"To-morrow I am to set out for Kishicoquillas, there to decide some controversies, and thence to proceed to Susquehanna, near Shamokin, where I expect to meet Conrad Weiser. If he is there, he may, by the assistance of the Shickcalamies, be of use in regard to those robberies.
"I am, sir, yours, &c.,
"John Armstrong."
Colonel Armstrong did go to Shamokin, where he met Shickalemy, and induced him to use his influence in behalf of the settlers in the new purchase; but Shickalemy's labors were lost, for he could effect nothing among the savages of Kishicoquillas, and the settlers were forced to fly for protection to Fort Granville; nor did they or any other whites venture into the valley until some time in 1765.
Shickalemy, or Shickellimus, as he was sometimes called, was a Cayuga chief, of the Six Nations, and for many years resided at Fort Augusta, on the Susquehanna, where Sunbury now stands. He was converted to Christianity by the Moravian missionaries about 1742, and was, to the day of his death, the firm and steadfast friend of the English colonists. To his exertions, in a great measure, may be traced the cause why none of the Six Nations on the Susquehanna joined the French, and why a portion of the Delawares spurned the most tempting offers of the French agents and remained loyal to the colonists.
Shickalemy attended numerous treaties in Philadelphia, during which he was kindly entertained by James Logan, the secretary of the province. The chief esteemed him so highly that he named his second son after him, on his return from one of these treaties, and immediately had him, as well as two other sons, baptized with Christian rites by the Moravians.
In 1755, Shickalemy paid a visit to the old chief Kishicokelas, for the purpose of adopting some conciliatory measures to prevent the Indians of the valley from committing depredations upon the settlers. On this occasion he was accompanied by his sons, John and James Logan. The latter, probably charmed with the beauty of the valley, soon after the demise of Kishicokelas settled in the valley which bore the name of his father's friend. He built himself a cabin (not a wigwam) by the side of a fine limestone spring, whose pure waters gushed out of a small hill-side in the very heart of the valley, where his sole pursuit was hunting. This was Logan, the Mingo chief, whose name is perpetuated by counties, towns, townships, valleys, paths, mountains, and even hotels, and which will live in history, probably, to the end of time.
There is no evidence that he had a family at the time he resided in Kishicoquillas; neither was he a chief at that time, for he lived away from his tribe, and what little intercourse he held with his fellow-men was with the whites, to whom he bartered venison and deer-skins for such articles as he stood in need of. He maintained himself solely by hunting, and was passionately fond of it. A gentleman who saw Logan at Standing Stone, in 1771 or 1772, described him to Mr. Maguire as "a fine-looking, muscular fellow, apparently about twenty-eight years of age. He weighed about two hundred pounds, had a full chest, and prominent and expansive features. His complexion was not so dark as that of the Juniata Indians, and his whole actions showed that he had had some intercourse with the whites." This noble specimen of the red men, unfortunately, had the failing common to his kind: he would indulge in intoxicating liquors to excess on nearly every occasion that offered. When sober, he was dignified and reserved, but frank and honest; when intoxicated, he was vain, boastful, and extremely foolish.
Judge Brown, a short time previous to his death, in the course of a conversation with R. P. Maclay, Esq., about Logan, said:—
"The first time I ever saw that spring, (Logan's,) my brother, James Reed, and myself, had wandered out of the valley in search of land, and, finding it very good, we were looking about for springs. About a mile from this we started a bear, and separated to get a shot at him. I was travelling along, looking about on the rising ground for the bear, when I came suddenly upon the spring; and, being dry, and more rejoiced to find so fine a spring than to have killed a dozen bears, I set my rifle against a bush, and rushed down the bank, and laid down to drink. Upon putting my head down, I saw reflected in the water, on the opposite side, the shadow of a tall Indian. I sprang to my rifle, when the Indian gave a yell, whether for peace or war I was not just then sufficiently master of my faculties to determine; but upon my seizing my rifle and facing him, he knocked up the pan of his gun, threw out the priming, and extended his open palm toward me in token of friendship. After putting down our guns, we again met at the spring, and shook hands. This was Logan—the best specimen of humanity I ever met with, either white or red. He could speak a little English, and told me there was another white hunter a little way down the stream, and offered to guide me to his camp. There I first met your father, (Samuel Maclay.) We remained together in the valley for a week, looking for springs and selecting lands, and laid the foundation of a friendship which never has had the slightest interruption.