The frontiersmen were all of the silent kind—their calling had rendered them so—and conversation dragged, enlivened only now and then by the talk of the men who urged along the horses. The steeds did their best, but the footing was uncertain, and more than once they went down into pitfalls partly covered with snow and had to be hauled out by main strength.
“The Injuns have certainly left this neighborhood,” observed Sam Barringford, after another spell of silence. “Not a sign on ’em anywhere.”
“I am glad of that,” answered Joseph Morris. “I want to meet nobody until we arrive at Fort Pitt or the trading post.”
“When I war to Fort Cumberland I heard a report about Pontiac,” went on the old frontiersman. “They said he war goin’ west—to stir up the redskins along the Mississippi and lower Ohio, to make another attack on the English. It war said the French trappers an’ traders would help him.”
“Such a thing is possible,” answered Joseph Morris. “Of one thing I am certain: Pontiac will not rest until he has either won a victory or been killed.”
It was true that Pontiac was again active, this time close to the banks of the Illinois River. Here he essayed to unite the western tribes against the English,—a work that availed him little.
The Indian uprisings at Fort Pitt, Detroit, and other points had created a terrible feeling against the red men in all portions of the Colonies, but this hatred was most bitter in Pennsylvania, especially in Paxton township, where a large body of settlers of Irish and Scotch blood organized themselves into a command popularly known as the Paxton Boys. This command hunted down the Indians on all sides, and even slaughtered a harmless tribe, living under the protection of some Moravian missionaries.
“Down with all redskins!” was their cry, and they moved upon Lancaster, where some Indians had taken refuge in the workhouse. The doors were battered down and all of the Indians slain, and then the Paxton Boys marched down to Philadelphia, to capture some of the enemy who had fled to that city. To hold the maddened frontiersmen in check, Benjamin Franklin aided in forming a body of militia, and these compelled the Paxton Boys to leave without further bloodshed. The killing of the friendly Indians was looked upon by the law-abiding citizens as an outrage and the feeling against the Paxton Boys was very bitter. On their side, the Paxton Boys contended that the Indians had all proved treacherous more or less and that “the only good Indian was the dead Indian,”—a saying that soon became a household word among a certain class of the communities.
In many cases, after the meeting at Johnson Hall, the Indians were compelled to give up their captives, and this brought on numerous affecting scenes. Some women and children had been separated from their people for several years, and had made warm ties among the Indians. A number had even married red men and had children, and these did not want to separate from their husbands. Some little children had completely forgotten their real parents, and when taken from the Indians cried loudly, much to the distress of their mothers and fathers.
“Look! look!” cried one poor woman. “My own child, my Bessie, does not know me!”