“When the treacherous Indian neighbor planned a sudden descent on an unsuspecting settlement, Sam Consawley, as he was called, would hear rumors of the intended massacre in the air by means known only to himself, and his first act would be to carry the people warning of their danger. At other times he would join expeditions against bands of hostiles. It was on such occasions that he rendered such signal service. Though not retaining any official recognition, it was known that his voice and counsel largely controlled in the movements of the armed bodies with which he was associated, those in command yielding to his known skill and sagacity.
“His fame as a hunter and Indian fighter was not confined to the circle of his friends and associates. The savages both feared and hated him. Many a painted warrior had he sent to the Happy Hunting-grounds. Many a time had they lain in wait for him, stimulated both by revenge and by the proffer of a handsome bounty on his scalp, but he was always too wary for even the wily Indian.
“In September, 1753, a scalping party of Indians made a descent into the country east of the Shawangunks. The warriors were from the Delaware and had crossed by the old Indian trail leading through the mountain paths known as ‘The Traps.’ Their depredations in the valley having alarmed the people, they were returning by this trail, closely pursued by a large body from the settlements. At the summit of the mountain, the party surprised Sam who was hunting by himself.
“As soon as the savages saw him, they gave a warwhoop and started in pursuit. Now was an opportunity, thought they, to satisfy their thirst for revenge. Sam was a man of great physical strength and a fleet runner. Very few of the savages could outstrip him in an even race, but the Indians were between him and the open country and the only way left was toward the precipice. He knew all the paths better than did his pursuers and he had already devised a plan of escape while his enemies were calculating on effecting his capture, or his throwing himself from the precipice to avoid a more horrible death at their hands. He ran directly to the Point and pausing shouted defiance at his pursuers, and leaped from a cliff over forty feet in height. As he expected, his fall was broken by a clump of hemlocks into the thick foliage of which he had directed his jump. He escaped with only a few slight bruises. The Indians came to the cliff but could see nothing of their enemy, and supposing him to have been mutilated and killed among the rocks and being themselves too closely pursued to admit of delay in searching for a way down to the foot of the ledge, they resumed their flight, satisfied that they were rid of him. But Sam was not dead as some of them afterwards found to their sorrow. To commemorate this exploit and also to bestow some form of recognition of his numerous services, this precipice was named ‘Sam’s Point.’”
Sam’s Point
Dora shivered as she looked down into the abyss below, into the veritable clump of hemlocks where Sam landed; but Jack recalled her to herself: “If we are to take in Lake Maratanza we’d better get a start on.”
“Lake Maratanza!” she exclaimed. “Up here among the clouds?”
“Yes,” he returned, “and it is the least beautiful of four lakes running along the summit of the mountain,—Maratanza, Awosting, Minnewaska and Mohonk.”
A brisk half-mile walk over the pavement-like rocks bordered with huckleberry bushes and stunted pines brought them to the lake, a beautiful sheet of pure, soft water whose surface was rippling in the slight breeze and sparkling with innumerable gems in the brilliant sunlight.