In order to give Mr. Brainerd's impression of their customs, as well as an interesting account of a "medicine-man" who possessed rather singular religious opinions, we shall close with his journal, with another paragraph:—
When I was in this region in May last, I had an opportunity of learning many of the notions and customs of the Indians, as well as observing many of their practices. I then travelled more than one hundred and thirty miles upon the river, above the English settlements, and in that journey met with individuals of seven or eight distinct tribes, speaking as many different languages. But of all the sights I ever saw among them, or indeed anywhere else, none appeared so frightful or so near akin to what is usually imagined of infernal powers, none ever excited such images of terror in my mind, as the appearance of one who was a devout and zealous reformer, or rather restorer of what he supposed was the ancient religion of the Indians. He made his appearance in his pontifical garb, which was a coat of bear-skins, dried with the hair on, and hanging down to his toes; a pair of bear-skin stockings, and a great wooden face, painted, the one half black, the other half tawny, about the color of an Indian's skin, with an extravagant mouth, but very much awry; the face fastened to a bear-skin cap, which was drawn over his head. He advanced toward me with the instrument in his hand which he used for music in his idolatrous worship, which was a dry tortoise-shell with some corn in it, and the neck of it drawn on to a piece of wood, which made a very convenient handle. As he came forward, he beat his tune with the rattle, and danced with all his might, but did not suffer any part of his body, not so much as his fingers, to be seen. No one would have imagined, from his appearance or actions, that he could have been a human creature, if they had not had some intimation of it otherwise. When he came near me, I could not but shrink away from him, although it was then noonday, and I knew who it was, his appearance and gestures were so prodigiously frightful. He had a house consecrated to religious uses, with divers images cut upon the several parts of it. I went in, and found the ground beaten almost as hard as a rock with their frequent dancing upon it. I discoursed with him about Christianity. Some of my discourse he seemed to like, but some of it he disliked extremely. He told me that God had taught him his religion, and that he never would turn from it, but wanted to find some who would join heartily with him in it; for the Indians, he said, were grown very degenerate and corrupt. He had thoughts, he said, of leaving all his friends, and travelling abroad, in order to find some who would join with him; for he believed that God had some good people somewhere, who felt as he did. He had not always, he said, felt as he now did; but had formerly been like the rest of the Indians, until about four or five years before that time. Then, he said, his heart was very much distressed, so that he could not live among the Indians, but got away into the woods, and lived alone for some months. At length, he said, God comforted his heart, and showed him what he should do; and since that time he had known God and tried to serve him, and loved all men, be they who they would, so as he never did before. He treated me with uncommon courtesy, and seemed to be hearty in it. I was told by the Indians that he opposed their drinking strong liquor with all his power; and that if at any time he could not dissuade them from it by all he could say, he would leave them, and go crying into the woods. It was manifest that he had a set of religious notions, which he had examined for himself and not taken for granted upon bare tradition; and he relished or disrelished whatever was spoken of a religious nature, as it either agreed or disagreed with his standard. While I was discoursing, he would sometimes say, "Now that I like; so God has taught me," &c.; and some of his sentiments seemed very just. Yet he utterly denied the existence of a devil, and declared there was no such creature known among the Indians of old times, whose religion he supposed he was attempting to revive. He likewise told me that departed souls went southward, and that the difference between the good and bad was this: that the former were admitted into a beautiful town with spiritual walls, and that the latter would forever hover around these walls in vain attempts to get in. He seemed to be sincere, honest, and conscientious, in his own way, and according to his own religious notions, which was more than ever I saw in any other pagan. I perceived that he was looked upon and derided among most of the Indians as a precise zealot, who made a needless noise about religious matters; but I must say that there was something in his temper and disposition which looked more like true religion than any thing I ever observed among other heathens.
If Brainerd was not grossly imposed upon, the Indian was a remarkable man, and his code of ethics might be used with profit by a great many persons now treading the paths of civilization and refinement. But it is more than probable that he had based the groundwork of his religion on what he had learned from the Moravian missionaries. In the ensuing summer Brainerd again ascended the Susquehanna, where he contracted disease by exposure, and died in the fall.
The earliest permanent white settler upon the island was a gentleman named Hulings, who located near the mouth of the Juniata, over which, in after years, he established a ferry; and, after travel increased and the traders took their goods up the rivers on pack-horses, he built a sort of causeway, or bridge, for the passage of horses, at the upper end of the island. He settled on the island in 1746. He was followed by another adventurer, named Watts, who staked out a small patch of land, with the view of farming it. It was already cleared, and he purchased it from the Indians. The children of these families intermarried, and their descendants to this day own the greater portion of the island. A few years after the settlement of Watts and Hulings, a gentleman named Baskin came from below, and settled near the point of the island. He was an enterprising man, and had no sooner erected himself a temporary shelter than he established a ferry across the Susquehanna. The ferry became profitable, and Baskin realized a fortune out of it. It was a sort of heirloom in the family for several generations, until the State improvements were built, when a bridge was erected. Baskin's Ferry was known far and wide; and there are still some descendants of the name residing, or who did reside a few years ago, where the ferry crossed.
Shortly after Braddock's defeat, the country was greatly alarmed by rumors that the French and Indians were coming down the Susquehanna in great numbers, with the avowed intention of slaughtering the British colonists and laying waste all their habitations. Nor was this rumor without foundation; for the massacres already committed up the Susquehanna seemed fully to justify the apprehension. Travel along the river was suspended, and a portion of the settlers fled to Paxton. Hulings abandoned his ferry, and, with a convoy of friendly Delaware Indians, he went to Fort Duquesne, where he immediately purchased land, with the view of settling permanently. There, however, he found little more peace and quiet than he enjoyed at the island. The country was rife with alarms of Indian depredations, and the settlers were in constant dread of an attack which they could not repel. Hulings became dissatisfied, because the exchange had disappointed all his reasonable expectations, and he determined to return. To this end he disposed of his land for £200—land which now composes the heart of the city of Pittsburg, and could not be purchased for £2,000,000. In company with another party of friendly Indians on their way to the east, he returned to the island, re-established his ferry, built himself a house at the bridge, and for some years lived in security.
About 1761, accounts of Indian depredations above again alarmed the lower settlements; but Mr. Hulings paid no attention to them, until a large number of them were seen but a short distance above the island, encamped upon a piece of table-land. In great haste he packed up a few of his most valuable articles, and, putting his wife and child upon a large black horse, took them to the Point, so as to be ready to fly the moment the savages made their appearance. At this place there was a half-fallen tree, from the branches of which an excellent view of his house, as well as of the path beyond it, could be obtained. Here Hulings watched for some time, hoping that if the Indians did come down, and find his house abandoned, they would go up the Juniata. Suddenly it occurred to Hulings that in his haste he had left some valuable keepsakes, and he returned forthwith alone. After reconnoitering for some time, he entered the house, and was somewhat surprised to find an Indian tinkering at his gun-lock. The savage was unable to shoot, and, as Hulings was a man of powerful frame, he feared to make a personal attack upon him. Both appeared to be ready to act upon the defensive, but neither was willing to risk an attack.
In the mean time, the reconnoitering and parleying of Hulings had taken up so much time that Mrs. Hulings became alarmed, and concluded that her husband had been murdered. Without a thought of the danger, she took her child upon the horse before her, plunged him into the Susquehanna, and the noble charger carried them safely to the other shore—a distance of nearly a mile, and at a time, too, when the river was unusually high! Such an achievement in modern times would make a woman a heroine, whose daring would be extolled from one end of the land to the other.
Soon after this extraordinary feat, Mr. Hulings arrived, and he, in turn, became alarmed at the absence of his wife; but he soon saw her making a signal on the other side, and, immediately unmooring a canoe at the mouth of the Juniata, he got into it and paddled it over. It was the only canoe in the neighborhood,—an old one left by Baskin when he fled. Hulings had scarcely rejoined his wife before he saw the flames shooting up from the old log ferry-house, and the savages dancing around it, brandishing their weapons; but they were out of harm's way, and succeeded in reaching Paxton the same day. In a year or so they returned, and ended their days on the island.
Reference is made by historians to a battle fought between the whites and Indians on the island in 1760. The old inhabitants, too, spoke of one, but we could ascertain nothing definite on the subject. No mention whatever is made of it in the Colonial Records.
After this period but few of the roving bands or war-parties ever came down either the Susquehanna or the Juniata as far as the island. The massacre of the Conestoga Indians inspired the up-country savages with so much terror that they deemed it certain death to go near the settlement of the Paxton boys.