of slaughtered heroes, and to tell

ten.

that though cold in death their memories are not forgot. Volunteers of Bedford, we would humbly suggest that when you pass the Big Spring, (now Spang's) some six miles distant from Camp Warren, that you mark the spot where Adam Houser, and his two sons, were slain, and their bodies nailed to the side of his house. And as our last request, we would ask the sev eral companies from Mifflin, Centre, Perry, Juniata and Huntingdon, to mark the spot where Moses Donnelly's wife and five children (were taken from his canoe whilst he was absent for a few moments) and of whom no tidings were ever heard, save the remains of garments and whitened bones found many days after, which were believed to be those of Moses Donnelly's family-the exact locality Mr. William Donaldson, of the People's House at this place, will point out; it is some 15 miles east of this on the Juniata river. Thus one by one will the events of the early history of this country be handed down to succeeding generations. By the Washington Greys, and citizens of Hollidaysburg and vicinity, the reminiscences of Camp Warren will be gratefully remembered, and the past history of Frankstown settlement preserved."

After remaining in the valley for the space of three or four weeks, the Indians having left that section of country and all was quiet again, we broke up our encampment and set out on our march for Carlisle. We broke up our camp this time without much (if any) formality. We returned to Carlisle by another route than that which we had taken on our passage out. We arrived at Carfisle in something like a week after we commenced our march homeward.

CHAPTER XVI.

There was a soldier of the name of Glenn, that had deserted from our detachment as we marched out to the

« PreviousContinue »