History of the Early Settlement of the Juniata Valley / Embracing an Account of the Early Pioneers, and the Trials and Privations Incident to the Settlement of the Valley, Predatory Incursions, Massacres, and Abductions by the Indians During the French and Indian Wars, and the War of the Revolution, &c.

by U. J. Jones

The original settlement at Shaver's Creek was made in 1770, by an old gentleman named Shaver. He was followed by Anderson, Maguire, the Donnelleys, and some few others. Old Shaver met his death in a most singular manner. One evening he left his home just at twilight, for the purpose of putting his horse into a pasture-field. He did not return; but his absence created no special alarm, as this was before the war, and before any savages had appeared in the valley with murderous intent. Next morning, however, his family not finding him, a search was instituted, and his body, minus the head, was found in a lane near the pasture-field. This was regarded as a most mysterious murder, and would have been charged to the Indians at once, had they ever been known to take a man's head off on any previous occasion. But as they always found the scalp to answer their purpose, and never encumbered themselves with the head, people shrewdly suspected that the Indians had nothing to do with the murder. The family offered a reward of £50 for the head; and, although the country was searched in every direction, it never was found.

The most active and energetic man in the Shaver's Creek settlement during the Revolutionary war was Samuel Anderson. He succeeded, mainly by his own exertions and the aid of a few neighbors on the creek and the Little Juniata, in erecting a block-house fort on the flat near the mouth of the creek, which was more or less occupied while the war continued; and it is but a few years since the last vestiges of this old fort were swept away by a freshet.

The fort itself never was assailed; and it just happens to strike us forcibly at this time as a singular fact that the Indians, during the Revolutionary war, always kept clear of the forts. Whether they did not understand the nature of them, or feared the numbers usually congregated in them, we do not pretend to say; but they always kept at a respectful distance from them. Anderson's Fort, like the others, was frequently disturbed by alarms—sometimes real and sometimes false.

An amusing instance of a false alarm at Anderson's Fort was given the writer. In 1779, all manner of rumors and reports were afloat. Everybody was forted, and the Indians formed the entire subject of conversation. One afternoon, a half-witted, cowardly fellow was sent up the path to bring the cows to the fort. He had been out about fifteen minutes when he returned, looking wild and haggard, and almost out of breath, declaring that the Indians were coming down the creek in full force. In an instant the whole fort was in commotion: men seized their rifles, dogs barked, children screamed, and everybody swore that the audacious savages should have a warm reception. The entire force of the garrison rallied out to a hill, and, with cocked rifles, awaited the appearance of the enemy on the brow. Lo! he came; but, instead of Indians, the alarm was suddenly quieted by the appearance of three cows! A mock court-martial was ordered to try the half-witted chap for raising a false alarm, and the jokers of the fort convicted him and passed sentence of death upon him. The joke came near proving fatal to the poor fellow, who for a long time could not be divested of the idea that he was to be shot.

In 1779, one of the most remarkable cases on record occurred up Shaver's Creek. The particulars are vague; but of the actual occurrence of what we are about to relate there is no doubt whatever—the circumstance having been mentioned to us by two or three persons.

Late in the fall of that year, two boys, aged respectively eight and ten years, while engaged at play near a house in the neighborhood of Manor Hill, were taken captive by two lurking savages, who came suddenly upon them, and immediately started in the direction of the mountain. After travelling some eight miles, they halted, built a fire in the woods, leaned their rifles against a tree, and cooked some dried venison, of which they all partook. After the meal, one of them drew from his pouch a canteen filled with whiskey, which they drank at short intervals until it was entirely drained of its contents. By that time they had become very garrulous and very brave. They told war-stories, sang war-songs, danced war-dances, and challenged the whole settlement to mortal combat. The other Indian then pulled out his canteen, also filled with fire-water, which was consumed in like manner; but, by the time it was drank, their mirth and boasting gave way to the stupor of inordinate intoxication, and, wrapping their blankets around them, they stretched themselves before the fire, and were soon in a deep sleep.

The eldest boy, who had feigned sleep some time previous, now got up and shook the younger, who also got upon his feet. He then took one of the rifles, cocked it, and rested it on a log, with the muzzle within a few inches of the head of one of the savages, and then motioned the younger boy to hold it. He then got the other rifle, and in like manner placed its muzzle near the head of the other savage. So far, the whole proceeding had been carried on by pantomimic action, and not a word spoken; but, every thing being now in readiness, the boy whispered "Now!" and both rifles went off at the same time. The elder boy killed his man outright; but the weight of the butt of the rifle in the hands of the younger threw the muzzle up, and he merely tore his face very badly. The wounded savage attempted to rise, but, before he could do so, the boys commenced running for home; nor did they stop until they reached it, which was at two o'clock in the morning and just as a party had assembled to go in search of them.

Their story was soon told; but so incredible did it appear that no person believed them. Instead of giving credit to their narrative of improbabilities, the parents were inclined to whip them and send them to bed, for getting lost in the woods and then lying about it. Next day, however, they persisted so strongly in their statement, and told such a straightforward story, that at length a party of some six or eight persons agreed to go to the place, providing the children accompanied them. To this they readily assented; and the anxiety they manifested to go soon removed all doubt as to the truth of their statement.

In due time they reached the spot, where they found a dead Indian, the two rifles and canteens; but the wounded savage was missing. Where he had lain there was a pool of blood; and, as it was probable that he had not gone far, a proposition was made to search for him, which was about being acted upon, when one of the men noticed blood upon the trunk of the tree under which they stood, which caused him to look up, and among its top branches he saw the wounded savage. The frightful wound upon his face awakened the pity of some of the men, and they proposed getting him down; but an old ranger, who was in the party, swore that he had never had a chance at an Indian in his life, especially a treed one; that he would rather lose his life than miss the opportunity of shooting him; and, before an effort could be made to prevent it, the savage received a ball through his brain, came crashing down through the limbs of the tree, and fell by the side of his dead companion. Their bodies were not disturbed; but their rifles were carried home, and given to the boys, who kept them as trophies of the event.

This daring and heroic act on the part of children so young illustrates most forcibly the kind of material people were made of who flourished in "the days that tried men's souls."