James Campbell was shot through the wrist, and taken prisoner. He was taken to the frontier, probably to Lake Erie, and returned in a year or eighteen months afterward. But the particulars attending his captivity were never published, neither could we find any person who knew any thing about the matter further than that he was captured, and returned again to his home.
Immediately after the Indians had discharged their rifles, one of them sprang into the house, and with uplifted tomahawk approached a bed on which a man named George Dodds was resting. Fortunately for Dodds, his rifle was within reach, which he immediately grasped and fired at the savage, wounding him in the groin. The Indian retreated, and Dodds made his way up-stairs, and through an opening in the roof he escaped, went direct to Sherman's Valley, and spread the alarm.
This same band of marauders proceeded up Tuscarora Valley, laying waste the country as they went. In the dusk of the evening, they came to the house of William Anderson. They shot down the old man, who was seated by the table with the open Bible upon his lap, and also killed and scalped his son and a young woman—an adopted daughter of Mr. Anderson. Two brothers named Christy, and a man named Graham, neighbors of Mr. Anderson, hearing the guns firing, conjectured that the Indians had attacked him; and, their own means of defence being inadequate, they fled, and reached Sherman's Valley about midnight. Their arrival spread new terror, and a volunteer force of twelve men was soon raised to go over to the valley to succor the settlers. This force consisted of three brothers named Robinson, John Graham, Charles Elliot, William and James Christy, Daniel Miller, John Elliot, Edward McConnel, William McCallister, and John Nicholson.
Fearing that the savages would murder men engaged in harvesting farther up the valley, they endeavored to intercept them by crossing through Bigham's Gap early on Monday morning. They had no sooner entered the valley than they discovered traces of the enemy. Houses were pillaged, and some razed to the ground. At one place they had killed four hogs and a number of fowls, which they had roasted by a fire, fared sumptuously and dined leisurely. At Graham's there were unmistakable signs that they had been joined by another party, and that the entire force must number at least twenty-five Indians. From their tracks, too, it was evident that they had crossed the Tuscarora Mountain by way of Run Gap. The dread to encounter such a force would have deterred almost any small body of men; but the Robinsons, who appeared to be leaders of the party, were bold, resolute back-woodsmen, inured to hardship, toil, and danger, and, without taking time to reflect, or even debate, upon the probability of being attacked by the enemy from ambuscade, they pushed forward rapidly to overtake the savages.
At the cross-roads, near Buffalo Creek, the savages fired upon the party from an ambuscade of brush, and killed five. William Robinson was shot in the abdomen with buckshot; still he managed to follow Buffalo Creek for half a mile. John Elliot, a mere lad of seventeen, discharged his rifle at an Indian, and then ran. The Indian pursued him, but, fearing the boy would get off, he dropped his rifle, and followed with tomahawk alone. Elliot, perceiving this, threw some powder into his rifle at random, inserted a ball in the muzzle, and pushed it in as far as he could with his finger; then, suddenly turning around, he shot the Indian in the breast. The Indian gave a prolonged scream, and returned in the direction of his band. There is little doubt but that the Indian was killed; but, agreeably to their custom, his companions either concealed the body or took it with them.
Elliot went but a short distance before he overtook William Robinson, who was weltering in his blood upon the ground, and evidently in the agonies of death. He begged Elliot to carry him off, as he had a great horror of being scalped. Elliot told him it was utterly impossible for him to lift him off the ground, much less carry him. Robinson then said—
"Take my gun, and save yourself. And if ever you have an opportunity to shoot an Indian with it, in war or peace, do so, for my sake."
There is no record of the fact that he obeyed the dying injunction of his friend; but he did with the rifle what was more glorious than killing ignorant savages; he carried it for five years in the Continental army, and battled with it for the freedom of his country. How many of his Majesty's red-coats it riddled before the flag of freedom floated over the land, is only known to the God of battles. The body of Robinson was not found by the Indians.
During the action Thomas Robinson stood still, sheltered by a tree, until all his companions had fled. He fired a third time, in the act of which two or three Indians fired, and a bullet shattered his right arm. He then attempted to escape, but was hotly pursued by the Indians, one of whom shot him through the side while in the act of stooping to pass a log. He was found scalped and most shockingly mutilated. John Graham died while sitting upon a log, a short distance from the scene of action. Charles Elliot and McConnel escaped, and crossed Buffalo Creek, but they were overtaken and shot just as they were in the act of ascending the bank. Their bodies were found in the creek.
These bloody murders caused the greatest alarm in the neighborhood. The Indians, flushed with success, manifested no disposition to leave; and the inhabitants of the sparsely-settled country fled toward the lower end of Sherman's Valley, leaving all behind them. A party of forty men, armed and organized and well-disciplined, marched in the direction of the Juniata for the purpose of burying the dead and slaying the Indians; but when they came to Buffalo Creek, they were so terrified at the sight of the slaughtered whites and probably exaggerated stories of the strength of the enemy, that the commander ordered a return. He called it prudent to retire; some of his men called it cowardly. The name of the valiant captain could not be ascertained.