Juniata Memories 
 
 Legends Collected in 
 Central Pennsylvania 
 
 HENRY W. SHOEMAKER 
 
 President of the Altoona Tribune 
 
 "It is not likely that much, if indeed any part, of 
 what I may write will be granted a permanent place 
 in the literature of my country, nor am I stirred to 
 effort by any ambition or dream that it may. I 
 shall be well satisfied if, by what I write, some pres- 
 ent entertainment be afforded to the reader, a. love 
 of nature inculcated, and encouragement given to a 
 more manly or womanly life." — W. H. H. Murray. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 JOHN JOSEPH McVEY 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, PA.
 
 Copyright, 1916 
 
 JOHN JOSEPH McVEY 
 
 All Rights Reserved
 
 To M. R. S. 
 
 THROUGH WHOM THE 
 
 WRITER FOUND HIMSELF, THESE PAGES 
 
 ARE AFFECTIONATELY 
 
 DEDICATED.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Foreword ix 
 
 Explanatory Preface xi 
 
 I. Old Dan 1 
 
 II. The Rede 15 
 
 III. The Snow Image 30 
 
 IV. The Shadow Man 45 
 
 V. The Wolf Tribe 62 
 
 VI. Candlemas 78 
 
 VII. The Warlock 91 
 
 VIII. Shaney John 1 06 
 
 IX. The Hart's Horn 121 
 
 X. Nita-Nee 1 36 
 
 XI. The Original 151 
 
 XII. Lost Creek Valley 1 66 
 
 XIII. The Old Tree 1 86 
 
 XIV. The Girl and the Panther 201 
 
 XV. The Standing Stone 217 
 
 XVI. Warrior's Ridge 232 
 
 XVII. Warrior's Mark 247 
 
 XVIII. Wild Ducks 260 
 
 XIX. A Story of Black Jack 273 
 
 XX. Tom Fausett 286 
 
 XXI. Aaron Hall 307 
 
 XXII. Hallowe'en 324 
 
 XXIII. All Souls' Night 338 
 
 XXIV. Merithew 353 
 
 XXV. Green Gap 365 
 
 XXVI. The Rob Roy 377 
 
 V
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Lewistown Narrows — ^A Bird's-Eye View. .Frontispiece 
 
 Arch Spring Facing page 22 
 
 Summer Shadows " " 52 
 
 A Quiet Evening on the Juniata. ..." "72 
 Near the Site of Skaney John's Cabin " "112 
 
 The Great Terrace " " 208 
 
 The Distant Ridge " " 252 
 
 The Forest Road Across Jack's Moun- • 
 
 tain " " 278 
 
 At the Site of an Old-Time Furnace . " " 330 
 Golden Hour at Old McVeytown .... " " 384 
 
 VII
 
 FOREWORD. 
 
 WHETHER one cares for stories of war or the 
 chase, of Indians or EngHsh, of reHgion or of 
 love, he will find his own in Mr. Shoemaker's 
 eight volumes about Central Pennsylvania. My own 
 life-study has been religion, and it was because I saw 
 the value for that study in these tales that I noticed 
 them, in 1914, in The Pennsylvania Magazine. One 
 of our modern religious problems is: How is the mind 
 of man constructed? How does it work? Are our 
 minds the same as those of the prophets and evangel- 
 ists? For this reason the study of folklore has be- 
 come an important branch of the science of religion. 
 In folklore we see the mind of Abraham Lin- 
 coln's "plain people" at work. From these workings 
 we can often get glimpses into the mind of primitive 
 man. 
 
 Every locality, therefore, should collect its folk- 
 tales, and Mr. Shoemaker has done yeoman service to 
 science by his collection. Moreover, there is a charm 
 and a life in the teller's way of telling that gives a zest 
 to the reader. One can smell the pines and breathe 
 the mountain air. Wizards and warlocks abound, as 
 if no railroad and no telephone could banish them; 
 ghosts, too, haunt us on every hand; while, as I said 
 before, the girls of the legends are so pure and 
 sweet that many a city youth will want to take the 
 
 ix
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 Lew^stown Express to see if any more of them re- 
 main. 
 
 Albert J. Edmunds, 
 
 Historical Societ}) of Pennsylvania. 
 
 July, 1916.
 
 EXPLANATORY PREFACE. 
 
 IN the summer of 1910, in the columns of the New- 
 ton Hamilton Herald these words were written by 
 a correspondent: "There is one hope I have which I 
 wish to give expression to. This beautiful Juniata 
 Valley is rich in history and traditions. I should like 
 to inspire some boy or girl to give this folklore to the 
 world for the world's good. It will not be an easy 
 task, but will require much digging and delving as it 
 does to bring mineral wealth to the surface, and it will 
 even more greatly enrich mankind." 
 
 At that time the correspondent had not heard of the 
 compiler of the present volume, or the work he was 
 trying to do. It was a year later that the writer of 
 these pages began the task of collecting the legends and 
 folklore of the Juniata Valley, and in the valleys trib- 
 utary to it, such of it as survived into a materialistic 
 age, or would be imparted by the holders of the secret 
 treasure-chest. 
 
 It was not to be a final work, but merely to "blaze 
 the trail" for others. Probably sixty legends were 
 collected during the years 1911, 1912 and 1913. The 
 first twenty-five or thirty came from the northerly limits 
 of the region, in the Seven Mountains. The second 
 half were unearthed in the Juniata Valley proper, or 
 in the little valleys contiguous to it. 
 
 The first collection was compiled in book form,
 
 xii EXPLANATORY PREFACE 
 
 under the title of "In the Seven Mountains," and se- 
 cured a respectful hearing from the good people of 
 the Juniata country from Altoona to Juniata Bridge. 
 It was the first real encouragement that had come to the 
 writer after ten years of effort to collect and publish 
 the folklore of the Central Pennsylvania mountains. 
 It was his sixth volume; he might have soon felt sensa- 
 tions of discouragement had it not been for the gen- 
 erosity of the dwellers by the "Blue Juniata." 
 
 The volume of legends pertaining to the southerly 
 Juniata Valleys and the writer's eighth volume of 
 Pennsylvania folklore is the one now being presented 
 to the public — JuNlATA MEMORIES. Most of the 
 materials were gathered, as stated above, in 191 1- 
 1913, but several driving trips through the romantic ter- 
 ritory, this "Eldorado Found," were taken in 1914 
 and 1915 to confirm certain details and local color. 
 
 The legends were secured from old people, hermits, 
 farmers, lumbermen, teamsters, hostlers, hunters, trap- 
 pers, old soldiers, and their ladies. They were freely 
 given, many with the knowledge that some day they 
 might find their way into print, some with no idea as 
 to their future, told for the sheer joy of their relation. 
 Many of them deal with persons of prominence in the 
 political or social history of Central Pennsylvania, 
 others with individuals of whom documentary history 
 contains no trace — they of the "forgotten mil- 
 lions." They treat of Indian days principally, with a 
 goodly sprinkling of the supernatural, of hunting, lum- 
 bering and pioneering. Perhaps they are not repre-
 
 EXPLANATORY PREFACE xiii 
 
 sentative legends of the Juniata Valley, better ones 
 might have been found. The historian of the Juniata 
 country, U. J, Jones, hinted of many such which the 
 present writer could find no trace of. Those who knew 
 them most probably died, failing to pass them on, long 
 before the compiler of these chapters came on the 
 scene. 
 
 But not finding any better legends, he has written out 
 the twenty-six herein presented, which seemed to pos- 
 sess the most human interest, or as many as would fill 
 a volume of this size. He has endeavored to reproduce 
 them exactly as he heard them from the lips of the 
 old people. They have not been enlarged on or 
 changed, even when they ended abruptly or in mystery, 
 but he fears that they have all lost much in passing 
 through his hands. 
 
 There is an indefinable charm or thrill when hear- 
 ing a tale of the long ago from an aged person, who 
 knew the actors in it intimately, or whose family did, 
 especially when it is recounted in an old farmhouse or 
 mountain tavern on a blowy autumn night, before an 
 open fire or even a glowing stove. As there is a 
 place for all legends, there is also a time for hearing 
 them. 
 
 The writer has visited practically every spot where 
 the scenes in these legends are laid, he knows "the lay 
 of the land." He could see the actors moving before 
 him in his "mind's eye." As far as possible, he has 
 tried to verify every date and incident, and to do so 
 has absorbed a vast amount of Pennsylvania history
 
 xiv EXPLANATORY PREFACE 
 
 and literature. Some of the stories fit the page of his- 
 tory exactly, they must be absolutely true, others have 
 no connection with anything recorded, they must repre- 
 sent the garbled memory of some one's animus or the 
 mental vagaries of some tottering sage. Some of them 
 would seem to clear up mooted points in history, others 
 to further confuse it, but all are a picture of a phase of 
 life that is no more — the simple, imaginative, bold, free 
 life of the frontier. 
 
 As stated previously, many of the characters are the 
 ancestors of persons now promment in the Juniata 
 Valley or elsewhere. To avoid giving offense to these, 
 as some of the ancient figures were most unjust to the 
 redmen, and believed too much in ghosts, or that might 
 was right, the compiler has reserved the privilege, as in 
 his previous volumes, to occasionally change the names 
 of persons, places and dates. But this has been done 
 only when it seemed best, and always with deep regret. 
 But if the legend occurred on the north side of a cer- 
 tain mountain, and not on the south slope, as stated in 
 this book, it only matters a few miles, and what is that 
 in the boundless space and endless time which make 
 up this world? But it is a drawback to the exactitude 
 of such a work. 
 
 There are countless legends still to be unearthed in 
 Central Pennsylvania, especially in the valleys tribu- 
 tary to the Juniata. Some are mere fragments, just a 
 word or two, others long enough to fill a volume, or 
 be turned into historical novels. But all are worthy of 
 being written down, saved from oblivion, before it is
 
 EXPLANATORY PREFACE xv 
 
 too late. Any one can find them, it requires no special 
 gift, friendliness and simplicity, that is all. 
 
 They show the old pioneers in a favorable light for 
 the moGt part, as possessing a decided spiritual side to 
 their natures, far and above their abilities as mere hunt- 
 ers, trappers or wood-choppers. And in conclusion, 
 first, and most of all, the old people are to be thanked 
 for their kindness and patience in recounting the leg- 
 ends, their unvarying courtesy, that old-time charm 
 that we must not let fade away. Then the press of 
 the Juniata Valley, including the Newton Hamilton 
 Herald prophet of this effort to collect these "mem- 
 ories," must be thanked, for they have been uniformly 
 good to a writer in a new field. And the reading pub- 
 lic are to be thanked, they have grasped at something 
 they knew not what, and some of them found it to 
 their liking. And lastly, but not least, to the great 
 Pennsylvania Railroad, and its official photographer, 
 Mr. W. H. Rau, of Philadelphia, who kindly granted 
 the permission to reproduce the illustrations used in 
 this book, go the author's sincere and lasting appreci- 
 ation. 
 
 Henry W. Shoemaker, 
 
 Member of American Folklore Societ}). 
 
 April 29, 1916.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES. 
 
 I. 
 
 OLD DAN. 
 
 A WAR STORY FROM THE SHORT MOUNTAIN. 
 
 SOME years ago the Semi-Weekly Nervs of Hunt- 
 ingdon published a very interesting account of a 
 famous stag called "Old Dan," which ruled the 
 wilds of Huntingdon County between the years 1885 
 to 1895. This magnificent "forest king" was named, 
 so the widely read article stated, for an old German 
 hermit, who lived in a secluded cabin on Short Moun- 
 tain, and who was as hard to meet as the famous stag. 
 
 Old Dan, the hermit, was indeed a very difficult man 
 to converse with. This was partly because he pro- 
 fessed to know very little of the English language, and 
 partly because he seemed to prefer a life of silence. 
 Taciturn almost to the point of inhospitality, very few 
 hunters or fishermen cared to seek accommodations in 
 his forest-hidden shack. 
 
 Those who sought to remain with him never tried it 
 a second time, he was so ungracious in all his acts. But 
 those who spoke to him, and who were persons of dis- 
 cernment, could readily note that under his uncouth, 
 unshaven exterior he was a man of breeding and educa- 
 tion — he had that mysterious atmosphere about him 
 that proclaims a gentleman. 
 
 1
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 It was not until the last year of his life, when some 
 premonition must have come to him of his approaching 
 end, that he became to any extent communicative. He 
 went out of his way to wave to the hunters as with their 
 dogs they went along the trail by the creek bottom, he 
 acted as if he wanted them to stop and talk. One of 
 the hunters, the celebrated William Pursley, who had 
 been snubbed by the recluse annually for twenty years, 
 seeing the change in the old man's demeanor, left his 
 companions one evening, determined to find out if "Old 
 Dan" had a message to give to the world. 
 
 After a preliminary conversation, the hermit begged 
 the hunter to remain over night, that he had much to 
 say, it could not all be told in a night's time, but he 
 would try. It was supper time, and after the brief re- 
 past, the two drew up their chairs around the slim 
 cylinder stove, for it was in the fall of the year, deer 
 season. The hermit prefaced the talk by saying that 
 he would not be long in this world, that he had seen the 
 token that had killed his career in Europe, and sent him 
 into the wilds a wretched exile, and could now have no 
 other change in store for him but death. 
 
 Pursley noticed, but said nothing, that "Old Dan" 
 was talking away in good English, without the de- 
 cided accent so characteristic of him in the past. The 
 token which foretold death would unseal his lips, and 
 he begged of the hunter to deliver a packet of letters 
 and papers to his relatives in Germany, whenever he 
 should hear of his death. Then he got up, and opened 
 a placard in the wall, back of the stove, taking out a
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 bundle of envelopes and papers, tied in crumbling red 
 tape. On the end of the uppermost envelope was writ- 
 ten with faded ink a long and complicated foreign 
 address. Pursley slipped the bundle into the inside 
 pocket of his heavy hunting coat, propped back his 
 chair, prepared to hear more from the eccentric old 
 German. The hermit, who was only too anxious to 
 talk, put his hands behind his head, and with his sunken 
 eyes fixed on the ceiling, commenced the relation of 
 the story of his life. Pursley, although he was a very 
 old man when he re-told the story, declared that it 
 made such an impression on his mind that he could 
 vouch for every detail, and it was a remarkable story. 
 
 The old recluse did not attempt to describe his birth- 
 place, his early circumstcmces, except that Dan Schultz, 
 the name under which he was known in the mountains 
 adjacent to the Juniata, was not his real cognomen. 
 He had come of a military family, and early in life 
 had secured a sub-lieutenant's commission in the Bava- 
 rian Army. He was not popular with his brother offi- 
 cers, as he was more artistic and literary in his tastes 
 than they, who gave most of their time to roystering 
 and pleasure seeking. He was much given to solitary 
 walks in the forests, where he communed with nature, 
 and composed bits of verse, which unfortunately he 
 never wrote down. He liked to visit old castles and 
 armories which abounded at Munich, near which city 
 he was stationed. 
 
 He became on friendly terms with the armorer in 
 charge of one of the palaces, and was present at a re-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 ception given in the armory in honor of a French sa- 
 vant who was writing a book on mediaeval arms. In 
 addition to the nobihty and officers, many intellectuals 
 attended. It was in the evening and a few lamplights 
 sought to supplement the fitful glow of many candles to 
 light the deep, dungeon-like rooms. TTie young officer, 
 like one in a dream, wandered about among the dismal 
 trappings of the long ago, picturing to himself the lives 
 of warrior knights and their ladies, scarcely noticing the 
 brilliant throng who laughed and chatted and moved 
 about on every side. Standing in front of a peculiarly 
 fashioned suit of chain armor, in a dim corner of the 
 main chamber, he noticed a couple so unusual looking 
 that it roused him from his dream. They were a man 
 and woman; yet he noticed the man first. The first 
 impression was that he was a soldier and must be very 
 old. Dressed in knee breeches, with black silk stock- 
 ings, and low shoes with silver buckles, a long black 
 coat and lace jabot he seemed like a figure from the 
 previous century. The man's face was pasty, there 
 were dark puffs under the eyes, he wore a wig with an 
 officer's pigtail, and on his upper lip, under the eagle- 
 like nose, was a slim black line to indicate a mustache. 
 The old man carried a silver-headed cane, it might 
 have been a sword-cane, so popular in those days. He 
 seemed anxious to explain the armor to his companion, 
 a very young woman. She was probably little over 
 twenty, with a plump, finely rounded figure, and if 
 anything was a little above the middle height. Her 
 eyes, which she kept downcast, were further hidden by
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 5 
 
 pale hair worn low, under a black peach-basket hat. 
 Her nose, very retrousse, and her pale transparent skin, 
 made the deepest impression, as also the fact that she 
 was not gowned as elaborately as most of the other 
 women present. 
 
 The young officer, keeping in the background, fol- 
 lowed the odd couple about the rooms for half an hour, 
 but never once did the beautiful young woman glance 
 up, or look around. Meeting his friend the armorer, 
 he asked him who the pair might be. The armorer 
 expressed surprise, saying that they were not friends of 
 his, that he had never seen them before in Munich. 
 Furthermore he had not observed them come in; per- 
 haps they were friends of the Frenchman in whose 
 honor the reception was given. But as other persons 
 spoke to the armorer, the chance for further explana- 
 tion was not secured. 
 
 When the officer looked for the beautiful girl and 
 her grizzled companion, they were nowhere to be found 
 in any of the apartments. He then sought the old 
 doorkeeper. That person could remember no such 
 couple, the reception was not for strangers and he 
 recognized the faces of practically every one who had 
 been there. Mystified and half in love, the young sol- 
 dier, wandered out into the night air. The episode 
 made such an impression on him that he could not go 
 to bed, and the next day he was so deficient in his 
 tactics that he was rebuked by his superiors. 
 
 Six years passed. The young soldier found himself 
 in the vortex of the Seven Week's War, a war with
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 Bavaria and Austria on one side, and the growing mil- 
 itary autocracy of Prussia on the other ( 1 866) . He 
 had not received the promotions that had come to his 
 brother officers, he was known as a poor officer, yet his 
 knowledge of his books was greater than almost any 
 man in the regiment. His failure was due to his dreamy 
 nature, his errant habits. He lacked the exactness of 
 a martinet and tactician. Yet materially he was better 
 off, as he had inherited a small fortune from an uncle, a 
 retired major general. The officers carried their roys- 
 tering habits to the headquarters and camps. They 
 must have a good time, they must dance, they must 
 mingle with attractive women. 
 
 On the evening before the very first engagement an 
 elaborate soiree was given in the schloss which had 
 been set apart as the regimental headquarters. The 
 best people of the city were invited, as well as relatives 
 of the gallant soldiers who would defend their coun- 
 try's honor on the morrow. The marble hall was bril- 
 liantly lit by several crj'^stal chandeliers, and the young 
 officer stood in a group of his companions, watching 
 the arrival of the jeweled and fur-robed ladies and the 
 officers from other regiments. It was a gorgeous scene, 
 but one incongruous with actual campaigning. As one 
 by one the beautiful and perfumed women, cloaked 
 and veiled, swept up the broad steps and disappeared in 
 the direction of the dressing rooms, the young officer's 
 thoughts turned to the fair girl he had seen in the 
 armory six years before. These thoughts had barely 
 taken form when, to his surprise, he saw her, looking
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 more queenly than ever, entering the palace. Her 
 head was lowered, but he could see that in addition to 
 the folds of a heavy white veil, she wore a small black 
 mask over her eyes. 
 
 As it was not to be a masked ball, only an informal 
 gathering of distinguished sympathizers on the eve of 
 a battle, why was this one woman masked? Unable 
 to contain his curiosity longer, and not a little amazed 
 that none of the other officers commented on the phe- 
 nomenon, he caught by the sleeve the officer who stood 
 nearest to him. The youth in gold lace drew his arm 
 away testily, as he did not like his interrogator, and in 
 response to the direct question said that he could see 
 no masked woman passing by. Dumfounded, he 
 turned to several other officers, who positively stated 
 they could see no such woman, then became rigid and 
 silent. But after the woman had passed, the unpop- 
 ular officer felt that his companions had pretended they 
 had not seen the woman in order to check any further 
 attempts at social intercourse. 
 
 All during the evening the young man scanned the 
 forms and faces of the guests, but could see no one who 
 resembled the woman of the black mask. Having 
 learned his lesson with his brother officers, he sought, 
 as a last resort, a footman, who had been on duty at 
 the grand portal. The flunky declared that it was his 
 duty to admit only such persons as he knew, but that 
 no masked woman had gone in, or could have gotten in. 
 Such a person would have been seized and turned over 
 to the sentries outside as a spy. Again the young
 
 8 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 officer passed a sleepless night, and the next morning 
 blundered with his fellows, and helped to lead the 
 vanguard of retreat. 
 
 It would have been thought that such an experience 
 would have sobered the military leaders, and warfare 
 henceforth be approached with more seriousness. But 
 no such thing. On the eve of the very next engage- 
 ment a soiree with ladies must be given. Again it took 
 place in a huge castle appropriated by the military 
 commanders. Again the rooms looked as bright as the 
 previous rout on the battlefield had been gloomy. The 
 great ladies whose faith in their Bavarian heroes was 
 unshattered v/ere all present to cheer them on to their 
 next day's patriotic task. Perhaps the woman with 
 the black mask might be there. The young officer, 
 who otherwise would have shunned this ill-timed revel, 
 was early on hand. In fact, he had been solicitous 
 lest he were not invited, his brothers in arms had a 
 strange habit of "unintentionally" leaving him out of 
 many things. He managed to station himself very near 
 the doorway, where the guests entered. He waited a 
 long while, until it looked as if the mysterious womem 
 was not coming at all. Just as he was about to leave 
 his post, she came in, moving by so close that he almost 
 touched her. To his wonderment, she again wore the 
 small black mask over her eyes. Turning to some 
 elderly ladies, with whom fortunately he had a slight 
 acquaintance, he asked who was the young woman 
 with the black mask. They quickly answered that 
 they saw no such woman, scanning the foyer with their
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 lorgnettes in feminine interest. Forgetting his manners, 
 the young officer pointed, but they shook their heads, 
 and reiterated that they saw no such person. There 
 was nothing to do but to apologize and slink away, but 
 he remained all the evening in a corner, watching for 
 the masked woman in the gay assemblage. But she 
 was not to be located, although many and beautiful 
 were the guests. 
 
 Another sleepless night fell to his lot, and once 
 more he participated in a retreat that was little better 
 than a rout on the morrow. His corps being cut to 
 pieces and demoralized, the survivors were sent to an- 
 other part of the country to reinforce the hard-pressed 
 Austrians. A strong force had been gotten together ; it 
 looked as if the tide at last would turn to victory. The 
 allies had chosen their own ground for a battle, and the 
 impression was strong that the Prussian hordes must go 
 back in retreat. 
 
 The night before the battle that would change all it 
 was decided to lessen the strain by some diversion of a 
 social nature. The commanding generals were occu- 
 pying some large barracks, which were aptly con- 
 structed for entertaining congenial guests, especially 
 the fair sex. Invitations were given to the ladies of the 
 local nobility and gentry and to the wives of the few 
 high officers who were able to be with their consorts, 
 and the affair promised to be one of great brilliance and 
 strengthening to the esprit de corps. 
 
 The young officer who was being treated more 
 civilly by his Austrian companions than by his old
 
 10 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 Bavarian comrades in arms, was on hand early, stand- 
 ing near the grand entrance, under a crystal cande- 
 labrum, watching the happy throng assemble. In gay 
 little companies of twos and threes the ladies arrived, 
 perfumed, cloaked, gloved and veiled. There had 
 been so many dull days of bivouac and campaign that 
 more officers were clustered about the doorway than 
 the dictates of good breeding would generally allow. 
 A.mong these officers were numerous Bavarians, some 
 of them from the young officer's former regiment from 
 the environs of Munich. Their attitude toward him 
 was still stiff and haughty; they never spoke with him 
 except on official matters. 
 
 In the midst of the magnificent scene the vigilant 
 young man saw the masked woman come in. She 
 looked queenly, with a white satin and ermine cloak 
 thrown over her, her ceudre hair hidden by a heavy 
 white veil, and the tiny black mask accentuating her re- 
 trousse nose and the waxlike pallor of her skin. Gaz- 
 ing at her with an intense expression, as if to make sure 
 that his eyes were not deceiving him, the excited youth 
 clutched at the arm of the officer standing nearest to 
 him. He demanded of him the woman's name, and 
 what she was doing at the ball wearing a black mask. 
 The officer turned on him with anger, answering with 
 an oath that he saw no such woman, that he must be 
 a madman. 
 
 The excited soldier declared that she had stood in 
 front of them, and to prove his words, rushed forward 
 after the fleeing figure of the woman. Almost at the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 11 
 
 dressing room door he came up to her and sought to 
 seize her by the arm. If it was an ungallant act, it had 
 a hideous sequel. The young officer found himself 
 standing alone in the center of the spacious corridor 
 holding in his hand the severed arm of a skeleton. A 
 cry of horror went up from the great ladies as they 
 issued from the dressing room to join their partners, a 
 laugh of exultation from the assembled officers. The 
 disliked officer had had a practical joke played on him 
 by some one. By common consent they elbowed him 
 toward a narrow door at the end of the hall used by 
 servants. Some one slammed the door in his face, and 
 he slipped on the narrow stairs and fell heavily to the 
 bottom of the flight. The skeleton's arm dropped 
 from his grasp, and crashed on the stone floor. 
 
 When the unhappy officer recovered himself he 
 found that he was lying in a pool of dirty water, his 
 dress uniform was ruined. Staggering to his feet, he 
 ran along the gloomy passage-ways until he came to 
 a low door, which he unbolted, finding himself in a 
 dark alley paved with cobble stones. At the far end 
 of it he saw a white light above a door, and to it he 
 hurried as best he could, his high-heeled boots slipping 
 on the uneven stones. In front of the door stood a pale 
 thin woman, with a face like a fiend or a harpie. He 
 asked her where he was, and she mumbled the unin- 
 telligible name of a street. His head began to swim, 
 and he asked if he could go inside and lie down. The 
 shocks of the night had been too much for him, for 
 he remained unconscious for nearly forty-eight hours.
 
 12 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 When he awoke, several stout men and women, like 
 working people, were bending over his couch. The 
 harpie-like woman was nowhere in evidence. He 
 asked where he was and was told that he had been 
 picked up outside of the house next door and carried 
 inside, where he had remained unconscious. It being 
 war times they could find no doctor. A great battle 
 had been fought, the news had just come in that the 
 Bavarians and the Austrians had been routed. And 
 there he lay in his Bavarian uniform, had doubtless 
 been accounted a deserter in the combat which became 
 known to history as the decisive battle of Koniggratz. 
 He told his story frankly to the people about him, who 
 were respectable artisans. He begged them to loan 
 him a suit of civilian clothes, so that he might make his 
 escape from the victorious Prussians. After some hesi- 
 tation, the workmen agreed to do so, but advised him 
 to remain with them another day or two as the streets 
 swarmed with the victorious soldiery. 
 
 The following night, attired as a journeyman plas- 
 terer, the young officer sallied forth. His mustache 
 had grown longer during his illness, he had a three- 
 days' growth of beard, which added to the disguise. 
 He was "recognized" by another workingman, whom 
 he fell in with at a street corner and accompanied him 
 into the country to repair a chateau occupied by Prus- 
 sian officers. Once outside the lines, he waited until 
 darkness, and passed on to a region of safety. By 
 various subterfuges, aided by a small purse of gold, and 
 with a rare amount of luck, he succeeded in reaching
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 13 
 
 France. Being a linguist, he worked his way across 
 the country, and at the coast got on an immigrant ship 
 sailing from Havre. It took him sixty-four days 
 crossing the ocean, tempests raged, and an epidemic 
 of cholera wiped out four hundred of the five hundred 
 passengers. He got through Castle Garden, and for a 
 time worked in a brewery in New Jersey. At length 
 he fancied he was recognized, and would be murdered, 
 so he beat his way on a freight train to Huntingdon, in 
 the Juniata country. There he worked at anything 
 until he learned the lay of the land, eventually locating 
 in the remotest part of Short Mountain. There he 
 lived by hunting and trapping, and by the judicious 
 expenditure of the little money which he brought with 
 him to America. And he was well satisfied with his 
 mountain home; he felt at rest there, he cherished no 
 fear. 
 
 But one night when he came in from a deer hunt, 
 dragging a splendid stag, the rays of his lantern dis- 
 closed the form of the woman who had caused the 
 upset of his lawful destiny, seated on his chair beside 
 the cylinder stove. She looked just as she did that 
 far-off night in the armory at Munich, but if anything 
 more beautiful. Before he could control himself the 
 old recluse spoke to her, asking her who she was, just 
 as he had asked of many other persons in the glittering 
 ballrooms. Instantly he repented of his rashness, as 
 the figure commenced to fade away, and he recol- 
 lected the old superstition that a ghost spoken to must 
 vanish. In despair he sank down on the floor, his hands
 
 14 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 clutched out in anguish; he felt some object. He 
 clambered to his feet and found himself holding a small 
 black crepe mask. Then everything seemed to con- 
 fuse him; had he dreamed his whole past life, had he 
 brought the mask with him from the old country, or 
 how had it come into his possession? It was all too 
 strange to be true. Recovering himself, he sat on the 
 chair, squeezing the mask to make sure that he was not 
 in a trance. Then came over him the realization that 
 the meaning of it all was that he would soon die, the 
 woman who was the portent of defeat to the Bavarian 
 arms meant death to him, and opening the door of the 
 stove, he threw the mask inside and a piece of lighted 
 paper after it. 
 
 It was soon after that eventful night when he made 
 friends with William Pursley and gave him his little 
 bundle of documents. But Pursley paid small heed 
 to the old man's conviction of approaching death. He 
 took the packet away with him, and when he reached 
 his cozy home across the northern ridges in the shadow 
 of Paddy's Mountain he threw the papers into a chest 
 where he kept many things he valued. Late in the 
 following summer, when poring over a Htintingdon 
 County paper, he read of the death of the hermit of 
 the Short Mountain, "Old Dan." He then thought of 
 the bundle of papers, and opened the chest to get them 
 out. He could not find them. He called for his wife, 
 but she had no recollection of them. Perhaps one of 
 their daughters who was in Pittsburg on a visit had 
 thrown them out when she cleaned house at Easter time.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 II. 
 
 THE REDE. 
 
 A LEGEND OF SINKING CREEK VALLEY. 
 
 IN beautiful Sinking Creek Valley, near the won- 
 derful Indian Cave, in the region of the sink-holes 
 and underground streams, on a hillside backed by 
 ancient pines and facing the romantic Canoe Moun- 
 tains, stood a substantial log farmstead, the home of 
 a more or less erratic Ulster Scot named Thomas 
 Ancketell. For a number of years he had conducted a 
 stopping-place for travelers at the foot of the South 
 Mountains, near what is now Upper Strasbiirg, Frank- 
 lin County, but desiring a more open-air existence, he 
 had removed with his family into the Juniata country. 
 Becoming the possessor of a farm of respectable size he 
 prospered and was more happy than in the days when 
 he catered to the public as a boniface. Probably he 
 would have spent his entire life as a tavern keeper had 
 not his daughter Eleanor pointed out to him the ad- 
 vantages of farming and the care-free life that goes 
 with it. 
 
 Thomas Ashe, the youthful English traveler, who 
 spent an evening at the mountain tavern in 1806, and 
 who was much taken with the fair girl, thus describes 
 the lovely Eleanor Ancketell. "Her person was tall
 
 16 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 and elegant; her eyes were large and blue; her fea- 
 tures regular and animated; and expressive of a pride 
 and dignity which the meanest clothing, and the 
 strongest consciousness of her humble circumstances in 
 life, could neither destroy nor conceal." 
 
 And rightfully she thus demeaned herself, for was 
 not her father, if any good can possibly come from re- 
 ferring to such subjects, descended from a younger 
 brother of the MajorAncketell.of "Ancketell's Grove," 
 in the County Armagh, who fell at the Battle of Drum- 
 banagher, March 13, 1688, and is buried in Glaslough 
 Church } But several generations of ne'er-do-wells had 
 shattered the family pride in her father, until he cared 
 nothing who he was, only to have it bom afresh in his 
 daughter's charming soul. 
 
 Guiding the family after the death of the wife and 
 mother, which occurred soon after their arrival at 
 Upper Strasburg, Eleanor had striven until successful 
 in causing them to move into a new and more rural 
 locality. There the family had prospered from the 
 outset, and the passion for drink had subsided in the 
 father. 
 
 Eleanor Ancketell, with her beauty and charm nat- 
 urally had many admirers in the Juniata country, espe- 
 cially in the secluded valley where women of her ca- 
 pacity and character were seldom met with. But there 
 were rumors of an earlier love affair, perhaps it was 
 for the traveler Ashe ; at any rate she maintained a cer- 
 tain reserve, which in reality added to her charms. On 
 Sunday afternoons she had a habit of sitting under a
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 17 
 
 mammoth walnut tree by the roadside alone, reading 
 her Bible, and before returning to the cabin, a few 
 stanzas from a beautifully bound volume of Thomson, 
 which had been presented to her by the English trav- 
 eler. The sturdy young mountaineers as they rode by 
 on their stout Conestoga chargers cast many a lingering 
 glance at the fair young reader. How to penetrate her 
 reserve and become friends was 2Ui absorbing question 
 with all of them. 
 
 Perhaps the most sincerely interested, as well as the 
 most attractive-looking of the mountain gallants who 
 rode by was young Adam Engart, of Canoe Valley. 
 He was a splendid horseman, full of life and fire, yet 
 withal of serious nature and devoted to books. Con- 
 stitutionally, he disliked making any attempts at con- 
 versation, fearing that they would not be welcome. 
 There was a general store near the old lead mines, the 
 only store in the valleys, which he visited every few 
 days. On week days he seldom saw the fair Eleanor 
 about her home, but on Sunday afternoons she was al- 
 ways seated on her favorite bench under the old wal- 
 nut, even when the winds whistled and showers of 
 buff-colored leaves were tossed to the ground. 
 
 Adam Engart had never seen her at church, though 
 he had purposely visited the Presbyterian and Lutheran 
 congregations. At the Calvinists' meeting house he 
 had been told that she belonged to the Church of Eng- 
 land, but had on rare occasions worshipped with the 
 Presbyterians. The young man's grandparents had 
 been Lutherans, but his parents and himself attended
 
 18 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 all the local churches, extracting the best of the varied 
 teachings. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon in mid- August, when Adam 
 was riding homeward from the Lutheran services, he 
 made bold to stop a moment, and in his most friendly 
 manner asked the fair girl what she was reading so 
 intently : 
 
 "It is the only book that I read outside of the Bible, 
 one of the few I have, and the one I most prize — the 
 Poems of James Thomson." 
 
 Adam asked her if she was fond of reading, to which 
 she replied in the affirmative, but added that she did 
 not own many books; they were hard to procure in 
 such a remote valley. 
 
 "This book was given to me by an acquaintance the 
 year we left Upper Strasburg for this locality — that 
 was about four years ago." 
 
 She did not state, however, that apart from glancing 
 over some of the numbers of the Huntingdon Magazine 
 it was the only book of literature that she had read in 
 all that time, although if she had tried, she could have 
 borrowed others from the cultivated Scotch-Irish farm- 
 ers, who formed the corporal's guard of settlers in the 
 valley. 
 
 There is something about the personality of books 
 that associates them with the happy or hopeful hours 
 when we first read them. This edition of Thomson 
 stood for a bigger and better life and a broader world 
 through which a last fleeting glimpse had come by the 
 handsome young English traveler who presented it to
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 19 
 
 her. She prized the book as the emblem of a great 
 idea. There were several pauses in her conversation 
 with Adam Engart, but he managed to tell her that 
 he, too, was fond of books, and if she wished he would 
 bring her the following Sunday an edition of the poems 
 of the Irish poet, Thomas Moore. His brother had 
 brought him the book from Philadelphia; he believed 
 that she would enjoy the Irish melodies, having heard 
 that she had been born on the Emerald Isle. Though 
 not as yet faithless to TTiomson, the thought of Irish 
 poetry quite thrilled her and she smilingly assented to 
 the promised gift. Adam was tactful enough not to 
 remain too long, so he mounted his charger, and started 
 down the hill in the direction of the Gap in the Canoe 
 Mountains. 
 
 The following Sunday was more like a day in late 
 autumn. It was overcast, with a sky of solid greyness, 
 with gusts of wind, which shook loose the prematurely 
 yellow leaves of the chestnut trees. These, with par- 
 ticles of dust and grass, made "whirlpools" as he rode 
 along. Under his arm, securely wrapped in a piece 
 of homespun to protect the morocco covers, was the 
 precious volume by Tom Moore. As he rode, the 
 young man whispered to himself verses by the tuneful 
 poet. Never had the ride up the stony trail and over 
 the divide seemed so short. TTie horse never missed a 
 step, the road seemed like the "Golden Streets." 
 
 Primitive natures, those which are untouched by 
 licentiousness, can feel the same sweet pure emotion of 
 growing affection as those whom culture has taught
 
 20 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 appreciation of all that is best. As he neared the 
 spreading walnut tree on the top of the hill he could 
 see Eleanor seated on the bench, with a green home- 
 spun jacket, and her shapely hands folded over her 
 knees. She made a pretty picture! With his keen 
 eyesight, the sight of a hunter and marksman, he no- 
 ticed that the book of poems by Thomson was nowhere 
 in sight. He did not think, as a more self-satisfied per- 
 son might, that the beautiful being was interested in 
 him, and was anxious to show it through preferring his 
 book. 
 
 When he drew up opposite the tree, the girl arose 
 and came forward to meet him, smiling blithely. He 
 unmounted gracefully, quickly tying the big horse to 
 an upright root of the pine-stump fence. There was a 
 cordial greeting, followed by the presentadon and 
 opening of the book of poems. It was a larger sized 
 volume, and was even more ornately bound than the 
 book by Thomson, and this tome had the added charm 
 of a dozen or more copperplate engravings. Wlien 
 Eleanor looked at it she noticed an inscription in the 
 fly-leaf; from the crimson her pretty cheeks turned, it 
 was evident that it was not less flowery than the one 
 written by the traveler Ashe. 
 
 The young people sat dov^nn together on the bench, 
 and despite the rawness of the air, the hours went by 
 with utmost rapidity. When the girl announced that 
 she must return to the house to prepare supper she 
 coupled it with an invitation to him to remain. But as 
 he was anxious not to "overdo" matters, he courteously
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 21 
 
 declined, and departed, promising ere he rode away to 
 be back the following Sabbath. When he was gone 
 Eleanor missed him; it was the beginning of a spiritual 
 communion that was to be the greatest epoch in her 
 life. 
 
 Every Sunday they met until cold weather set in. 
 By that time their affection had grown to a degree of 
 love that made further silence impossible. Adam told 
 her of his great love, of his desire to make her his bride. 
 Eleanor, replying, told him that her love was equally 
 intense, but that she could not marry him and leave 
 her father and brothers, who depended on her for al- 
 most everything. If her brothers married, new homes 
 might be started through them, but at present the first 
 and real duty was to the home circle. It was not a 
 hopeless wait, so that Adam accepted it as his fate, 
 trusting to work out some plan which would facilitate 
 an early union. Their love was on such a high plane 
 that when they were apart they seemed to be in con- 
 stcuit communion — they literally spoke to each other 
 through space. When they were together they hardly 
 needed to speak, so close was their harmony of thought 
 and purpose. It was that feeling of spiritual nearness 
 that he had that led Adam to begin the acquaintance, 
 and Eleanor, despite her natural reserve, felt impelled 
 to meet him more than half way. Their separations 
 lasting for six consecutive days did not seem as severe 
 as would have been the case if no spiritual images 
 could be conjured up, and where an abyss of mutual 
 distrust and uncertainty exists.
 
 11 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 Adam was much interested in hunting and trapping, 
 and despite his youth, had a record of having slaugh- 
 tered a hundred deer, fifty wolves, a dozen bears, sev- 
 eral panthers and scores of wildcats or "catamounts." 
 Among the earliest settlers the young of the panther 
 was mistaken for the wildcat of Europe, and every 
 panther's cub which was slain was falsely dubbed a 
 "wildcat." The short-tailed bay lynx, the real wildcat 
 of America, was known to the pioneers of the Juniata 
 country as a "catamount," as farther north it was 
 styled the "bob-cat." 
 
 In the winter months Adam had a pack of small 
 hound-like dogs which he trained to trail the bob-cats 
 or catamounts. It was exciting sport, as the fleet-footed 
 felines gave the dogs quite a chase, and when the trail 
 got too hot, they would climb a tree, generally a pitch 
 pine, and defy their pursuers until the hunter came i^ 
 and sent a bullet into their sanctuary. Then they would 
 come tumbling down and if not mortally wounded give 
 combat to man and dogs. 
 
 During the winter of Adam's courtship he partici- 
 pated in many such hunts, and in order to have Eleanor 
 share in the pastime, he selected the best of furs, those 
 longest and softest and most beautifully dappled, and 
 had made for her a cloak, cap and muff. It was a 
 unique outfit, and was very becoming to the charming 
 young girl's type of beauty. 
 
 It so happened that Adam kept up these hunting ex- 
 peditions until the snow had almost disappeared from 
 the foothills, where the "bob-cats" were most numerous
 
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 JUNIATA MEMORIES 23 
 
 on account of their fondness for the rabbits that 
 swarmed among the stump fences of the newly cleared 
 back lots. Nature had wisely put the wildcat in the 
 forests to keep in check the increase of rabbits and 
 hares, which otherwise might have worked untold dam- 
 age to growing trees, as the wolves were Nature's 
 safety valves to keep the deer from becoming inert or 
 overplenty. Eleanor's memory of these wildcats was 
 particularly vivid from her earliest days of the moun- 
 tain tavern, when in the forests around the old house, 
 the lynxes would call at night to their mates on adjacent 
 ridges. 
 
 She had always wanted to accompany Adam on one 
 of his thrilling hunts, but her household duties pre- 
 vented. She was much interested in what was to be 
 the last hunt of the season, and wished the young 
 hunter his full share of success. It was to take place 
 on a Saturday, after the week's work was done, and 
 the young Nimrod confidently planned to carry the 
 trophies over to his sweetheart on his customary Sun- 
 day visit. It was about noon when the young man 
 started away gayly, his yelping "cat-dogs" on leash. 
 Most of the snow had gone from the valley proper, it 
 was the last Saturday in March, but the foothills and 
 the backfields were still covered with it. The pine- 
 covered mountains looked as wintry as in January, 
 especially the Cove range, on the valley's "winter 
 side." 
 
 The cats, from frequent hunting, were less venture- 
 some about approaching the settlements, but it was still
 
 24 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 some distance from the foot of the mountains when 
 their spoor was noticed. The tracks of several cats 
 were seen together, among them those of a prodigiously 
 large one, which had paws almost as big as a Canada 
 lynx, "the big grey wildcat" of the North, an animal 
 not known on the Juniata. The dogs were soon loosed 
 and the merry chase began. Field after field was 
 crossed, until the foot of the Cove Mountain was 
 reached. Right up the steep side of the lofty emi- 
 nence, right into the dense original hemlocks, the wary 
 animals had headed. The tracks looked extremely 
 fresh, yet it seemed a long time for them to be brought 
 to bay. 
 
 Over across the valley Eleanor's keen mental per- 
 ceptions followed the hunt as vividly as if she had 
 been on the scene. She sang at her work, she seemed 
 as gay as the bold hunter. Toward evening a change 
 came over her mood very suddenly. A great shadow 
 seemed to descend on her, which she ascribed to her 
 heart's longing for her lover. It did not grow any less 
 as the dark cold night settled in, her sleep was troubled 
 with hideous and formless dreams. When she awoke 
 it was a grey morning, warmer than the previous night, 
 and the little snow that remained about the corners of 
 the old stump fences was melting fast. She seemed 
 to have a dizziness in her head, but she got up and 
 went about getting the breakfast. She tried to rouse 
 herself by picturing her lover's coming, only a few 
 hours off, with his glad smile, his genial ways, his load 
 of tawny wildcat skins.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 25 
 
 She had been out in the yard to fetch something 
 from the smokehouse to start the breakfast in the big 
 pot which hung from the crane in the huge open fire- 
 place, when to her surprise she noticed what seemed 
 to be a wildcat, and an extremely large one at that, 
 crouched on a mat near the kitchen window. Its round 
 yellow eyes met hers, it crouched closer together, yet 
 its contour did not indicate hate. In all her experience 
 she had never heard of a catamount entering a house, 
 and she was sure that it had not been inside when she 
 went to the smokehouse, and as a precaution she always 
 closed the door when starting out. How had the pest 
 gotten in! Her father and brothers were still upstairs 
 asleep ; it would take too long to arouse them, and she 
 was not very adept at handling firearms, though there 
 were several rifles and muskets in a gun-rack against 
 the wall. However, she determined to piit the cat 
 out, so seizing the housekeeper's universal weapon, the 
 long iron poker, she flung the door open wide, and 
 went after the intruder. The catamount put its tail be- 
 tween its legs, and giving the girl a sidelong glance, 
 trotted nimbly out of the door. It ran across the yard, 
 seating itself on a patch of melting snow. 
 
 When Eleanor went outside she was amazed to find 
 the old family watchdog, and a "cat-dog" in his day, 
 seated complacently by the kitchen steps. She tried to 
 attract his attention to the cat, lolling but twenty feet 
 away, but the hound professed neither to see nor smell 
 the creature. Taking the dog by the nape of his neck, 
 she led him up to the side of the cat, but he apparently
 
 26 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 saw nothing. As she struck at the cat again with the 
 poker, which she held in her left hand, the animal got 
 up and leaped out of the yard, and seated itself on top 
 of a steep bank which rose above the house. There 
 Eleanor left it, and returned to the kitchen to continue 
 her domestic duties. 
 
 In due course of time the father and the boys came 
 downstairs and she recounted to them her marvelous 
 adventure with the boldest of "catamounts." They 
 were naturally surprised and equally disgusted with 
 the conduct of their hitherto unimpeachable watchdog. 
 After breakfast they went out in the yard to see if the 
 cat was to be located. Eleanor pointed to the bank, 
 where she said she saw it still crouching, but none of 
 the others professed to see it and it was too sloppy 
 under foot to further investigate. 
 
 With breakfast over, and the exciting adventure re- 
 lated, the feeling of gloom which hung over the girl 
 grew deeper and more profound. Coupled with it 
 was a conviction which grew stronger every minute 
 that her lover was in distress, that something had hap- 
 pened to him, that she must go and help him. She 
 hated to impart this to her family, but after a few more 
 minutes could conceal her feelings no longer. 
 
 Suddenly she blurted out: "Adam is in trouble; I 
 feel it in my bones; I must go to his aid at once." 
 
 Being the dominant personality in the household, 
 Eleanor had no difficulty in having one of her brothers 
 saddle the family horse, and by herself she rode across 
 the valley as rapidly as possible. As she crossed the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 27 
 
 divide the feeling of gloom began to dispel itself, and 
 in the late afternoon she arrived at the lone farmhouse 
 where Adam resided. His parents were outside in 
 the lane when she arrived. They looked pale and 
 anxious. Almost before she could speak to them they 
 burst into lamentations. It was easily to be seen that 
 something terrible had happened, and most probably 
 to Adam. 
 
 "We were watching for you," said the mother, who 
 was the first to recover her composure, "and we hoped 
 to the last you would arrive in time." 
 
 "Then Adam is no more," cried Eleanor, her face 
 muscles too rigid for tears. 
 
 "He passed away less than an hour ago, after call- 
 ing and calling for you," broke in the grief-stricken 
 father. 
 
 Eleanor was off her horse in an instant and threw 
 her arms around the unhappy old couple. As they 
 walked to the house the parents alternated in describ- 
 ing their son's unhappy end. He had gone out gaily 
 to hunt M^ildcats, after his dinner, the day before, tak- 
 ing the dogs with him. At nightfall he had not re- 
 turned, but nothing was thought of it, as he never re- 
 linquished the trail until victorious. During the night 
 the household was aroused by the dogs barking and 
 howling. Half awake, all had thought that Adam 
 had returned and slipped into the hay-mow until morn- 
 ing, as he had often done before on arriving from late 
 hunts. In the morning no signs were seen of the young 
 man, but the dogs acted so strangely that it was de-
 
 28 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 termined that something was wrong. The other boys 
 had allowed the dogs to lead them across the pasture 
 fields into the mountains, and on the summit over a flat 
 tableland. On the southerly boundary of this plateau, 
 seven miles from home, they had come upon the young 
 hunter lying in the snow with an ugly wound in his 
 side. He was barely conscious, but asked if any one 
 had gone after Eleanor. He tried to describe how the 
 accident had happened. He had located an extremely 
 large catamount on a pine tree late the previous after- 
 noon, and was stealing up on it to shoot, when his gun 
 had caught on a fallen tree, gone off, and shot him 
 grievously. The boys built a litter out of hemlock 
 poles, and making a bed out of their coats, they car- 
 ried the wounded gunner as tenderly as they could 
 over the uneven country. They had gotten him home 
 about an hour before, and he lived less than thirty 
 minutes after being put in his own bed. Up to the 
 last he had hoped that Eleanor would come to him, 
 though in his delirious moments he declared that he 
 could see her. After life was extinct the mother had 
 opened one of the windows, and when she looked out 
 was horrified to see a large v/ildcat running across the 
 yard. Before she could give the alarm it leaped over 
 the stump fence and disappeared in the brush. 
 
 Eleanor, with her clear intellect, saw many peculiar 
 things in this narrative. The dreadful sensation of 
 gloom had come to her about the time the accident 
 occurred. TTie night of troubled rest had set in with 
 her lover lying grievously wounded on the lonely moun-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 29 
 
 tain top. The wildcat in the yard was the rede or 
 spirit of the still living man, projected into the wild 
 beast, and sent across the mountains, if not to bring 
 her to him, to at least give him a last look at her. The 
 sudden lifting of her despondency she timed at the 
 moment that the young victim passed into the beyond. 
 The majesty and distinctiveness of these apparitions 
 for a time held back her grief. But when she stood 
 beside the silent form of her beloved she sank to her 
 knees, sobbing as if her heart would break. 
 
 Grief-broken, she remained at the Engart homestead 
 until several days after the funeral, when she sadly 
 wended her way across the mountains. When she 
 entered her room the first thing that caught her eyes 
 was the volume of Tom Moore's poems. It looked 
 to her like the padlock to another door of hope that 
 would be forever more closed to her. Without chance 
 or opening, the narrow, stunted life of her great soul 
 must go on, year by year, with such wonderful oppor- 
 tunities across the mountains.
 
 30 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 III. 
 THE SNOW IMAGE. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL FRAGMENT FROM STONE CREEK. 
 
 WHEN the infuriated settlers swooped down on 
 the Indian encampment at the head of Stone 
 Creek, after the murder of the Donnelly fam- 
 ily in 1 111 ^ they were at first disappointed to find it 
 occupied only with women and children. To wreak 
 their vengeance on full-grown braves was more in order 
 with the hate which rankled in their bosoms. But a 
 closer survey showed such comeliness among the squaws 
 and maidens that they determined to outrage their sav- 
 age foes by carrying the best of their women into cap- 
 tivity. A few old hags who hurled earthen pots at 
 the invaders were knocked senseless with gunstocks, a 
 child or two which screamed too loudly were strangled, 
 but the bulk of the population, consisting of a half- 
 dozen attractive looking Indian girls, were bound and 
 carried away. 
 
 Such occurrences as these were common enough in 
 Indian days, even though history purposely or not fails 
 to record most of them. And the Indian type seen 
 among the Pennsylvania mountaineers to this day is 
 due to marriages contracted between the white captors 
 and Indian women. It is not due to water and climate as
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 31 
 
 a German ethnologist suggested some twenty years ago. 
 
 All of these captors were not capable of conscien- 
 tious scruples. Their treatment of the Indian prisoners 
 was neglectful when it was not positively cruel. Among 
 the raiders on the Indian village on Stone Creek was 
 a man named Jacob Nittman. He came from one 
 of the eastern counties, and strove to emulate the career 
 of "Black Jack" Schwartz, the "Wild Hunter of the 
 Juniata." He was as fierce looking as Black Jack had 
 been in his palmiest days, but lacked the qualities of 
 mind and heart which made immortal the name of 
 "The Black Rifle." 
 
 Doubtless Jake Nittman was fearless, but history 
 does not record his having participated in any attack 
 on Indian braves, a very peculiar circumstance. But 
 he was always in the vanguard at the breaking up of 
 the Indian villages when the women and children alone 
 "held the fort." 
 
 After the excitement had subsided, he found him- 
 self in possession of a very beautiful Indian maiden of 
 eighteen summers, who was dubbed by the traders at 
 Standing Stone Town "Crow Wings," because of the 
 intense blackness of her hair, which she wore parted 
 in the middle. Nittman had his eye on this girl for 
 some time and had sought to ingratiate himself with 
 her when she cam.e to town with her mother and 
 brothers, but she seemed to have an instinctive aversion 
 for him. Once he had laid in wait for her when she 
 had come into the settlement alone, and had given her 
 a piece of silk, which she might use to make a shoulder
 
 32 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 cape or headdress, but she had refused to accept it. 
 Another time when he saw her looking wistfully at a 
 peddler's store of tawdry jewelry and beads, he had 
 pressed a piece of money into her hand, which she 
 dropped to the ground mechanically, and refused to 
 pick it up. A third time, meeting her carrying a heavy 
 load of furs toward the town, he dismounted from his 
 horse and offered to carry her load, and her own sweet 
 self the balance of the journey. But she shook her 
 pretty head so disdainfully that he felt his conquest 
 hopeless. 
 
 But now to avenge the Donnellys, a band of fron- 
 tiersman, as unauthorized as the White Caps of later 
 days, had wrecked and pillaged the redmens' village, 
 and made chattels out of their women. Nittman 
 was as happy as a boy with a new toy over his new 
 possession, and gave several war whoops that would 
 have done credit to a savage. The victorious back- 
 woodsmen dispersed in their several directions leading 
 their captives; it was indeed a horrid sight, one over 
 which history has done well to drop a curtain. 
 
 At that time Nittman had a hunter's cabin in what 
 is known as Detwiler's Hollow, a deep secluded for- 
 ested glen hidden in the high mountains between Stone 
 Valley and the Valley of Kishocoquillas. It was in 
 a country ranged over by Indians, yet the intrepid 
 hunter had little fear of their incursions, now that the 
 punitive expedition had yielded up so handsom.ely. It 
 was there that Crow Wings was taken, and where she 
 almost grieved herself to death. In order that she re-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 33 
 
 main with him, the hunter tied her to a huge pine tree, 
 the ropes being twisted about her wrists and ankles. 
 There she had to stay for days at a time while her 
 cruel captor was off on a scouting or a hunting expedi- 
 tion. On one occasion she managed to loose her bonds 
 and escaped. As luck would have it she walked right 
 into Nittman's presence that night as he was seated 
 by his burnt-out campfire. 
 
 To teach her more caution in the future he knocked 
 her senseless with the butt of his rifle, and in the morn- 
 ing, when she had scarcely revived, he threw her over 
 his shoulder like a sack of flour, and carried her back 
 to his fortress in Detwiler. Then he bound her up 
 more tightly than ever, and started off on another ex- 
 cursion. 
 
 Among the bravest Indian fighters of that time in 
 Stone Valley was a youth of seventeen years named 
 James McClees. It was he who was so brutally mur- 
 dered on the Houston farm, the year following, pre- 
 sumably by Indians — but renegade whites had a habit 
 of conveniently blaming every crime on the redmen; 
 just as equally renegade whites do to-day with the 
 Negroes in our Southern States. One day young Mc- 
 Clees happened upon Crow Wings, bound and help- 
 less at Nittman's camp. The captor was absent, and 
 the young fellow was struck with pity at the girl's 
 beauty and helplessness. The girl had seen him pre- 
 viously in Stone Town, and admired him, and his un- 
 expected appearance at her prison made her hail him 
 as her deliverer. He would have released her had not
 
 34 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 Nittman appeared on the scene. He accused the 
 youth of plotting to make trouble for him, which 
 aroused the Irish lad's temper to such an extent that he 
 left the camp in order to keep from committing an act 
 of violence. 
 
 It seemed as if all avenues of escape were blocked 
 by fate, and Crow Wings faded and wilted with an 
 abject grief. There was only one chance left, she had 
 an Indian lover named The Panther, but he had strayed 
 up to the Susquehanna country, and was at that time 
 being pursued by the relentless Indian fighter, Peter 
 Grove. One night when Nittman was absent, a pack 
 of wolves surrounded the captive girl, howling and 
 yelping, and could have torn her to pieces had they 
 chose. Instead they tore down a half of a deer which 
 hung on a rack, fought over the carcass until daybreak, 
 when they disappeared into the forest. 
 
 Crow Wings related her adventure to her captor 
 when he returned the next day, with the result that he 
 left a rifle with her; her arms being free enough to use 
 it. She conceived the idea of shooting her bonds, thus 
 freeing herself, but Nittman was never far enough 
 away that he could not hear the report and return be- 
 fore she made good her escape. She also plotted to 
 shoot the man if she could catch him off his guard. She 
 had been captured in August, and winter set in with no 
 avenue for escape yet available. She was broken- 
 hearted, and resolved to starve herself to death. She 
 would pretend to eat, instead throwing the food back 
 of her into the underbrush.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 35 
 
 While Nittman was absent on one of his hunting 
 excursions he found himself trailed by five Indians. 
 He did not want them to locate his camp or captive, so 
 led them far to the north, eventually giving them the slip 
 in the Bare Meadows. While hiding among the rho- 
 dodendrons a terrible snowstorm, a veritable blizzard, 
 set in. Nittman, with his giant strength, had to strive 
 his utmost to prevent being engulfed. He thought of 
 Crow Wings, tied to a tree, with meager clothing, and 
 little to eat, braving the awful tempest. He would feel 
 sorry if the storm smothered her or if she froze to death, 
 as she was the best looking Indian girl he had ever cap- 
 tured, but his own safety came first. Between his hid- 
 ing place and the trail into Detwiler the hostile Indians 
 were lurking. It was three days and nights, during 
 which time he was so hungry he ate snow, that Nitt- 
 man hid among the rhododendron thickets. 
 
 WTien he got out, he returned to his camp by a cir- 
 cuitous route, and great was his horror at what he found. 
 It was a beautiful yet tragical sight. The snows of the 
 past four days had drifted into the glade where Crow 
 Wings had been tied to the giant pine. The drifts had 
 engulfed her, she was completely buried in a mass of 
 whiteness. The mound which covered her slender form 
 gave her the appearance of a marble statue, or snow 
 image. Without examining to make sure that she was 
 dead, the cowardly man fled from the spot as fast as 
 he could plow his way through the drifts. It is said 
 that he never stopped traveling until he reached Sink- 
 ing Creek Valley, where he lodged with a friendly
 
 36 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 family until the Tory outbreak, which he joined. 
 
 Justice, divine and poetic, was meted out to him the 
 following spring, when at Kittanning, with Weston, 
 he was shot down by a noble redman. Captain Logan, 
 son of old Shikellemus. 
 
 James McClees, who was so soon to die a martyr's 
 death at the hands of the savages, discovered the dead 
 body of Crow Wings, standing erect, still tied to the 
 giant pine. With tears in his eyes he cut loose the ropes 
 and the slim, petite figure of the beautiful Indian girl 
 fell to the ground. Reverently he dug a grave at the 
 foot of the old tree where all that is mortal of this vic- 
 tim of white man's rapacity sleeps her last great sleep. 
 But though her body is at rest and at peace, her fair 
 soul nurtures a grudge, a lasting hate, that will find no 
 appeasement. 
 
 During the summer months when Detwiler fairly 
 reverberates with the songs of myriads of whippoor- 
 wills, and later with the laments of equally numerous 
 katydids, and on the hillsides at midnight the raucous 
 bark of the grey fox is heard, the spirit of Crow Wings 
 broods over all silent, sulky, and unsatisfied, yet unable 
 to materialize. But when the autumn winds blow, and 
 the old trees creak and shake, and sometimes tumble 
 down, and the great homed owl voices his discontent 
 of things, then the wraith of Crow Wings begins to 
 take on form. 
 
 When the first snow falls, and the deer huddle de- 
 jectedly beneath the sweeping boughs of the young 
 hemlocks, and the wildcat is abroad stalking the wily
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 37 
 
 rabbit, then comes forth the shade of Crow Wings in 
 all its malevolent force. Like a great mist of whiteness, 
 all-pervading and all-absorbing, she sweeps and eddies 
 and floods the glade through which the trail into the 
 Seven Mountains extends. It has been a tale for gen- 
 erations that to be caught after night on the path across 
 Detwiler during a snow squall means death. It is only 
 a joke to city folks, who sit in their comfortable homes 
 and laugh at the as yet misunderstood forces of eternity, 
 which they call "superstition." But the mountaineers 
 do not scoff, even the young ones, and they shun Det- 
 wiler when the snow is falling. 
 
 It is now about twenty-one years since the Snow 
 Image, as the backwoodsmen call the spirit of Crow 
 Wings, claimed her last victim. But she has claimed 
 one every twenty-one years or so for a hundred and 
 twenty-five years, consequently the list is not a small 
 one, if the old folks are to be believed. There are some 
 who assert that the grave of Crow Wings is surrounded 
 by half a dozen other mounds, victims who have felt 
 the fatal effects of her frozen kisses. But it is a fact 
 that there are many little clumps of ground hemlock in 
 the vicinity, which do resemble graves. 
 
 It was probably because of its connection with so 
 many weird legends that the young people of the Kisho- 
 coquillas Valley and the Valley of Karoondinha to the 
 north always selected Detwiler's Hollow and the adja- 
 cent Kettle as their favorite picnic grounds. They 
 never tired of revisiting these picturesque spots, and 
 there was always one in every party who would regale
 
 38 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 them with the quaint legends that had their origin there. 
 
 On one particular picnic, given by some Sunday- 
 school scholars from Tusseyville, Old Fort and Colyer, 
 it occurred about a quarter of a century ago, was a 
 youth named James Ludwick, and his sweetheart, 
 Mamie Carlin. They had plighted their troth under 
 the mammoth trees that forever kept the sun out of the 
 Hollow, and enjoyed thereby the most blissful day of 
 their existences. They were to marry when the young 
 man had saved enough to secure a home, and the pros- 
 pects seemed rosy to the two loving enthusiasts. They 
 always liked to talk of the eventful day when their real 
 romance began, and the Hollow was to them a storied 
 shrine. 
 
 The young lover worked industriously at the Altoona 
 shops until his little savings had grown to a point when 
 marriage seemed advisable. New Year's Day was 
 selected as the time for the wedding, they wanted to 
 start the new year right, they said. Ludwick usually 
 rode by train to Centre Hall, but on this occasion his 
 work having let him off earlier than he expected, a 
 friendly engineer asked him to ride with him in his cab 
 to Lewistown Junction. There he could take the train 
 to Milroy, where he could always find some one going 
 across the mountains. It was a pleasant trip, the young 
 man's spirits never seemed so high, his hopes for the 
 future more confident. He was laughing and joking 
 all the way to the Junction, and in the train up the val- 
 ley to Milroy. It was three o'clock in the afternoon 
 before he could find a conveyance going northward.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 39 
 
 The mail stage had gone, and most of the farmers re- 
 mained at their homes during the holiday season. 
 
 The young man would have gladly "struck out" on 
 foot, as he had often crossed the Seven Brothers that 
 way, but he was carrying a number of heavy bundles 
 and would like a "lift" part of the route if possible. 
 He was about going to a livery stable and hiring a team 
 when he heard a genial voice shouting "Happy New 
 Year, Jim." Looking around he saw his old friend, 
 Pat Gharrity, the happy hermit of the Seven Moun- 
 tains, perched on the driver's seat of a farm wagon. 
 Ludwick waited until the wagon drew near, and in 
 response to old Pat's signal clambered aboard with his 
 bundles. 
 
 The old mountaineer explained to him that he had 
 been to town with a load of his best potatoes, and was 
 now homeward bound. While he was not going within 
 ten miles of the young lover's destination by road, there 
 was what was known to the mountaineers as a "short 
 cut" across the mountains, which would be an easy trip 
 if the bundles could be carried easily. This short cut 
 ran along the old Indian trail through Detwiler's Hol- 
 low, eventually reaching the valley back of Colyer. 
 Ludwick knew the way well, besides Detwiler to him 
 was hallowed ground. He could fasten his bundles 
 tightly to a heavy pole, and swing it across his brawny 
 shoulders; he had made much harder trips. He really 
 was anxious to go through Detwiler where his love 
 story had begun. It would be something to tell his 
 sweetheart, who was equally sentimental on that sub-
 
 40 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 ject. Before the top of the mountain had been gained 
 snow was falling heavily. Old Pat said that it looked 
 like a "young blizzard." But when the forks of the 
 road were reached Ludwick determined to press on. 
 He knew every foot of the way, and it would save him 
 the long walk westward through the valley after reach- 
 ing Old Fort. Gharrity wished him a happy life, 
 praised the bride, and waved good-bye as he started 
 the heavy team up the steep mountain road. 
 
 Ludwick cut a stout hickory pole, to which he 
 fastened his packages, and started resolutely in the di- 
 rection of the Indian trail across Detwiler. He had 
 not gone far before he reached the original timber, 
 which at that time covered the greater part of the road 
 along the Long Mountain. The arching branches of 
 the giant pines and oaks shut out the snow, and deceived 
 the young traveler as to the severity of the blizzard. 
 As the forest grew denser Ludwick could see the tracks 
 of much game as it crossed the road, the spoor of deer, 
 wildcats and wild turkeys. He was just wishing that 
 he had a gun when a dozen paces in front of 
 him in the middle of the path stood a handsome 
 black fox in all the richness of his mid-winter pelage. 
 Needless to say Ludwick wished more fervently for a 
 gun, as the hide of that rare fox would have paid the 
 expenses of a dozen wedding trips. The fox looked at 
 him with its round brown eyes, then scraped one of 
 his forefeet in the snow, whined a little, and stalked off 
 into the laurel thickets. As the young man passed on 
 he tried to recollect if it was a good or a bad sign to
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 41 
 
 encounter a fox in one's travels. He knew the old say- 
 ing that it was good luck to meet with "a bear, a wolf, 
 or a stag." 
 
 At length he came to a trail road down the moun- 
 tain, all choked with the superb logs of original white 
 pine. In the opening made by it he realized the full 
 extent of the snowstorm. He had never known it to 
 come down with greater intensity. A raven perched 
 on a snow-covered skidv/ay croaked ominously. It was 
 a melancholy scene, but he must push on. Soon he was 
 descending the steep path which led into Detwiler. It 
 was slippery walking, and the snowstorm seemed to 
 have conspired to bring the night on faster. At the 
 bottom of the dismal glade he noticed something that 
 looked like a high mound, or rather cone of snow, at 
 the foot of one of the original pines which still grew 
 thick in this hidden valley. It was so dark and the 
 snow fell past his eyes so swiftly that he brushed it 
 away again and again to obtain a clearer vision. He 
 could not quite make it out, so he left the path and 
 began climbing over the snow-hidden rocks in the di- 
 rection of the giant pine. 
 
 His pack became so heavy that he laid it down, in- 
 tending to get it again when he returned to the trail. 
 The pine seemed further away than it looked at first, 
 the snow seemed to be blinding him. As he neared the 
 mammoth tree he recognized it as the one where the 
 Indian girl, Crow Wings, had been kept a prisoner in 
 the old days, the tree that had been so often pointed 
 out to him by his old trapper friend. Bill Johnson. He
 
 42 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 then realized that it was a fooHsh thing to be sight- 
 seeing in such an unholy locality with his destination 
 still nine or ten miles distant. He was about to turn to 
 go back to the path with his curiosity unsatisfied, when 
 he saw the snow cone move. As it moved it assumed 
 the figure of a beautiful slim woman. It seemed to 
 shine like phosphorus out through the evening gloom. 
 Impelled by a desire that was stronger than himself, he 
 moved forward, and as he did so the arms of the Snow 
 Image extended to greet him. 
 
 Beautiful as appeared the apparition, he had no feel- 
 ings of love for it. He could only think that this would 
 be an amusing story to relate to his sweetheart when he 
 was reunited with her around the inglenook on the 
 headwaters of Coffee Creek. Raising his hickory pole, 
 which he was using as a cane to help him over the un- 
 even surface of the glen, he struck at the beautiful ghost. 
 He must have hit it a terrific blow, for the entire mass 
 came tumbling into his arms. He could feel the wet 
 snow on his lips, an unwelcome kiss, the pressure of 
 snow like an embrace about his shoulders as he fell, 
 crushed under the weight of the Snow Image. His 
 derby hat blew off and sunk into a drift. Sturdy shop- 
 man that he was, he did not lose his presence of mind, 
 and resolved to battle with the ghost like he had once 
 done with a tramp who tried to blackjack him on a back 
 alley near the yards in Altoona. Keeping a grip on his 
 pole, he struck out right and left, at the same time roll- 
 ing from side to side. But the more he struggled the 
 more and heavier was the snow that fell on him. And
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 43 
 
 amid the roar of the tempest-tossed trees he fancied he 
 heard the cruel tones of a woman's laughter. There 
 was no use screaming for help. The nearest lumber 
 camp was four miles away, and its occupants were all 
 at their homes celebrating the holidaj'^s. The lone pan- 
 ther that had met Bill Johnson face to face on a log 
 when crossing Hemlock Run, and which haunted the 
 hollow for years, might hear him, but he was not sure 
 that the animal would prove an ally in his extremity. 
 So he struggled bravely, getting weaker every moment. 
 The heavy snow was piled on top of him. He felt as 
 if he was becoming new foundation for the Snow 
 Image. He began to think of his expectant sweetheart. 
 His hopes of ever seeing her again grew fainter and 
 fainter. He could not breathe easily; he was smother- 
 ing to death. Then all of a sudden came a flash of 
 bright light in which he saw his loved one's face as in 
 an aureole, and his spirit passed into a different sphere. 
 And the snow continued falling on him all that night, 
 all the next day and night, and only abated a little on 
 New Year's morn, the date of the unhappy man's in- 
 tended marriage. James Ludwick's non-arrival at his 
 bride's home on the day before New Year's was viewed 
 with some anxiety. The trains came and went, but he 
 did not get off of any of them. He was not among the 
 passengers leaving the mail stage at Old Fort. No 
 sleigh containing him was noticed on any of the con- 
 verging country roads. Mamie Carlin's spirit was 
 crushed when night came on, and he had not arrived. 
 The guests who had come in a straw-ride to the remote
 
 44 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 farmhouse to "see the New Year in" with the bride 
 and groom-to-be, felt a pall over them, and were glad 
 to drive away at the first chiming of the tall clock in the 
 hall. The girl had a presentiment that all was not well. 
 Besides her lover had promised to arrive not later than 
 that morning. So she sat up all night waiting for him 
 with a lighted lamp in the window. But morning 
 dawned, and he had not come. 
 
 There was no use going over to the church with the 
 bridegroom an absentee. So one of her brothers drove 
 to the edifice and told the preacher and the intended 
 guests that there would be no ceremony that day. The 
 next morning telegrams were sent to Altoona and to 
 the missing youth's brothers and sisters in western States, 
 but none of them knew of his whereabouts. 
 
 When the snow had abated, and the roads opened 
 sufficiently Pat Gharrity made a trip down to Milroy 
 as was his wont. There he heard of James Ludwick's 
 disappearance, and recollected how he had carried him 
 in his wagon to the top of the Long Mountain. The 
 mystery was in a measure solved. A searching party 
 went out, but could find no traces of the lost man in the 
 snows which choked the glens and hollows and oblit- 
 erated the paths. 
 
 It was a long and cold winter, but when the first 
 peeper was heard in the deep marshes of Detwiler late 
 in March, a traveler came across a bulky bundle tied 
 in rotted brown paper, and a little further on was a 
 battered black derby hat. Nearby was found the body 
 of the lost lover, his hickory staff of ill-fate in his hand.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 45 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE SHADOW MAN. 
 
 A ROMANCE OF TUSCAROf^ MOUNTAIN. 
 
 WHERE the noble Tuscarora Mountain sweeps 
 dowTi to the Juniata, not far from the quaint 
 old brown covered bridge that spans the river 
 to Thompsontown stood until lately a substantial look- 
 ing farmhouse, built of blocks of solid yellow sand- 
 stone. Erected in Colonial times, and with a high roof 
 of slates, and tall chimneys at either end, it was a good 
 example of the type of house that was set up to stay, to 
 be the foundation of a yeoman dynasty. The splendid 
 pioneer who erected it in the midst of a country still 
 harboring Indians, a country with an uncertain political 
 future, must have had a supreme faith in the destiny 
 of his family when he threw up such solid foundations. 
 Perhaps it was the charming scene which spread before 
 his vision which led him to locate there permanently at 
 any cost. For certainly no lovelier panorama ever 
 pleased the eye of man. 
 
 The "Blue Juniata" in those happy days before 
 mercenary manufacturers polluted it with their foul 
 refuse, lay at the foot of the sloping sward, crystalline 
 and limpid, reflecting a thousand shadows. Beyond 
 were rolling hills, cleared land gradually replacing the
 
 46 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 forests, culminating in ridges which all but shut out the 
 majestic peaks of the Mahantango Mountain on the 
 Susquehanna fifteen miles away. 
 
 Along the Juniata in those days flourished giant but- 
 tonwood trees, interspersed with wahoos and red 
 birches. Wonderful beds of reeds grew along the 
 v>^ater's brink, affording hiding places for myriads of 
 water fowl. The wild swan, so loved by the poet 
 Drake, often "sailed before the storm" when the usu- 
 ally calm waters were churned into a choppy sea by 
 some sudden gale. Great blue herons waded along in 
 the shallows angling for frogs, lizards, water snakes, 
 and other arch enemies of food fish. The brown bit- 
 tern or "Indian hen" crouched among the swaying 
 rushes. Sometimes the sky would be darkened by the 
 flights of the wild pigeons, which seemed to rise like 
 a cloud out of the topmost crest of distant Mahantango, 
 a sort of columbine Vesuvius. And at sunset the great 
 line of ruddy pink along the sky line seemed an end- 
 less infinity of color, so rich that it must dye the river 
 for all time liquid mother of pearl. And at night 
 when the young crescent moon climbed over the Tus- 
 carora summits, and reflected itself in the calm waters, 
 the peepers, the whippoorwills, wood thrushes, the 
 katydids, the foxes, and the wolves greeted it with 
 musical incantations from the mountain heights by 
 seasons. 
 
 It was an ideal abiding place, so much so that any 
 refined soul who, dying, woke up in such a realm 
 would thank eternity. Even when the railroad came.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 47 
 
 and to make room for it the grassy paths where the 
 long-stemmed violets grew, which led to the river bank, 
 had to be torn up, and many noble trees were leveled, 
 still enough of the primitive beauty remained to make 
 it always linger in the minds of appreciative natures. 
 
 With such surroundings the natural sensitiveness of 
 the ancient family who occupied the mansion for five 
 successive generations was augmented and spiritualized. 
 With each succeeding generation a keener sense of ap- 
 preciation was born, a deeper love for the river and 
 mountain burned into their souls, until finally, with the 
 son of the fifth in line to possess the old home, was a 
 youth whose appreciation and love passed all bounds 
 and limitations, for though he was born and grew up 
 amid the familiar scenes he never tired of them, they 
 seemed more charming to him every year. As his na- 
 ture reached out he grasped new beauties, new mean- 
 ings, new tones to every oft-viewed spot, he clung to 
 the manse as if a seed that after many peregrinations 
 at the behest of the vagrant wind had at last firmly 
 rooted itself in the soil. With the expansion of his 
 nature he was always finding new sources of beauty 
 and wonderment. Always a lover of shadows, from 
 his earliest boyhood days, when with a candle held 
 aloft he could make out countless forms, some hideous, 
 some beautiful, others grave or gay, in the old walnut- 
 framed mirror standing on his dresser, he found even 
 stranger shadows cast off the grand old Tuscarora, 
 which rose a thousand feet of arboreal majesty a short 
 distance behind the old stone house.
 
 48 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 But even before he began climbing the mountain, 
 and unraveling its secrets, its mystery from afar 
 charmed him much. He loved to watch, especially on 
 dark lowery days, the row of pines which stood on 
 the comb or summit of the mountain, the trees which 
 seemed delegated to fight back the oncoming gusts of 
 wind which sought to chill the valleys. 
 
 There was one gaunt yellow pine, taller than the 
 rest, with which he seemed to become personally ac- 
 quainted, a tree with gnarled trunk, drooping top, and 
 long dark needles, a tree which seemed to have a code 
 of signals to flash to its young admirer. And he 
 never forgot his ecstasy when for the first time he 
 reached the summit of the delectable mountain, and 
 sought out and sat under the shade of his favorite pine. 
 And as he sat beneath it the ever mournful sigh, 
 which never ceased even when the winds fell, assumed 
 a happier tone, only to resume the banshee-like wail- 
 ing when he departed. Year by year he would be 
 pained to see the dearly beloved pines struck by light- 
 ning one by one, and in a twelvemonth become grim, 
 barkless skeletons, pointing toward the heavens with 
 impotent menacing arms until the north wind would 
 take them in strong arms and crooning a requiem drop 
 them softly to their last resting place among the sweet 
 ferns and whortleberry bushes. And the pines which 
 escaped the lightning strokes, even the favored pine, 
 were sorely ravaged by the forest fires, which in the 
 springtime, when the sap was ascending, crept up their 
 delicate trunks and scorched the life out of their most
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 49 
 
 vital spots. Some sent out fresh growths of bright 
 green needles as if defying cruel fate, but every one 
 touched by the horrid flames had its life shortened, and 
 cried itself into nakedness and death. 
 
 But transcending even the pines, the glory of the 
 mountain top, was the privilege of studying the 
 shadows which were cast by the vast height upon the 
 river and over the rolling meadows and woods. These 
 shadows had life and form, and every one a different 
 meaning. At first they had seemed to the young 
 mountaineer fantastic gloom, yet fascinating withal. 
 But as he watched them again and yet again, they took 
 on shape — yes, life. They always came at a certain 
 time, each one in its respective place, and gradually 
 their panorcima spelled into the youth's mind the ancient 
 annals of the valley where he lived. 
 
 There v/ere first of all the shadows of earliest after- 
 noon, which pictured the titanic beasts and flying rep- 
 tiles, the fern trees, calamites and lepidodendrons of 
 the prehistoric days in that fair land before him. Then 
 came shadows of mid-afternoon, the shapes of primi- 
 tive, savage men, restless and unstable as the sea. As 
 these shadows lengthened into late afternoon, all pic- 
 tured on the meadow slopes were tall Indians, with 
 bows and spears, and tents and lodge houses, which 
 faded as Indians always did. There were forms of 
 panthers, bison, moose and elks, the bmtes which con- 
 tested the forest realms with their redskin contempo- 
 raries. Of the evening shadows some streaked out into 
 tall groves of pine, beech and hem.lock, which as night
 
 50 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 fell broadened and deepened, and were the back- 
 ground to some of the strangest photo-plays ever en- 
 acted. Many were the wonderful dramas portrayed 
 by the evening shadows. Full of form and power they 
 were, replicas surely of the life that had ebbed in that 
 God-favored realm. No artist's brush or poet's pen 
 could tell the simple stones as those dark shadows acted 
 them out. 
 
 On one clear September night an Indian camp- 
 ground was depicted on the sloping bosom of the river 
 and dale. An old warrior sat by a camp-fire, smoking 
 his calumet, while the squaw busied herself about the 
 tent, and the children, four slim boys, and one beautiful 
 little girl, chased one another about as only shadow 
 children can. It was a scene of rare activity and 
 beauty, so much so that the living watcher wished that 
 he could cross the void. Suddenly like waving black 
 plumes an attacking force plunged into the peaceful 
 family group. Striking great sweeping strokes with 
 tomahawks and v/ar-clubs, they seemed to rout the 
 hom.e-loving warrior and his spouse. Picking up the 
 lovely little maiden they sped away with her into the 
 shadow realms, v/here the darkness grew vaster and 
 more engulfing. Then the warrior, who had evidently 
 only been stunned, rose unsteadily, and tremblingly his 
 squaw came to his side, and with shadowy gestures, 
 they lamented over the loss of their loved one. The 
 boys, who had flown in terror to the gloom of the 
 shadowy pine forests came back swaying like reeds 
 and swept about their stricken parents, offering shadowy
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 51 
 
 consolation. Then the brave and his four sons drifted 
 away off on the war-path, which turned and twisted 
 among the shadowy realms of infinity. Through long 
 dark vistas of shaking pines the determined warrior led 
 his boys. Back at the camp the unhappy mother sank 
 to the dark earth, burying her head in her endless 
 blanket. 
 
 Another encampment came to view, dark and 
 shadowy. Scores of great gaunt Indians lay about 
 a fluttering campfire, fast asleep. Sitting among them 
 was the tiny dark form of the stolen child, nodding 
 with grief. A tall sentry paced to and fro, unstable 
 as a leaf, a thing of shadows and uncertainty. At 
 the edge of the gloomy forest the warrior and his sons 
 hesitated. They raised their shadov/y tomahawks, 
 sweeping on like shadows do, they were upon the sen- 
 try, sending him sprawling to the ground. In an in- 
 stant, a shadowy moment, they had surrounded the 
 unhappy child. The warrior parent wrapped her in his 
 shadov/y cloak, and crept v/ith her to the dark forest, 
 where the shadows seemed marshaling themselves for 
 complete union with night. 
 
 On through the growing duskiness they sped, flying 
 shadows, over shadowy mountains, rocks, rivers and 
 sinking seas, back to that secluded dismal spot where 
 in deep grief still crouched the shadowy form of the 
 unhappy squaw. Sweeping down before her, a 
 triumph of shadowy might, the great slim warrior un- 
 folded his flowing cloak, and out slipped the little girl 
 restored to those she loved. And the Indian family
 
 52 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 came closer together, their vast cloaks sweeping and 
 trailing until all the shadows seemed to unite in them, 
 and there was nothing else but the dark tones of their 
 garments. All was blackness, immensity, night had 
 fallen on their happiness. They were one, at peace 
 with all the sable harmonies of nature's period of rest. 
 
 Then the tranquil stars came out as a theater lights 
 up after shadow pictures, seeming near to the seeker 
 after elemental truths on the mountain top, and he de- 
 scended in the cool evening. On his way he scared 
 up a wobbly-flighted whippoorwill here and there, 
 which flew straight at the stars, and in the distance be- 
 lated crows were cawing, as they settled down to roost. 
 And the rare mountain flowers he accidentally trampled 
 on the way, the doleful notes of autumn crickets inter- 
 rupted, the sweet flying scents of pine or fern, would 
 make a perfect memory book. It was a glorious exist- 
 ence, this intense life close to the past in all its pic- 
 torial wonder. 
 
 But in other ways he was not idle, a busy world 
 called him as he developed to meet its wants, and 
 though the part he played was not great, it cannot be 
 said that it was useless. But such a life had its limita- 
 tions of utility, the grandeur and glory of it all would 
 best be seen in perspective. But fate would have to 
 open the gate of such an Earthly Paradise, mere mor- 
 tals would blunder out if unescorted, and perhaps lose 
 the pass word to return. And that was why that the 
 young man, loving the shadow-realm so well, instinc- 
 tively hated to go far from it. Every time he went
 
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 X 
 
 a: 
 
 Ui
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 53 
 
 away, even when fancying that his quests were of im- 
 portance, he was filled with a strange yearning to re- 
 turn, it was so deep-rooted in his being that he had to 
 answer its call. He was waiting for a message that 
 would carry him afar to come out of the land of 
 shadows itself, that was still of the life he loved best, 
 but over trackless roads or oceans. 
 
 The call did come to him very unexpectedly. It was 
 late on a summer afternoon, after he had returned from 
 the heights, communing with his best-loved pines that 
 still survived, and mourning over the prostrate forms 
 of their fallen comrades, it was a grey evening when 
 everything was shadow, hence hinted of uncertainty, 
 and he was in a mood that was almost a reverie. 
 
 Lying on a couch, with hands behind his head, he 
 instinctively began listening to the tick-tock-tick of a 
 gilt French clock, one of the heirlooms of the old 
 house, which stood on the high mantel shelf of the 
 bookish-smelling library. The tick-tock-tick was so 
 emphatic, it was like the wing music of birds, it fairly 
 carried the listener out of himself. The couch seemed 
 some chariot that sailed out of time into a new world. 
 It was as if the chariot carried him very far, as it could 
 do so when not hampered by time. Upon his spirit 
 came a vast calm, he was in that state of tranquility 
 when one can see ghosts. All of us who think and feel 
 have infrequently or frequently, as our natures are at- 
 tuned to the Infinite, felt that strange peace which pre- 
 sages visitation. If uninterrupted, the visitor from the 
 unseen will come either as a voice or a presence, but a
 
 54 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 sudden incursion of outside influences will drive this 
 state away. 
 
 But as the mood progressed the young man noted 
 that a marked change came in the dimensions of the 
 room where he rested. The small windows, v/ith the 
 wide sills — the walls were four feet thick — widened 
 and elongated into glass doors which led out on a flag- 
 stone terrace, with scenery beyond that was totally 
 unfamiliar. The distant vistas showed broad fields 
 lined with tall Lombardy poplars, with blue dome-like 
 hills fading into the sky-line. The massive walnut fur- 
 niture contracted and twisted itself into a gilt set of 
 the period of the last of Louis' to match the clock. 
 The old deep fireplace, with its wooden facings and 
 mantel shelf resolved itself into an ornate open grate 
 of greenish marble with a gilt framed mirror above. 
 Instead of the heavy brass candlesticks, elaborate gilt 
 candelabra arose on either side of the French clock, 
 giving it an air of harmony that it seemed always to 
 have lacked. There appeared to be more rooms in 
 this dream house than the one he was used to. 
 
 Though lying still he had the power to gaze into the 
 other apartments. Beyond two huge gilded doors was 
 a spacious hallway with white marble floors, and a 
 staircase of marble with bronze railings. There was 
 stained glass in the massive front doors, on the sides of 
 the front steps were griffins carved out of limestone, 
 which held aloft fluted metallic lamps. On the oppo- 
 site side of the hallway was a high-walled library, 
 with rows of bookcases which reached almost to the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 55 
 
 frescoed ceiling. On the tops of the cases were tar- 
 nished busts of such great men as Seneca, Lucretius, 
 Terrence and Catullus. In the center of the room, by 
 another vast fireplace, was a huge writing table cov- 
 ered with richly bound but much-used books and man- 
 uscripts. Back of the library, that thrilled the young 
 man with its wealth of all that appeals to bookish 
 tastes, was a room that m.ust have been an armory. 
 
 It had a huge greyish stone fireplace, and cases all 
 around the walls, not so high as in the library; these 
 cases were stacked with guns old and new, of every 
 shape and style, from the latest American rifle to the 
 bow-gun of the middle ages. On the stone floor, near 
 the fireplace stood a mounted wolf, more brindle than 
 the black wolves of the Seven Mountains or the grey 
 timber wolves of the ranges south of the Tuscaroras. 
 With jaws open, showing rows of fierce white fangs, 
 it was like the wolf killed by the fabled hound, Gelert, 
 "tremendous still in death." On the curiously wrought 
 fagade of the fireplace was nailed a mounted head of 
 a wild boar, a grand vieux sanglier, a beast with 
 hideous curving tusks and swarthy crest. Above the 
 cases was row after row of horns of fallow deer, the 
 smooth palmated antlers resembling the rare "shovel 
 horns" of the Seven Brothers. Above these began the 
 elaborate carved rafters. From some of these hung 
 stags' horns holding lamps, which gave a mediaeval 
 flavor to this unique room. And in the furthest and 
 darkest corner, the mailed hand gripping a broad- 
 sword, was a much-rusted suit of arms, the visor
 
 56 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 down, hiding, perhaps, the white ghost face within. 
 
 But it was gradually growing darker, gloaming was 
 giving way to dusk, that finest of evening distinctions, 
 which only a lover of shadows can know. It was time 
 for candles, for some one to light the fires. The smooth 
 beech logs piled so carefully in the grates, seemed, to 
 invite the friendly blaze. There was a chilliness, a 
 mustiness to these old rooms that could only be lessened 
 by human company in lieu of candle light or fire-glow. 
 Some one would surely come, the very neatness of 
 everything showed that the mansion was inhabited. 
 
 As he waited, he gazed into the long mirrors which 
 hung between the windows, hoping that they would 
 catch the shadow of whoever might come. The love 
 of shadows had gone with him into this unreal land. 
 Perhaps he was in "the valley of the shadow." 
 
 And out of the silences, on the marble floor of a 
 room beyond where he lay, came the sharp small sound 
 of feminine footsteps. Expectantly he waited, but not 
 for long. He turned his head around and in the 
 shadows he saw her. Beautiful she was, but though 
 she seemed familiar, he could not recollect when, he 
 had seen her before. Perhaps it was because he had 
 never met her before in that particular corner of the 
 world. Yet she seemed so strangely familiar! It was as 
 if he had known her for years, yet he failed to place 
 her. She was carrying a burning taper to light a gilt 
 lamp with a silver lace shade, and as she noticed him 
 lying there on the divan, not a look of surprise as might 
 be expected came across her mobile features. It was
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 57 
 
 as if she had stepped out but a few moments before 
 and returned in a matter-of-fact way to light the lamp. 
 
 As she placed it on the glass-topped table which 
 stood between the fireplace and the lounge, he scruti- 
 nized her carefully. She looked just as she always 
 had, but where was it that he had seen her before, it 
 would be too difficult a matter to adjust, he would for- 
 get the shadowy part and lose himself in admiration. 
 For indeed she was admirable to look at. A few years 
 younger than himself, close to twenty she appeared to 
 be, with curling brown hair, and eyes that in the shad- 
 ows were black, and by the lamplight grey, with skin 
 more pale than rosy, a semi-retrousse nose, full lips, a 
 rounded throat and arms and figure, she was an em- 
 bodiment of grace and charm. 
 
 To be on such intimate terms with such an adorable 
 person, yet not recollect who she was, was an amazing 
 predicament, it was so shadowy, yet so delightful. If 
 he spoke to her, she would vanish, and the grand old 
 house go with her, for ghosts must speak first. Could 
 this all be a chapter from some past existence, in some 
 topsy-turvy whim of time. It seemed like reading over 
 again an early chapter in some interesting book before 
 the final chapter had been reached. All these reflec- 
 tions were naturally simultaneous, in a realm where 
 there is no time. As he pondered, the beautiful young 
 girl turned toward him and spoke, saying : 
 
 "What a wonderful evening this is. Come, let us 
 go out on the terrace before all the shadows have 
 gone."
 
 58 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 To speak was to command, and entranced and happy 
 the young man got up and taking her fair hand, for he 
 knew her well, even if he could not ''place her" tem- 
 porarily, walked with her to one of the long windows, 
 which opened like a door. Soon they were outdoors 
 in the cool evening air, with a glorious yet foreign land- 
 scape before them. 
 
 "It is too late to catch only the last grand shadow 
 effects," said the young girl, who seemed to know as 
 much about shadows as him.self. "An hour ago a 
 shadowy pageant went by, I thought of you traveling 
 on the long road." 
 
 So he had come there by the road, and not over the 
 clouds ; he had journeyed there like any one else would 
 have come. 
 
 "This last shadow looks like a great marching 
 army," she went on, "but earlier we had the wild 
 beasts and hunters, and priests and monks and farmers 
 and v/agons, then a long line of kings." 
 
 Such royal shadows, he mused, could not exist on 
 the Juniata. He was evidently in some strange coun- 
 try. But everywhere shadows must fade, kings as well 
 as Indians. But as the gloom of night overspread the 
 scene, the shadowy armies with their flags and gonfa- 
 lons were merged into evening calm and peace. He 
 again scanned the wide landscape. Off in the west 
 he could see the twin spires of some ancient cathedral 
 with a city below it. The spires reminded him of the 
 twin pines that stood to the westward from his Juniata 
 home. Could these trees be the shadows or symbols
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 59 
 
 of an old-time church, the river the shadow of a worn- 
 out disappearing town? 
 
 These questions might have been answered, had not 
 night fell so soon. Then the beautiful girl turned from 
 the darkening view, and led her companion from the 
 terrace by a side staircase and along a pebbled path 
 which led through a grove of Norway spruces, with 
 branches that swept the ground, like the spruces of 
 hairbrook where he had visited as a boy, until they 
 came to a high stone courtyard, which surrounded some 
 stables. Inside the gateway several large shaggy grey 
 dogs were chained, which leaped to the length of 
 their chains, stood on their hind feet and barked vocif- 
 erously. These were wolf dogs, the young man was 
 given to understand. Despite the thickly settled coun- 
 try, the wolves, she said, v/ere still to be found, afford- 
 ing superb sport for hunters and dogs. Inside the 
 stables were roomy box-stalls, each one accommodat- 
 ing a hunter or a race horse, some of them retired heroes 
 of cross country classics. 
 
 When she saw his evident gratification at all the 
 wonders of the barns and stables, she gently said, "I 
 am so glad that I wrote you to come, it was the proper 
 inspiration to have done so." 
 
 The young man made no reply, as he was trying to 
 figure out if he had received any such letter. But all 
 was shadowy, foggy, as far as such a letter was con- 
 cerned. 
 
 Then they strolled back, toward the old house, with 
 its deep slanting roof and pilaster chimneys, and leaned
 
 60 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 a while over the parapet of the terrace, watching the 
 stars that shone out as clear as if it had been a night 
 in October. There was one star which seemed to hang 
 between the twin towers of the distant cathedral. When 
 they re-entered the house by the same loggia window, 
 the lamp had gone out, the room was very dark, the 
 young man remembered that the girl shuddered as they 
 closed the door. All was dark and shadowy in the 
 house, as silent as the grave. Then the clock chimed 
 the quarter hour. How ghastly would the stuffed wolf 
 and the rusty suit of arms look at that hour. 
 
 The young man groped for the table, when he felt 
 it, the top was marble not glass. He looked more 
 clearly, the stars were shining through small deep-set 
 windows, the clock was on the wooden mantelpiece, 
 ticking away to two stiff colonial candlesticks. Of 
 course the lovely girl was nowhere to be seen. Some- 
 how the young man was seated on the couch again. 
 He had not been asleep, only in the world of shadows 
 where everything is so different, where the non-essential 
 is banished. 
 
 He got up and soon found the matches, lighting the 
 old lamp which sat on the table with the marble top. 
 The clock on the mantel, ticking away to eternity, an- 
 nounced the hour as ten minutes to seven. It was not 
 late, only shadowy. It was the solemn dusk that pre- 
 sages an early autumn. He looked about the room, 
 everything was familiar, just as he had always known 
 it, just as he had left everything, except that on the 
 center table was an envelope addressed to himself. It
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 61 
 
 had not been there when he lay down. Perhaps the 
 person who came in to Hght the lamp had placed it 
 there. He looked at it closely; it bore a foreign stamp; 
 the bold handwriting familiar, though he had not seen 
 it in some time. Like a flash of lightning he recognized 
 it as the writing of the charming girl who had lately 
 been with him in the shadowy land, yet when he had 
 been with her there he was unable to place her. 
 
 He did not open the letter right away. He must 
 formulate a plan of action first. The shadowy presence 
 had lately felt it was but the visualization of his long- 
 ing. How to get away, to get started to her that very 
 night was his one idea. To "go over the mountains of 
 the moon." The shadows that had hung over him were 
 suddenly lifted, and out through the bright vista he saw 
 the completeness of life like the star suspended between 
 the cathedral towers.
 
 62 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 V. 
 
 THE WOLF TRIBE. 
 
 AN INDIAN TRADITION OF THE JUNIATA. 
 
 ESHLEMAN, in his "History of the Indians of 
 Lancaster County," in speaking of the Lenni- 
 Lenape, the "original people" of the Indians, 
 says that "according to their own story when they be- 
 came established in what is now the Eastern States they 
 divided themselves into three tribes — the Turtle, the 
 Turkey, and the Wolf Tribe. The first two settled 
 on the coast from the Hudson to Potomac Rivers. The 
 other, the Wolf Tribe, settled inland on the Susque- 
 hanna, because they were warlike and formed a barrier 
 between the coast tribes of the Lenape and the Mengwe 
 on the west, who had become enemies of all Lenape 
 by this time. The Susquehannocks, Nanticokes, the 
 Shackamaxons, the Shawnees and several other tribes, 
 it is said, came from the Wolf Tribe of the Lenape." 
 
 Job Chillaway, by race a Lenni-Lenape, and a 
 noted Indian in colonial history, about 1 768 settled 
 in the Juniata Valley, first at the mouth of the Little 
 Tuniata; but as soon as settlements were made by the 
 whites, moved up Spruce Creek, where he remained 
 until white men penetrated there, when he removed to 
 the head of Diamond Valley, where he spent the re-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 63 
 
 mainder of his days. He supported himself for many 
 years after the Revolutionary War by bringing deer 
 and elk meat into the settlements to trade off for flour 
 and bread. During a cold winter, about 1 800, he was 
 found dead in his cabin by some bear hunters. He 
 was supposed to be about one hundred years old at the 
 time of his demise. 
 
 A great story-teller, his mind being a treasure house 
 of historic and legendary lore, his company was sought 
 by the more intelligent settlers to while away the long 
 winter evenings with tales of the long ago. He was 
 particularly fond of telling about the earliest days of 
 the Indian people, especially of his own Wolf Tribe 
 of the Lenni-Lenape. This would carry the Indians' 
 beginnings back many thousands of years, giving them 
 a history as ancient and honorable as that of Celt or 
 Saxon. He was fond of explaining his reasons for 
 never hunting wolves, that these animals were sacred to 
 his race, that only thoughtless or heedless Indians went 
 on the warpath against them. The superstition that 
 wolves were harmful beasts had been brought into 
 Pennsylvania by the Europeans, who by creating a de- 
 mand for hides and placing a bounty on the scalps of 
 wolves, had set the idle and more worthless Indians to 
 v/olf hunting, and in another generation practically 
 every redman had forgotten his family tradition in the 
 lust for gain. But Job Chillaway was what might be 
 called an orthodox or old-line Indian. He believed 
 in abiding by the ancient landmarks which had led his 
 race to greatness in the past. He had examples on all
 
 64 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 sides to show the quick disintegration of tribal power 
 and physical and moral prowess with the adopting of 
 the white man's ways. The surest method of conquer- 
 ing the Indians was debauching them morally. They 
 could not absorb the new habits, even the new religion 
 of the pale faced strangers; they strangled on the inno- 
 vations, dying out faster than even bullets laid them 
 low. 
 
 Had all Indians been like Chillaway, and his even 
 greater confrere Red Jacket, the Indian race would be 
 a force to reckon with to this day. Red Jacket resisted 
 the forcible selling of land, the new religion, the new 
 modes of life; he remained an unreconstructed rebel to 
 the end. And to a lesser degree Chillaway held to his 
 old faith, his old ways, and when far up in the nineties 
 could shoot as straight as any youth among the whites. 
 The great age attained by the Indians of past genera- 
 tions has been disputed by the fact that most Indians 
 of to-day are short lived, but before the vices introduced 
 by white men enervated them, Indians living their simple 
 outdoor life were almost indestructible human ma- 
 chines. The Indian owed his decline to the white man 
 and to him alone, and if we blame him for sins, let us 
 first blame the white men who were the serpents in his 
 garden of Eden, the primeval forests of America. 
 
 When Job Chillaway talked of the past, he always 
 asked for a wolfskin rug, which he would spread out 
 on the earthen floor before the huge fireplace, then sit 
 down tailor-fashion, and with a wealth of gestures that 
 were almost European, recount the romances of the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 65 
 
 Golden Age of the Indian race. As an evidence of his 
 mind's fecundity, he never told the same story twice. 
 If it fell on a band of unappreciative listeners it was lost 
 forever. But it must be stated that Chillaway was 
 careful in his choice of an audience ; he would suddenly 
 become silent if his hearers were out of accord with 
 him. It is therefore fortunate that his version of the 
 selection of the name for the Wolf Tribe fell on ears 
 that were "wax to receive, marble to retain." 
 
 It appears that a very long time ago, when the w orld 
 was new, and the Indians were the chosen people of 
 the Great Spirit, there was a certain great chief or king 
 named Se-Tan-Se-Tan, whose regal abode was near 
 the headwaters of the Little Juniata. His was a 
 mighty and forceful personality, for he cemented to- 
 gether into a powerful confederation individual families 
 of redmen, who had led aimless lives hunting and fish- 
 ing among the wild mountains. This had never been 
 done before, and when the savages realized the benefits 
 of a common interest as compared with the hopeless 
 struggling and anarchy of the past, they blessed the far- 
 seeing warrior who made this new state possible. As 
 he was the first successful man they regarded him more 
 as a being apart from themselves, a demi-god, rather 
 than to cherish toward him any sentiments of jealousy 
 or envy. And it was probably the same with new- 
 found leaders all over the world. 
 
 Se-Tan-Se-Tan, wise leader that he was, did not 
 abuse his boundless power. He exercised it at all times 
 for the betterment, for the development of his subjects.
 
 66 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 He encouraged agriculture as more steadily remunera- 
 tive than the chase and worked with a will to clear the 
 forest jungles from the richest soil along the river 
 banks. The seeds of melons, corn, potatoes, as well as 
 apples and plums were gathered and planted, and 
 great was the rejoicing at the results of this added ef- 
 fort. The wild animals were the only discordant fea- 
 tures of the otherwise calm agricultural life. The deer 
 and elk coveted the juicy cornstalks, the moose loved 
 dearly to browse off the young shoots of the fruit trees. 
 The smaller animals chewed and gnawed and up- 
 rooted the melons and potatoes. Various birds were 
 equally noxious, and incurred the ill-will of the new 
 race of farmers. Hitherto all destruction of animal and 
 bird life had been for the purpose of securing the flesh, 
 bones, or hides, but now a new purpose was instituted : 
 to destroy the furred and feathered creatures as foes of 
 man's lawful toil. Animal drives were instituted where 
 herds of deer, elk and even bison were slaughtered ruth- 
 lessly in stockades, birds were snared and butchered by 
 the tens of thousands. 
 
 In the Juniata country game became so scarce that 
 one year when a flood caused the total loss of crops, 
 there was a famine, followed by death, because there 
 was nothing to kill to make up for the loss of potatoes 
 and corn. This, to a certain extent, lessened the wan- 
 ton destruction of wild life, but it also led the more 
 shrewd Indian agriculturalists to clear patches of ground 
 on high lands, not subject to flood. But then came a 
 long protracted drought, with an equally great crop
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 67 
 
 failure. Death stalked and ramped among the Indian 
 villages, filling the Indians' burial places with countless 
 fresh-made mounds. Then the Indians awakened to 
 the true idea of conservation of animal and bird life, 
 which they practiced until the white men came, and 
 began an indicriminate slaughter of all living things. 
 The Indians were at first amazed at such reckless con- 
 duct from white men. They had heard that their own 
 remote ancestors had almost wiped out wild life with 
 dire results, but they, supposed savages, had abandoned 
 such madness; yet these professedly intelligent white 
 beings from Europe were more ruthless with their wan- 
 ton killing than the wildest aborigine had ever been. 
 But then the white men were always an enigma to the 
 calm, philosophic Indians. 
 
 "Call us wild Indians," Job Chillaway would often 
 say, "why, we are not half so wild as the crazy white 
 creatures who came here from across the big water." 
 
 In the vicinity of the royal lodge house of Se-Tan- 
 Se-Tan were rocky cliffs ; it was probably at the mouth 
 of Riggle's Gap, the chosen home of many families of 
 wolves, while further back in the ravine were the cav- 
 erns of bears and panthers. 
 
 The domestic life of the great chief was in every 
 way ideal. In early youth he had married a beautiful 
 maiden named Shawanie and in his hour of triumph re- 
 mained true to her. In that he was an example to many 
 v/hite men, who seek fresh companions to share their 
 completed destiny. If there was a shadow over the 
 happy home it was caused by the absence of children.
 
 68 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 For fifteen years no little ones came to bless the union, 
 but the noble warrior made no complaints, as such a 
 thing as an hereditary dynasty had never occurred to 
 him. He had done his duty to his fellow-redmen, that 
 was all. He wanted no special favors for his posterity. 
 They would have to stand on their own basis as citizens. 
 But the presence of young folks would undoubtedly 
 have added to the joys of the royal surroundings. 
 
 But after years of waiting a little son was born to 
 Se-Tan-Se-Tan and Shawanie. It was the signal for 
 great rejoicing. Voluntarily the tribesmen set out to 
 celebrate the event by a month of feasting and frolic. 
 Agriculture, hunting, fishing, the arts of pottery and 
 weaving, all were laid aside while the happy savages 
 ran races, played games, sang, danced and gorged 
 themselves. It was a wonderful exhibition of the love 
 which the redskins felt for their brilliant chieftain and 
 his devoted wife. At the end of the thirty days of 
 merrymaking the little one was christened Shawanoh, 
 after his mother, and this name has ever clung in slightly 
 altered form to Indians allied with the dynasty of Se- 
 Tan-Se-Tan. The joys of the christening were pro- 
 longed for thirty days, during which time the carnival 
 spirit of the revelers knew no bounds. The redskins, 
 primitive beings that they were, were delirious with joy. 
 They assembled before their ruler's lodge house, shout- 
 ing that the little boy be selected as the successor of the 
 great warrior in the dim distant day when he should 
 join the great majority. They pictured a long line of 
 kings, descended from Se-Tan-Se-Tan, all equally
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 69 
 
 famous for their greatness and goodness. At the end 
 of the sixty days of frolic it was difficult to get the sav- 
 ages back to serious pursuits. They were dance crazy, 
 feast crazy, hoarse from shouting encomiums of praise 
 on their king and queen and child. But eventually they 
 quieted down, but whenever they saw little Shawanoh it 
 was a signal for cheering and enthusiasm. 
 
 Had the little fellow been the least bit vain, his na- 
 ture would have been spoiled by such adulation, but 
 instead he was modest like his parents, taking his popu- 
 larity in good grace, a true little gentleman. His sim- 
 plicity of manners endeared him more to the people as 
 he grew older. He would make an ideal recipient for 
 their hopes, he would never betray his trust. Though 
 he recognized his position in the tribe, his manners were 
 easy and democratic ; he never sought to emphasize the 
 gulf which separated him from the Indians of lesser ad- 
 vantages. He was an intelligent child, anxious at all 
 times to learn, which he strove to do by asking ques- 
 tions of his elders. In fact he exhibited a positive 
 genius for leadership seldom seen in one so young. It 
 was about this period when the general outcry against 
 wild beasts was raised. Stories of the indiscriminate 
 slaughters were bandied about the royal encampment, 
 where the hunters became heroes in the eyes of all ex- 
 cept little Shawanoh. He expressed the greatest de- 
 testation for this class of men, so much so that no stories 
 of their exploits dare be mentioned in his presence. 
 
 Out in the ravine back of the regal home were a num- 
 ber of wolf dens. The wolfish families, models of con-
 
 70 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 jugal fidelity, lived in crannies or fissures in the almost 
 precipitous sides of the great granite cliffs. Little Sha- 
 wanoh often stole out into the ravine alone to watch the 
 playful antics of the wolf pups. The little animals 
 would be brought out by their parents to sun themselves 
 on flat overhanging rocks, or sometimes would climb 
 down to the brookside where they would frisk and play 
 along the stream which flowed through it. On several 
 occasions the little Indian prince encountered old and 
 young wolves in his path, but they never thought of 
 molesting him. He became so friendly with the saga- 
 cious beasts that he could approach them when at play 
 to within a few feet, and though they were aware 
 of his presence, they showed no signs of alarm or 
 anger. 
 
 One day when little Shawanoh was sitting on his fa- 
 vorite shell heap by the placid Juniata he saw a party 
 of Indians, dressed in war regalia, carrying bows, ar- 
 rows and spears, marching in single file toward the 
 gorge where the wolf dens were located. It did not 
 take his childish mind long to grasp the situation : The 
 redskins were heading for a tour of extermination among 
 his friends, the wolves. Jumping to his feet, the little 
 prince ran after the hunters as fast as his tiny legs could 
 carry him. Catching up with the hindmost of the party, 
 he called out to him to learn the nature of the quest. 
 The burly savage looked around and was amazed to 
 see his king's son at his heels. As he was an Indian 
 from a distant valley, he did not know the little prince's 
 dislike for hunters, so he bowed low and announced
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 71 
 
 that he and his party were bound for the wolf dens "to 
 wipe out the whole infamous race of wolves." 
 
 The little prince's copper-colored face turned pale, 
 but he stamped his small foot and shouted : "You shall 
 do nothing of the kind. I command you to let the 
 wolves, which are my friends, alone once and for- 
 ever. 
 
 Hearing this childish outbreak the other hunters 
 turned around, recognizing their prince instantly. They 
 bowed, but beyond that paid no attention to his plea 
 for the wolves. At a signal from the leader, they 
 started on a dog trot up the hollow, leaving little Sha- 
 wanoh to his own devices. While they doubtless 
 meant no discourtesy, they imagined that as a child he 
 could have no real preferences as to whether wolves 
 should be killed or not that they would be bound to 
 respect. 
 
 But little Shawanoh was determined to save his be- 
 loved wolves. He took to his heels, running as fast as 
 possible down the ravine to his father's camp by the 
 Juniata. The mighty chieftain was not at home, but 
 the little fellow was so persistent and his tears were so 
 genuine that the queen m.other, Shawanie, consented to 
 go back with him to the dens to save the unhappy ani- 
 mals, if not too late. The little prince was thoroughly 
 exhausted from his race and from nervous excitement, 
 so the queen took him in her arms and carried him up 
 the narrow path. As they neared the rocks they could 
 hear voices above them, high up on one of the cliffs, 
 which was honeycombed with the wolves' dens. The
 
 72 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 prince told his mother to stop and shout to the impudent 
 hunters. 
 
 Putting Shawanoh on the ground, the queen called 
 out in as loud tones as she could command, "Indians, 
 up there on the cliff, touch not a single wolf, in the 
 name of your queen." 
 
 The haughty redskins were dumfounded at this un- 
 expected summons, and almost fell off the steep ledges 
 on which they were standing. They looked down to 
 where the voice came from, but they could see no one, 
 the foliage was so dense. They had not succeeded in 
 breaking into the dens as yet, and they hated to be 
 crossed in their bloodthirsty work, but a command from 
 their queen's lips could not be disregarded. So after a 
 "council of war" they decided to climb down the cliff 
 and make sure that it was really their queen who had 
 spoken. They had a strong feeling that it was only 
 some servant brought out there by the little prince to 
 scare them from their work. When they reached the 
 valley they saw at a glance that it was the real queen, 
 so they prostrated themselves before her and said that 
 they were sorry; they would do no more hunting. 
 After the queen and her little son departed the Indians 
 again conferred together. 
 
 "No doubt the queen only came out here to pacify 
 that war-like little prince. Now that she has gone, we 
 can go back and finish our work." All agreed that 
 this was sound logic, so when the "coast was clear" 
 they reclimbed the steep face of the cliff. When little 
 Shawanoh reached his lodge-house he watched for the
 
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 JUNIATA MEMORIES 73 
 
 return of the hunters, who he supposed were following 
 at a respectful distance. As they did not return he 
 mentioned the circumstance to the queen. 
 
 "Perhaps they have departed by another route," 
 said the queen to calm his fears. But after half an 
 hour had passed, and no Indians appeared, Shawanoh 
 became certain that his mother's and his wishes had 
 been disobeyed. He chafed with anger and humilia- 
 tion, as well as with fear for the safety of the wolves. 
 He was lying on his back weeping when his father 
 Se-Tan-Se-Tan appeared at the camp. He inquired 
 and was told the cause of his beloved son's grief. 
 
 "I cannot believe that any Indians would disobey 
 such direct commands, but then order has been so re- 
 cently secured among our race that they may not under- 
 stand the meaning of authority. But to make sure, I 
 will go to the wolf dens and see if they are still there." 
 
 Lifting Shawanoh to his shoulder, he marched up the 
 ravine. And he got to the cliffs none too soon. He 
 could hear the shouts of the hunters, the falling of 
 stones and the snarls of the wolves, — evidently they 
 had penetrated one of the dens and were ready to be- 
 gin a general butchery. 
 
 It must be confessed that Se-Tan-Se-Tan lost his 
 temper. Drawing himself erect, he shouted, his voice 
 trembling with emotion: "Indians, what do you mean 
 to be killing those wolves in disregard of the orders of 
 your queen and your prince. Desist at once, for I am 
 your ruler, Se-Tan-Se-Tan." 
 
 The Indians dropped their wedges and spears, and
 
 74 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 trembling, left the frightened wolves and meekly de- 
 scended the chff. As they did so the wolves ran out 
 and scampered along their narrow pathways to safety, 
 some of them catching a glimpse of their little friend 
 and deliverer still seated on his father's shoulder. 
 
 Se-Tan-Se-Tan was generally a kind and a just 
 man, but he had established authority by years of work 
 and was not going to jeopardize it. So he drew his 
 stone hunting knife, — as sharp a blade as any later one 
 of steel, — and biting his lips to keep in his angry words, 
 waited for the approach of the wayward savages. As 
 the first one stepped forward, bending low in respect 
 for his king, the angry monarch seized him by an ear, 
 and by a deft stroke of his keen knife, cut it off and 
 flung the bleeding member to the ground. The savage, 
 with a shriek of pain, got up and dashed into the forest, 
 his blood spattering the big broad leaves of the linden 
 trees which lined the banks. As one by one the other 
 Indians approached, Se-Tan-Se-Tan seized them and 
 cut off one of their ears. It was a bloody scene, and 
 the shrieks of the wounded savages echoed up and 
 down the wild glen. While the mutilations were pro- 
 gressing little Shawanoh danced and laughed until he 
 felt as if his sides would split. Kindly child that he 
 usually was, his primitive nature glutted itself with re- 
 venge. The earless redskins saw the little prince's antics, 
 and their pain seemed more intense while he was laugh- 
 ing at them. When the last one had vanished howling 
 in the gloom of the forest, Se-Tan-Se-Tan took the boy 
 on his shoulder and returned to his campground near
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 75 
 
 the Juniata. Needless to say there was no more wolf 
 hunting in the vicinity of the king's home, nor for miles 
 in the neighborhood; it was a pastime under the ban 
 of royal displeasure. 
 
 A year passed, and the king, queen and prince were 
 cam.ped at the foot of the Blue Knob, the highest moun- 
 tain peak in Pennsylvania, on the summit of which 
 som.e religious exercises were to be held the next day. 
 The kingly couple, m a spirit of true democracy, had 
 taken a promenade down Poplar Run to gather some 
 huckleberries. For the moment the little prince, Sha- 
 wanoh, was left alone at the camp, playing with several 
 tame fawns. His parents had asked him to go with 
 them, but he had declined, preferring temporarily the 
 society of his pets. While playing gleefully, pulling 
 the little animals' ears and climbing on their backs, 
 something caused him to look up, and he saw the form 
 of one of the Indians whom his father had mutilated at 
 the wolf den the summer before. Like a sparrow hawk 
 pounces on a field mouse, the savage was upon the de- 
 fenceless child. Clutching him by the throat, the re- 
 vengeful redman drew a sharp knife, cutting off both 
 the child's ears, and then severing his juglar vein. The 
 little fellow was dead in a few minutes, and terrible to 
 witness was the grief of his parents when they returned 
 half an hour later. But great though they may have 
 been in temporal affairs, they could not restore life to 
 their dead boy. So they resolved to have him buried 
 with pomp on the top of the Blue Knob, where his 
 little body could hold converse with the mighty forces
 
 76 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 of nature, his cousin-germans, the Sun, the Winds, and 
 the Storms. 
 
 The next day, which was to have been one of feast- 
 ing and religious exultation, was instead a period of 
 sadness and weeping. An impressive procession, in 
 Indian file, ascended the Blue Knob at daybreak, the 
 line of Indians being so long that at one time it ex- 
 tended from the summit to the base of the mighty moun- 
 tain. In an open space, on the wind-swept crest, where 
 centuries of storms had battered away the trees, the 
 body of Prince Shawanoh was laid to rest. When 
 darkness set in the mourners retired, leaving the little 
 corpse alone with nature's grandeur. When the moon 
 came out and peeped over the summit, wolves, like 
 sentinels, crept out from four corners of the forest and 
 bayed sadly over the grave. 
 
 Early the next evening a family of skulking panthers 
 sought to dig up the remains, and began clawing at the 
 mound. It so happened that the grief-stricken Se-Tan- 
 Se-Tan and his queen wished to revisit their son's 
 grave to cover it with sprigs of wild myrtle, and arrived 
 in sight of the spot at about this moment. And they 
 came in time to witness a tragic scene. While the 
 panthers were digging into the grave, four gaunt grey 
 wolves, with bloodshot eyes and lolling tongues sprang 
 at them from the four corners of the forest, literally 
 tearing the tawny brutes to pieces. Never was a sud- 
 den onslaught more successful. Six dead panthers, rent 
 almost to bits, vindicated the prowess of the wolfish 
 watchers over the remains of the little prince. When
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 77 
 
 the panthers were despatched, the wolves crouched on 
 the mound, pouring their hot tears into the earth. The 
 bereaved parents, overcome by the strange sight, re- 
 tired from the mountain without being observed. But 
 they resolved to pay a rich tribute to the rare goodness 
 of the faithful beasts. First of all the next day came 
 a royal decree protecting wolves forever, and giving the 
 name of "The Wolf Tribe" to the newly formed con- 
 federacy ruled over by King Se-Tan-Se-Tan. And so 
 it remained for untold centuries. The wolves were ven- 
 erated and their name kept alive by one of the noblest 
 clans of warriors who ever walked this earth. And 
 little Shawanoh, the innocent cause of it all, had paid 
 back his debt of friendship to his wolfish comrades, 
 not only with his life, but with the priceless gift of 
 immortality.
 
 78 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 VI. 
 
 CANDLEMAS. 
 
 A LEGEND FROM THE SHADE GAP. 
 
 NER MIDDLESWARTH. that splendid Con- 
 necticut Yankee who by long residence in Sny- 
 der County became the "Dutchest" of Pennsyl- 
 vania Dutchmen, was very fond, in his latter years, of 
 recounting old stories which he heard when he first 
 penetrated into the wild country tributary to the Juni- 
 ata, stories of Indians, borderers, outlaws, witches, and 
 also quaint folklore and traditions. He often told his 
 family he had made notes of some of his more remark- 
 able experiences; that when he had the time he would 
 write a book of reminiscences. 
 
 But the chance never came, his busy life extended 
 to the end, and when he passed away, several years 
 past his eightieth birthday, his story went to the grave 
 unrecorded, except in the form of the above-mentioned 
 fireside entertainments. 
 
 To listen to him was like sitting before a Pennsyl- 
 vania edition of the Arabian Nights! The one-time 
 speaker of the House of Representatives at Harrisburg 
 was not so well acquainted with Job Chillaway as with 
 another famous Indian of the Juniata Valley, Captain 
 Logan. This is the Logan for whom the Logan Val-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 79 
 
 ley below Altoona was named, on account of his hav- 
 ing lived for some time near Martin Bell's old furnace. 
 Captain Logan was the oldest son of old Shikelle- 
 mus, Colonel Conrad Weiser's friend, and the vice- 
 gerent of the Iroquois Confederacy at Shamokin, now 
 Sunbury. On his father's death in 1 748 he was pro- 
 posed for the vicegerency by Weiser, but was dis- 
 qualified by the Council of Chiefs at Onondaga, be- 
 cause he had only one eye, a supreme defect to the 
 Mingoes, who all but worshiped physical perfection. 
 Without his official designation he strove to exert an 
 influence over his race, but by 1 750 he withdrew to the 
 Juniata Valley to spend the remainder of his life away 
 from the intrigues and duplicity that had its center at 
 Shamokin. During the Revolutionary War he ren- 
 dered invaluable service to the Colonies, especially in 
 dealing with the notorious Tory, Weston. A younger 
 brother, James Logan, who was killed in 1 780, was 
 known as the greatest of Indian orators, and lived for 
 several years at Logan's Spring, near Reedsville. Cap- 
 tain Logan often revisited the scenes of his youth at 
 Shamokin, and usually traveled on foot through Middle 
 Creek Valley, as the best way to reach the forks of 
 the Susquehanna. He always made it a point to break 
 the journey by spending a night at the Middleswarth 
 homestead near Beaver Springs. He was particularly 
 interested in the Middleswarths, as the older genera- 
 tions in Connecticut had befriended some of the Pe- 
 quots after their last great defeats, when they sought 
 refuge in the northern forests in the Nutmeg State.
 
 80 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 Some of these Indians later were converted by the 
 Moravian missionaries, Buttner, Rauch and Mack. 
 Captain Logan felt that the Middleswarths on their rec- 
 ord could be trusted as true friends of the redmen, con- 
 sequently he could break bread with them without fear 
 or mental reservation. 
 
 He was therefore particularly happy when under 
 their hospitable roof, and often recounted to the head 
 of the family quaint incidents of the long vanished 
 past. On one occasion the subject of "ground hog 
 day," the second of February, was alluded to, and the 
 old Indian laughed, remarking that it was an Indian 
 tradition, and that he would like to tell the complete 
 story of how the ground hog came to be the patron 
 saint of Candlemas. As is well known, this is dis- 
 tinctively an American superstition, but its limits do not 
 even extend to all sections of this country. In Northern 
 New York the bear is the animal which sees its shadow, 
 almost similar to the old superstition of France and 
 Spain. In Germany it is the badger which sees its 
 shadow on the fated day in February. The old French 
 tradition runs as follows: "Le jour de la Chandeleur 
 si le soleil parait avant midi. Tours rentre dans la 
 taniere pendent quarante jours." Another version has 
 it, "A la Purification, grand froid, neige abondante ou 
 sinon Tours sort de sa taniere, fait quelque tours et 
 rentre pour quarante jours." 
 
 When Ner Middleswarth's family came to Penn- 
 sylvania they brought the bear story with them, and 
 were not a little surprised to find that in their new house
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 bruin had given way to the ground hog, or as they had 
 called it in Litchfield County, the vvoodchuck. They 
 asked their Dutch neighbors, who seemed to know noth- 
 ing of how the woodchuck had taken the place of the 
 bear and the badger. Some of the older Germans re- 
 marked that they were surprised to find the woodchuck 
 the arbiter of the seasons, but they had adopted the 
 local tradition along with the other pleasures or hard- 
 ships of the frontier. One must go to the Indians to find 
 the origin of the famous ground-hog story. But most of 
 the Indians who passed up and down the valleys spoke 
 very little English, and were inclined to be uncom- 
 municative on any subject that might bring edification 
 to their white successors. They were accused of know- 
 ing of mines of rare metals, and keeping the information 
 from the whites. As a rule they were surly and taci- 
 turn, ever ready to ask favors, but wanted to give as 
 little as possible in return. They could not grasp the 
 philosophy of the white man's central idea, that he was 
 giving his civilization to a wild country, even if an entire 
 race of human beings had to be blotted out in the proc- 
 ess. All they saw was a lot of white-faced creatures, 
 for the most part illiterate, wasteful and cruel, living 
 in crude log cabins on the lands that had formerly be- 
 longed to the Indian race, and were theirs still by right. 
 They had been cheated or driven by force off these 
 lands, where they had grown crops as good as the 
 white man's, or where they had hunted and fished ac- 
 cording to methods that would shame a latter-day 
 "conservationist." They were a wronged race, driven
 
 82 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 from post to pillar, all for a thing called "civilization," 
 which at bottom possessed no heart, no soul, no de- 
 cency, no kindliness. 
 
 The only white men whom they could tolerate were 
 the gentle Roman Catholic or Moravian missionaries, 
 whom they regarded as dupes of the mercenary cap- 
 tains of "civilization." But the few remaining Indians, 
 roving aimlessly through the hills and valleys which 
 they once controlled, were often short of food. They 
 had to make friends with the settlers to get a bite to eat, 
 or a night's shelter, or a little work. They were a lot 
 of unhappy ghosts of an order of things which may 
 have been as near perfect as any scheme of life we have 
 today. 
 
 The Pennsylvania Indians were not savages, but in- 
 dustrious, decent beings, fearing their God, and just 
 to their fellows, until stripped of their homes, their 
 livelihood, and frequently their women and children, 
 they became crazed by their wrongs, and on the war- 
 path, and by the midnight sortie, sought to annihilate 
 their cowardly white conquerors. Their story is a sad 
 one, yet the justice of it is beginning to dawn on all fair- 
 minded and temperate Americans. 
 
 But it is too late. Gone are the noble redmen. 
 They will never know that their cause has at least been 
 recognized as right by some. Of all Indians Captain 
 Logan cherished less rancor and bitterness, considering 
 the extent of his bad treatment by the whites. Blinded 
 in one eye by a white man, thereby forfeiting the vice- 
 gerency, then stripped of his lands, his brother's family
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 83 
 
 murdered by whites, even his humble cabins at Tyrone, 
 and also at Chickalacamoose taken from him through 
 faulty titles, he became in his old days a wanderer on 
 the face of the earth. It was no wonder, therefore, that 
 his heart warmed and his spirit expanded in such hos- 
 pitable homes as that of the Middleswarth family close 
 to the "Juniata Divide." The old Indian declared 
 that he could only think and talk of the past by the fire- 
 light, and at night. Candles were accounted a luxury 
 in those days, so his wish was readily granted. Then, 
 he said, he felt he was again by the patriarchal campfire 
 on Shikellemus's Run on the Miller farm near West 
 Milton, where his old father, the great vicegerent of 
 the Iroquois, would gather his children about him and 
 tell the stories of the dim and distant past. 
 
 It was in the days when the world was new, thus the 
 redmen always began their tales, when the Indian race 
 was in close communion with the Great Spirit, and the 
 secrets of the Infinite Workship were revealed to his 
 chosen people, that the bear gave displeasure to the 
 exact balance of things by his ravenous appetite. So 
 great was his destruction of the lesser creatures, as he 
 was then on a strictly carniverous diet, that it looked 
 as if his race would devour all else except mankind. 
 As like all creatures he was created for a wise purpose, 
 it would have been wrong to exterminate him, conse- 
 quently he must be checked in his folly. He must be 
 taught discretion, taught to take his proper place in the 
 scheme of nature. 
 
 The Great Spirit was then experimenting with the
 
 84 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 various forms and means of life, so he tried putting the 
 bears on a herbaceous diet, and in a short while their 
 fierce claws lost their power to kill. That lessened their 
 destructiveness, but they soon began to work havoc 
 with fruits and gardens, to become foes of plant life. 
 Then this herbaceous diet was modified so that they 
 subsisted chiefly on plants, berries, and fruits, and to 
 make up for the lack of their principal diet in winter, 
 a long sleep or hibernation was decreed for them. This 
 worked very well, for the bears were glutted with nuts, 
 fruits, com, and berries by the time the autumn set in, 
 and were ready to climb into some dark retreat to "sleep 
 it off." 
 
 So the bears, as the season advanced, congregated 
 into sections of the country where caverns and sinks 
 abounded, where they staggered about half asleep, 
 quarreling for the possession of the darkest recesses. 
 Their long sleep was said to be a dreamless one, they 
 were literally dead until the early days of February. 
 In Europe it was generally about the twelfth of Febru- 
 ary when they emerged from their retreats, while in 
 Pennsylvania it was about ten days earlier. Then they 
 became restless and sallied forth to wander about the 
 winter landscape. 
 
 Being too clumsy-footed in the deep snows to capture 
 any game, and unable to dig out any food from under 
 the drifts, many of the poor creatures perished from 
 hunger and exposure. Benumbed by cold, they could 
 hardly reach their caves in safety, or when they got to 
 them, they were so hungry that they cpuld npt fall to
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 85 
 
 sleep, so the Great Spirit again had to go to the rescue 
 of the bears. This time it was decreed that if the bear 
 which emerged first from his cave, on a day, which later 
 curiously enough corresponded with the Candlemas 
 Day of Christian countries, and saw his shadow, he 
 should return to his hiding place immediately and not 
 wake his fellows, and all would sleep for forty more 
 days. This was because in high mountains, where the 
 bears made their homes, a clear day in early February 
 usually signified continued cold and snows, an indefinite 
 prolongation of winter. If on the other hand, it was 
 foggy or cloudy, it presaged thaws and milder weather, 
 an early spring. Early February was a climatic period, 
 and its prognostications rarely went amiss. It is the 
 month of those beautiful fleecy white clouds called 
 "Indian clouds." So the bear population were saved 
 much trouble and suffering, and became animals of 
 kindly and gentle nature in appreciation of the favor 
 thus bestowed upon them. 
 
 It was considered a high honor to be the King bear, 
 or Head bear, the one which felt the first impulse to 
 awake, to crawl outside to inspect the weather pros- 
 pects. In the autumn in chestnut season, in that most 
 glorious period of Indian summer, when a pale mauve 
 haze hangs over the mountain landscapes, and the air 
 is sweet with the odor of drying leaves and wild fruit, 
 when it is hard to tell where mountains end and sky 
 begins, the bears met in the Shade Gap, and gradually 
 it came to pass that they elected their leader, or the 
 "Awakening Bear." Usually the elections were of a
 
 86 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 harmonious character, more so, said Captain Logan, 
 than some elections in the eastern counties when 
 Dutch and Scotch-Irish battled for supremacy at the 
 polls. 
 
 Generally the biggest and strongest bear was chosen 
 for the honor, like in Captain Logan's day, rich men 
 and landowners monopolized the highest positions in 
 the gift of the State. The bear that won by the count 
 of noses was escorted to where the nuts and pumpkins 
 were the thickest, and left to gorge himself unmolested. 
 He must needs eat an extra store, as if he awoke and 
 found winter still raging, he should have a comfortable 
 feeling in his stomach, else he could not get to sleep 
 again. Perhaps it might have been better to lay up a 
 stock of provisions, but the bears preferred spring food 
 in springtime, and nine times out of ten they found the 
 extended period of winter, when it was easier to go to 
 sleep again than to sit in a damp cave and live on 
 mouldy nuts. 
 
 If the bear chosen as leader was such a big bear that 
 his sway was not easily disputed, he was re-elected for 
 years in succession until some younger bear outstripped 
 him in size and influence. In those distant days there 
 were bears of various colors in Pennsylvania, some 
 shiny black, some foxy red, some brown, some yellow, 
 and a few white. For some reason or other the black 
 bears usually chose the leader from one of their number. 
 It may have been an earlier phase of Ernest Kenan's 
 saying, "The black heads are always the rulers." But 
 among leaders of mankind, Caesar, Napoleon, Wash-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 87 
 
 ington, Hamilton, Jefferson and Grant were not black- 
 haired men, but on the "red headed" order. 
 
 At the time of the appearance of the first permanent 
 white settlers in Pennsylvania these bears of various 
 colors were still to be found. The black bears were 
 vastly in the majority (there were two varieties of these, 
 "hog" and "dog" bears). Next in numbers came the 
 red bears (the last one was killed in Union County in 
 1912), then the brown bears (one was captured alive 
 in Cameron County in 1914), then the yellow bears 
 (one was killed in Susquehanna County about a cen- 
 tury ago) , and lastly the white bears, which were al- 
 ways the rarest, the last one known having been taken 
 in an animal drive in the present confines of Snyder 
 County by "Black Jack" Schwartz in 1 760. All came 
 from the same original stock (Ursus Americanus), but 
 formed distinct and separate families. At one period 
 in the early history of the bear tribe in Pennsylvania, a 
 black bear weighing a thousand pounds was elected 
 leader for twenty-one years in succession. He was a 
 surly old bear, a conceited old bear, but being of such 
 tremendous bulk and of the popular color, he always 
 triumphed in the animal contests. He wore his honors 
 niggardly, begrudging the fact that he had to get awake 
 and crawl out in the cold, yet he would not relinquish 
 the privilege to any younger bear, would not think of 
 such a thing. 
 
 Plots were raised by pugnacious young red or yellow 
 bears to oust this swarthy despot, but they always 
 faded away on election morn, when the big black bear
 
 88 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 eyed the electors during the count of noses. "Unani- 
 mous for the Big Black Bear," was invariably the re- 
 sult. As years wore on "the big fellow" became so 
 lazy that when he became awake he would do little 
 more than poke his nose out of the cave. He hated to 
 think of finding "winter over;" it meant long journey- 
 ing to all the other bear caves in Shade Gap, to inform 
 the various bear families that it was time to "be up and 
 doing." If there was any chance of his making a mis- 
 take in favor of a prolonged winter, he was calculated 
 to do it. 
 
 This displeased many energetic young bears, who 
 hated to have so much time taken out of their lives by 
 the period of hibernation. But no bear was strong 
 enough to oust the Big Black Bear, so he continued his 
 undisputed sway. He was an exclusive, almost regal, 
 old bear, occupying a cave high up on the mountain 
 side all by himself. He had a black mate, and many 
 generations of black offspring, but these he only mingled 
 with during the outdoor life in spring, summer and 
 autumn. 
 
 One winter morning when he felt the signs of awak- 
 ening consciousness, which betokened that his onerous 
 task was before him, he stretched and flopped himself 
 about the damp stone floor of his cave, loath to get up 
 and venture out into the February air. As he rolled 
 about his cavern he felt something soft and furry. He 
 caught it with one of his huge paws and drew it to him. 
 It was a small and badly frightened ground-hog. The 
 little creature squeaked and squirmed, begging that its
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 89 
 
 life be spared. The big bear growled threateningly, 
 and shook his huge head and gnashed his teeth, so that 
 he looked as if he was going to annihilate the entire 
 race of ground-hogs for this one's presuming to enter 
 his inner sanctum. But instead of devouring the little 
 animal he put a proposition to him that he would spare 
 his life if he would go outdoors and see if the winter 
 was over. 
 
 The ground hog, very grateful, hopped outside. It 
 was dark and foggy, the mountains across the valley 
 could not be seen, water was running off the outer 
 ledges of the cave. He hurried in and gave the news to 
 the giant bear. The bear grunted. He was sorry that 
 winter was over, and told the ground hog that his work 
 was by no means finished. He must visit all the bear 
 caves and pits in Shade Gap on both mountains, and 
 inform the occupants that the winter was at an end. 
 The ground hog, though he was frightened at the pros- 
 pect of facing so many strange bears, obeyed, and 
 crawling in the caverns, bit at the bears' ears until 
 they awakened, whispering to them their chief's mes- 
 sage. 
 
 When the bears had all assembled in the ravine at 
 the Gap, they held a council of war. They were an- 
 gered at the laziness of their leader, whom they had 
 honored so many times. Yet, after long deliberation, 
 they could not select another bear to take his place, so 
 many wanted the honor. So one sagacious yellow bear, 
 next in size to the unpopular black monster, suggested 
 that they depose the big fellow at once and name the
 
 90 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 ground hog as their "weather prophet" for life. This 
 was decided on by a growling, grunting majority, many 
 of the black bears in the heat of passion voting with 
 their lighter colored fellows. 
 
 The ground hog was found and informed of his new 
 position, which he accepted with a neat little speech. 
 
 In the midst of the proceedings the big black bear 
 appeared on the scene, pausing every now and then to 
 scratch his sleep-seared eyes with his soft claws. Quick 
 as a flash the other bears turned on him, and before he 
 could utter a plea for mercy, he was so badly torn and 
 clawed that he soon died. And ever since that time the 
 ground hog has been faithful to his trust, and gives the 
 signal of the continuance or the end of King Frost's 
 reign to all the bears, and to the members of his own 
 little race.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 91 
 
 VII. 
 THE WARLOCK. 
 
 A STORY FROM THE RAYSTOWN BRANCH. 
 
 DR. SCHOEPF, the eminent German army sur- 
 geon, who traveled across the Juniata head- 
 waters to Pittsburg in 1 783, was a keen ob- 
 server of men and manners. Though he recounts hav- 
 ing met many strange individuals in his pilgrimages 
 among the wilds, none appealed to him more, or left a 
 more lasting memory than the man whom he calls 
 "Herrman Husband," "the Philosopher of the Alle- 
 ghenies." In the good doctor's book "Travels in the 
 Confederation," he speaks of the "Philosopher" having 
 told him that he had spent much time in the mountains 
 of North Carolina. While that was correct, yet this 
 strange — almost supernatural — being first saw the light 
 of day on the Raystown Branch of the Juniata, though 
 he traveled far from it more than once during his long 
 and eventful life. He was the son of a renegade mem- 
 ber of the party of hermits brought to the Wissahickon 
 by Kelpius in 1 690, and himself would have made a 
 striking figure in one of George Lippard's romances 
 of early Germantown. 
 
 Early in life, having lost both of his parents, he had 
 followed the bison in their migrations along the Alle-
 
 92 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 ghenies to the south for a distance of four hundred 
 miles, his earliest training being that of a hunter. In 
 the North Carolina mountains in the Big Smoky Range, 
 at the foot of Bear Wallow Mountain, he had fallen 
 in with an old man of mystical tendencies, who adopted 
 him as a son, and whose surname he assumed. Under 
 his tutelage the latent mysticism which he inherited 
 from his fathers came to the fore; he forsook hunting 
 and aimless wandering; all he cared for from then on 
 was to unravel nature's inmost mysteries where human 
 intellect had hitherto failed so ignominously. On the 
 death of the old North Carolinian he was again left to 
 his own devices, and after serving a time in the Regu- 
 lators he felt the call of the beloved Juniata, so he re- 
 turned to the scenes of his boyhood. 
 
 Most of his old friends had moved further on, but 
 that meant least of anything to him. He took up his 
 residence in an abandoned log hut, on a branch of the 
 Raystown. where he pored over the volumes of Eck- 
 hart and Paracelsus that the old man in the South had 
 left him, and which he had carried on his back in a pack 
 during his long northward journey. After a winter of 
 investigation and research he felt that he knew more 
 curious facts that any living man in the Province of 
 Pennsylvania. It made him a being apart in his own 
 estimation, so he cultivated a sort of mental aloofness 
 which made him unpopular with white men, but gave 
 him a closer footing with the stoical Indians. 
 
 Occasionally small bands of redskins stopped at the 
 log cabin, where the Warlock always interrogated
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 93 
 
 them as to their acquaintance with any Indians of su- 
 perior wisdom, such as soothsayers, diviners, medicine 
 men. As the redmen were already in their decadence, 
 such sages were scarce, except in the remoter districts. 
 Coming in contact with the whites was ever the death- 
 knell of their spiritual natures; it was only when alone 
 and uncontaminated that they held converse with in- 
 finity. 
 
 The strange hermit learned of a wise man, but a very 
 old and feeble one, living on the banks of the Ohio, 
 near the mouth of Yellow Creek, and to that region 
 he resolved to set out for an interchange of ideas with 
 the savage soothsayer. Making his books and papers 
 into a pack, which he carried like a knapsack, he started 
 along the Pittsburg trail for the western country. That 
 was as early as the year 1 755, when Indian warfare 
 was rife from the Ohio clear to the Susquehanna and 
 the upper reaches of the Schuylkill. But no Indian 
 ever molested the pale-faced hermit, his purposes in life 
 were too much the same as the redmen's. They re- 
 spected him for his cultivated mind, the vein of mysti- 
 cism that was all too apparent in his slim, intellectual 
 countenance. 
 
 The hermit was about twenty-three years of age at 
 this time, tall, gaunt, angular, with a decided stoop to 
 his broad shoulders. The pale, ascetic face was 
 bearded, which gave him an air of maturity, which he 
 cultivated, as his associates were mainly middle-aged 
 Indians. 
 
 At this period the celebrated Indian queen, the beau-
 
 94 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 tiful Alaquippa, was living in regal grandeur at her 
 lodge-house near the mouth of Youghiogheny Creek, 
 in what is now Allegheny County. She belonged to 
 the Lenni-Lenape, and about her "castle" was clustered 
 a small village, mainly made up of her armed retainers 
 and their families. She was a woman of great beauty, 
 of ample proportions, and of about the same age as the 
 "Philosopher of the Alleghenies." She had been mar- 
 ried to a noted warrior named Hushasha, who fell in 
 some unnamed battle, but it was said that she had been 
 braver than her husband, that she mourned very little 
 when he was gone. She was a forceful character, an 
 Indian woman with a genius for government and order 
 that was most unusual in her day. It was said that she 
 was interested in occult matters, feeling herself sur- 
 rounded and guided by the spirits of the dead. It was 
 this trait in her character that made the young hermit 
 desire to become acquainted with her. Accordingly he 
 was brought to her village by an Indian who acted as 
 guide and interpreter. 
 
 It was a case of love at first sight, at least as far as 
 the hermit was concerned, and there were many who 
 said that his ardor was fully reciprocated. At any rate 
 they got along famously together, sitting by themselves 
 at the embers of the campfire until far into the night. 
 They were so very congenial, it is related, that with the 
 little they knew of each other's languages they were 
 able to perfectly understand what each was saying. 
 
 The young hermit told the queen that he was bound 
 for the Ohio to meet an aged wise man to learn his
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 95 
 
 secrets before he died, to draw from him, if possible, 
 some of the mysteries of eternity. Then he felt he 
 would have enough data to formulate a philosophy of 
 existence more complete and satisfying than ever before 
 known by man. Alaquippa urged him to return to her 
 camp on his eastward journey that she might be able to 
 help him set out his system, and would love to talk fur- 
 ther with him on the lands beyond the stars. The bond 
 of sympathy between the two was so deep that before 
 they parted, just before the red light of dawn dyed the 
 creek water, he took the splendid form of the queen in 
 his arms and kissed her full red lips long and raptur- 
 ously. He who had never noticed a woman before be- 
 came suddenly adept in the arts of love. It seemed a 
 mature passion sprung from his subconscious self. 
 
 He was loath to leave the handsome queen, but he 
 felt that his destiny compelled him to find the wise man. 
 So, accompanied by his guide, whom he had aroused 
 from his slumbers, he started for the western wilderness. 
 Alaquippa was wretchedly sick with loneliness after he 
 had gone. Though she had met many white men, all 
 they thought about was money and trading; she had 
 never seen a paleface before who had the idealism of 
 the Indian, plus the education of the white race. 
 Coupled with it all, he had a certain magnetism and 
 charm that no savage possessed. She counted the days 
 until he would return, and lost interest in everything 
 else except the thought of again being in his arms. 
 
 When the hermit met the ancient wise man by the 
 Ohio he found him a more unusual being than he had
 
 96 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 expected. Over a hundred years old, with a sparse 
 white beard, and almost blind, he had spent the greater 
 part of his long life trying to solve the riddle of exist- 
 ence. He had come to many important conclusions, but 
 there were numerous missing links to his chains of rea- 
 soning that were made ridiculously simple when the 
 hermit from Raystown branch showed him his pack of 
 volumes of "quaint and curious lore." He said that he 
 could die happy now, having found out all that he was 
 seeking, that he was deeply thankful to have met such 
 a learned white man. 
 
 For several days and nights the centenarian and the 
 young recluse worked over their systems of philosophy. 
 They had many speculations in common, chief of which 
 was to create a living human being out of mud, or dead 
 flesh. The aged Indian had the enthusiasm of a Para- 
 celsus on all such serious subjects, in which he was ably 
 seconded by the youthful hermit. Taking what they 
 both knew, and backed up by the authority of dead and 
 gone writers, they felt that they had reached the summit 
 of knowledge, the secret of life, yet now that they un- 
 derstood it, all was so simple that they could not under- 
 stand why they had not grasped it before. 
 
 The old Indian would have liked the white man to 
 remain with him and make some experiments at the 
 fountain-head of life, but the younger man was anxious 
 to return to Queen Alaquippa, his bosom heaving with 
 pride at the thought of displaying his marvelous discov- 
 eries to her. But he promised to cross the Alleghenies 
 again the following season, and work out the great
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 97 
 
 problem with the old man in his open-air laboratory. 
 The sage, who acquired a fresh grip on Hfe since the 
 young enthusiast's coming, was comforted at this prom- 
 ise, and they parted on the very best of terms. 
 
 It was hard to tell on the easterly journey whether 
 the young man was more keyed up by his added dis- 
 coveries or by the thought of soon again seeing Ala- 
 quippa. At any rate he felt himself "walking on air" 
 the entire distance. The pack on his back felt like 
 feathers, all was brightness, joy and hope. By forced 
 marches he utilized this superhuman energy and reached 
 the queen's village two days earlier than expected. But 
 it was none too soon to suit the lovesick Alaquippa, who 
 was nervously pacing up and down her private path by 
 the creek side when he arrived. When she saw him 
 she forgot her queenly dignity, running forward and 
 falling into her lover's arms. Many of her retainers on 
 the other side of the run witnessed this outburst of af- 
 fection, marveling at it, for Alaquippa hated white men 
 as a rule, and since her husband's death had not shown 
 preferences for any Indian. But she was a voluptuous 
 looking young woman, full of curves and gracefulness, 
 and sooner or later would feel the call of a great love. 
 Now, apparently, it had come to her and she was su- 
 premely happy. 
 
 After the first passionate greetings, the young hermit 
 proceeded to unfold to her the story of his added dis- 
 coveries from the old man on the Ohio, to which she 
 listened with breathless interest. She was so charmed 
 to have him with her that she forthwith begged him to
 
 98 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 give up all idea of going away, but continue his studies 
 in her village ; in other words, to make it his permanent 
 home. It did not take him long to accept this alluring 
 invitation, as, compared to his lonely log cabin on Rays- 
 town branch, this spot was Paradise. Here he would 
 unfold tlie riddle of life, applauded and appreciated by 
 this beautiful Indian queen. Alaquippa asked permis- 
 sion to build him a lodge house to keep his books and 
 paraphernalia, which he granted, and in a few days a 
 house bigger than her own castle had been run up under 
 her personal supervision. 
 
 As he felt at home, and desiring to look more like 
 the clean-faced Indians about him, he shaved off his 
 beard, appearing in that condition at the queen's castle 
 one morning. But to his surprise she was not pleased. 
 As a bearded frontiersman he had an individuality, but 
 he made a poor-looking, hatchet-faced "Indian" when 
 deprived of his facial adornment. So he promised the 
 tearful queen to let his beard grow again, and never to 
 shave close again. 
 
 It was not long before he began in earnest on his 
 experiments in unraveling the secret of life. He built 
 a forge and a retort, and his cabin looked within like 
 the cell of some old-time sorcerer or alchemist. As his 
 beard grew and rapidly covered the hollows in his pale 
 cheeks, the hermit chaffed Alaquippa by saying that he 
 would soon be ready to produce a man from mud and 
 dead flesh who would be perfect to the smallest detail, 
 being what he was not, a handsome man. The queen 
 protested that she thought him extremely good looking.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 99 
 
 that no one she had ever seen, or whom imagination 
 could conjure up, would please her as he had done. 
 But the hermit would only laugh and say that when 
 his homunculus appeared on the scene it would be the 
 end of his reign as favorite and friend. 
 
 To that end he worked all day and far into every 
 night. Whenever she cared to visit the laboratory, the 
 Indian queen was welcomed there, but the heat and 
 the noxious fumes caused her to appear there only when 
 there was a strong cool breeze blowing. The composi- 
 tion of the homunculus was to be of a certain kind of 
 clay which was found at the foot of banks at the mouth 
 of the creek, mixed with fluid metals, and the blood and 
 flesh of deer, ruffed grouse and wildcats. During his 
 period of preparation the hermit's only exercise was 
 trips through the forests in search of these materials, 
 which expeditions were certainly strenuous enough for 
 any one. During the last weeks he never left his hut 
 night or day, and requested that no food be sent to him, 
 as he had laid in a stock of provisions for the purpose. 
 Alaquippa was very anxious about him lest he be over- 
 come by fumes or the arduous task, and was therefore 
 relieved every morning when she saw the fresh blue 
 smoke curling from the chimney of the retort. 
 
 Finally one night, when she was seated by the creek 
 listening to the roar of the water as it made its final 
 plunge to join the river, the beautiful queen saw the 
 door of the hermit's cabin opening. Out of the door 
 emerged tv/o very tall men. It was almost dark, and 
 she could not make out who they were until they came
 
 100 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 very close. One of them was the gaunt, bearded her- 
 mit, but with him was another young man who looked 
 strangely like her deceased husband, the warrior Hush- 
 asha. 
 
 Springing to her feet, and clenching her nails into 
 the palms of her hands to make certain that she was not 
 dreaming, she stood under an old pine, awaiting their 
 approach. When they drew near the hermit's face was 
 wreathed in smiles, but there was a blank, wild look in 
 the face of the youth who so much resembled the dead 
 Hushasha. Standing before her, and comparing them 
 feature by feature, there was no question as to which 
 of the two was the handsomer. The Indian, despite his 
 glassy stare, was m.ore harmoniously formed as to figure 
 and features. 
 
 The hermit caught Alaquippa by the hand and 
 placed it in the hand of the stranger, saying: "Here is 
 the young man about whom I have spoken to you so 
 often." 
 
 Meanwhile the Indian youth had said nothing, but 
 his wild gaze was limiting itself to a look which was 
 clearly one of admiration for Alaquippa, The hermit 
 chatted with the queen for about half an hour, then 
 signaled to the Indian to accompany him, and led him 
 back to the cabin, where he left him. Then the hermit 
 returned to Alaquippa to receive her deferred congratu- 
 lations. 
 
 He found the queen seated at the foot of the pine, 
 her clothes disheveled, her eyes wild and starey. Her 
 first words were that she had fallen in a dead faint after
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 he had left, and had only just recovered consciousness. 
 TTien, instead of showering encomiums on him for hav- 
 ing created Hfe, she demanded of him the reason why 
 he had prepared a man the Hving image of her dead 
 husband. The Warlock was surprised when he heard 
 this, as secretly he was jealous of the dead man, and 
 of all beings would have been less likely to create an 
 "effigy" resembling him. 
 
 When he recovered himself he said that it must have 
 been caused by her thoughts of Hushasha transferring 
 themselves from her brain to his when he was in the 
 heat of composition. He now regretted having made 
 this manikin, and realized that his sin in daring to usurp 
 the works of the Great Spirit would bring upon him 
 dire punishment. He was even tempted to run back to 
 the hut and kill the hateful thing. But he resolved to 
 take what fate brought uncomplainingly, the blood of 
 his mystic ancestors was too pure to make him a coward. 
 But he went to his couch with a heavy heart that 
 night. 
 
 The next day when the Indians at the camp saw the 
 stranger they thought that it was Hushasha risen from 
 the dead. Some of them broke camp and disappeared 
 in the forest rather than live in the vicinity of a ghost. 
 When Alaquippa heard the stranger's voice for the first 
 time it was exactly like her dead husband's man- 
 her so much that she made the Warlock accompany 
 her to her husband's grave in the buff^alo swamp 
 twenty-five miles away to make sure that his bones 
 were still there. Then she questioned the Indian
 
 102 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 closely, but he was unfamiliar with any incidents 
 in Hushasha's life. As the days passed she became 
 more accustomed to the attractive stranger, and seemed 
 to prefer his company to that of the hermit. It was as 
 he had feared, he had produced a being fairer than him- 
 self, who without trying would win the queen away 
 from him. If the hermit had been able to suddenly 
 adopt the ways of a lover, his creation of mud, quick- 
 silver and dead flesh was even more adept to do so. 
 He seemed to possess arts and charms that the hermit 
 never dreamed about; he liked to have the queen show 
 her preference for him when the Warlock was present. 
 
 All this was very humiliating, so one night he arose 
 from his couch which adjoined that where the stranger 
 slept, resolving to slip away forever. His hunting knife 
 was in his belt. He drew it out, poising it over the 
 throat of the sleeping creature which he had made from 
 base materials. He could have annihilated this ill-got- 
 ten life and stolen away in triumph. But no, he would 
 leave him to work out his orbitless life as best he could, 
 even to wedding the queen, which now looked inevi- 
 table. Putting the knife back in his belt, he crept over 
 the slumbering form, out of the door and was gone into 
 the blackness of the forest night. 
 
 Son of the mountains that he was, he had no trouble 
 in moving on in an easterly direction. He traveled 
 steadily over hill and dale, and through river and 
 stream, until he came to the Glades of Laurel Ridge, 
 where he found another abandoned settler's cabin. He 
 had left behind all his books and instruments, want-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 103 
 
 ing no more of that kind of scientific research. He 
 had a little money with him, so in due season equipped 
 himself as a hunter, and was happy and contented in 
 this more natural life. 
 
 Meanwhile his sudden absence caused no anxiety or 
 concern to the stranger and Queen Alaquippa. They 
 were almost glad that he had gone. The Indian 
 bodyguards suspected that he had been murdered by 
 the mysterious newcomer, but dared make no com- 
 ment. 
 
 It was not many days before the infatuated queen re- 
 solved to marry the stranger. She broached the subject 
 to him, and he was willing. The wedding day was set 
 for the following morning. Contrary to custom, the 
 love-crazed woman would have the ceremony per- 
 formed with pomp and display. Medicine men and 
 priests were sent for; it was to be a memorable occa- 
 sion. But when Alaquippa arose on her "wedding 
 morn" it was reported that the stranger was nowhere to 
 be found. Had he disappeared in the night like the 
 hermit? The henchmen had looked in his cabin; it 
 was deserted. The queen screamed as if in agony 
 when she heard the news, and ran about like one de- 
 mented. She rushed into the cabin where she had seen 
 the stranger retire the night before. It was empty save 
 for a big buffalo skin on the floor, and the hermit's 
 abandoned books, phials and pots on a shelf. Look- 
 ing at the buffalo robe mere closely, she saw on it a 
 little drop of quicksilver, a few spots of mud, and what 
 looked to be some scraps of dried meat. She shook
 
 104 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 the robe and they flew out in every direction on the 
 floor. 
 
 The truth then dawned on her, either through some 
 spell cast by the absent hermit, or because his allotted 
 span of life had expired, the homunculus had resolved 
 to his elements, had evaporated. He had never been 
 much more than "such stuff as dreams are made of," his 
 stay on earth must needs be brief. To weep for him 
 would be like crying for the jack-o'lantern which had 
 often crossed her father's campground when she was a 
 child. It was no use, the dream was past, she had ex- 
 changed a living man for a phantom, and must reap 
 the whirlwind. So sadly she wended her way back to 
 her castle, where she bravely informed her henchmen 
 that there would be no wedding, that they must inter- 
 cept the priests and wisemen and merrymakers ; instead, 
 she would journey alone to the big swamp and strew 
 myrtle on Hushasha's grave. It is said that for the rest 
 of her life Alaquippa maintained an even more impen- 
 etrable reserve where men were concerned. 
 
 Meanwhile the hermit was pursuing the even tenor 
 of his way at the Glades. He prospered as a hunter 
 and trapper and began to clear and farm a few acres 
 of ground. A family of Germans who settled on the 
 east side of the ridge not far from the present village of 
 Mishler had an attractive daughter whom he courted, 
 and whom in a couple of years he married. The union 
 was a happy one, quite a good-sized family of children 
 being bom. 
 
 But as the years went by scientific research and mys-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 105 
 
 ticism again claimed the strange man. But this time it 
 was to prove by his happiness among them the special 
 divinity of mountains. It was on this weighty subject, 
 a sort of geomancy that he was engaged when Dr. 
 Schoepf visited him in 1 783. And there were many 
 authorities for such a quest, for had not the Phoe- 
 nicians, among others, believed that mountains were 
 sacred as being nearer to the gods?
 
 106 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 VIII. 
 SHANEY JOHN. 
 
 A TALE FROM SADDLER's RUN. 
 
 «^LEM" HERLACHER, most genial of deer 
 i hunters of the Seven Mountains, who knows 
 every foot of ground from the Rag Hollow to 
 the Buffalo Path, is one of the best posted men in Penn- 
 sylvania on the legends of the long ago. He has some- 
 thing interesting to tell about every historic character, 
 some fragment which otherwise would be lost to future 
 generations. He probably knows more about the old 
 Indian, Shaney John, and his hunting school on Sad- 
 dler's Run than any person living. 
 
 Saddler's Run is a stream flowing into the Juniata 
 below Huntingdon, and although this hunting school 
 flourished until little more than a century ago, it is a 
 forgotten fact to the vast majority of Pennsylvanians 
 and might just as well never have existed. Yet in its 
 day it exercised an important influence on the young 
 men of the Juniata country. 
 
 The historian, Jones, mentions Shane)^ John as being 
 one of the last three Indians to linger in the Juniata 
 Valley. The other two were Captain Logan and Job 
 Chillaway. The name "Shaney John" is of obscure 
 origin, though by some the first part is said to be of
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 107 
 
 Dutch origin, a title given to him by certain of the earHer 
 settlers because of his good looks. This is borne out 
 by the fact that he was a very handsome Indian. Others 
 say that his name was in reality Shawnee John. When 
 he first came to the Juniata Valley and took up his resi- 
 dence several miles from the mouth of Saddler's Run, 
 he was described as tall, erect, with clear-cut features 
 and piercing black eyes. As he was a boon companion 
 of Job Chillaway, who settled in the Juniata country 
 about the same time, it is to be inferred that he saw serv- 
 ice in the Colonial wars, but under some other name 
 than Shaney John. Perhaps some warrior with a 
 Shawnee cognomen, who performed deeds of valor and 
 self-sacrifice, whose name is a household word to read- 
 ers of history, was none other than Shaney John. But 
 as far as this story goes it only concerns Shaney John, 
 the hunter and teacher of hunting. 
 
 From his earliest boyhood this wily Indian was said 
 to have been skilled with bow and rifle. He was the 
 only Indian who exceeded the white borderers in feats 
 of marksmanship. On one occasion, when on the Kan- 
 awha River in West Virginia he engaged in a friendly 
 shooting match with Lewis Wetzel, and outpointed that 
 noted frontiersman. Wetzel, who was of a revengeful 
 nature, never forgave the savage for defeating him, and 
 spoke of it to his dying day. 
 
 There was a strain of mysticism to Shaney John that 
 only his most intimate friends knew. He believed in 
 the occult, and in a later day might have been called a 
 witch doctor. It was he who was sent for to kill the
 
 108 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 famous white stag, known as the White Ghost, which 
 defied the hunters in White Deer Valley, in Union 
 County, for a dozen years. It was well known to the 
 great Nimrod that such a deer had a compact with the 
 Machtando or devil, consequently could not be killed 
 with a bullet of base metal like lead or iron, or with a 
 stone or slate arrow. Only a silver dart or bullet could 
 lay him low. So the hunter informed the delegation of 
 desperate pioneers who waited on him at his humble 
 cabin that it would take him a month's time to make 
 preparations to slay the unconquered hart. He would 
 set a date to be present, and before dark he would have 
 the White Ghost a dead reality. 
 
 After the visitors had departed he started for the 
 North alone, in the direction of the Bald Eagle Moun- 
 tains. He traveled along Jack's Mountain to what is 
 now Milroy, where the crossed the Seven Mountains, 
 past the Mammoth Spring, now Bellefonte, and thence 
 to the Bald Eagle's Nest, an Indian village and home 
 of the famous chief. Bald Eagle, a short distance east 
 of the present town of Milesburg. He followed the val- 
 ley to what is now Pine Station, Clinton County, where 
 he ascended the Bald Eagle Mountain, remaining on 
 the summit for several days. As there was a good 
 spring in the Little Valley, directly back of the moun- 
 tain's crest, he made himself very comfortable in his 
 eyrie. 
 
 After completing his work on the mountain he fol- 
 lowed the old Indian path along the summits of the 
 Bald Eagle chain to below the present site of Williams-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 109 
 
 port, where he crossed over into White Deer Valley. 
 There he reported at the home of one of the leading 
 hunters of the valley, named Simon Crosgrove, who 
 lived at the foot of the White Deer Mountain. As 
 Shaney John's word was as good as his bond, several 
 other hunters had assembled at the cabin, and all hands 
 gave him a royal welcome, which wound up with a wild 
 turkey supper. Crosgrove was a great hunter, and his 
 shanty, decorated with the horns of elk and deer and the 
 hides of wolves and panthers, was a familiar memory 
 to several generations of dwellers in the romantic valley 
 of White Deer. After supper the group of hunters 
 asked the Indian to show them the weapon with which 
 he planned to kill the White Ghost. Shaney John told 
 them that while nothing would please him better, there 
 was a superstition against showing a weapon before 
 using it; when he extracted it from the dead body of 
 the stag would be soon enough. 
 
 Early the next morning he sallied forth alone from 
 the Crossgrove cabin, his favorite bow and a single 
 arrow wrapped in a piece of wildcat skin under one 
 arm. When he left the stump-dotted clearing and en- 
 tered the depths of the forest he paused and laid his 
 precious bundle on a fallen tree trunk. He then took 
 from one of his pockets a single silver arrow point, 
 beautifully chiseled. He had cut it from a pocket of 
 pure silver, the whereabouts of which was known only 
 to the Indians, — but it was somewhere on the summit 
 of the Bald Eagle Mountain near the Lycoming 
 County line. Then he took a small bottle from an-
 
 no JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 ether pocket, removed the plug and poured some of the 
 greenish Hquid contents over the arrow's tip. When it 
 had dried, he reached for his arrow handle and deftly 
 fastened the poisoned point to it. He was now ready 
 to match wits with the White Ghost. 
 
 Taking his position behind a pine tree near the stag's 
 favorite crossing at the edge of a cornfield, he resolved 
 to wait until the animal appeared. It was a tedious 
 vigil, for as he expected the famous deer did not emerge 
 from his thicket until past sunset. As the evening 
 shadows fell he suddenly thrust his magnificent antlered 
 head from the brush at the far side of the cornfield. 
 Evidently he scented some danger, — a stag must be 
 quick-witted to escape an army of hunters a dozen years 
 in a narrow valley, for he stopped and gave a snort of 
 defiance. Then he leaped out into the cornfield among 
 the shocks. As he turned himself broadside Shaney 
 John let go the arrow, which sped through the air, its 
 silvery tip shining in the waning light like a flash of 
 hghtning. The aim was true, for it caught the stag in 
 the flank, penetrating deeply. The animal turned his 
 head around, giving a nervous start, as he felt the prick 
 of the dart, acting as if an insect had bitten him. De- 
 tecting nothing, he stood still, with head erect. It was 
 a sight which Shaney John never forgot. The huge 
 deer, with a rack of horns that had twelve points on 
 each antler, with coat like snow, posed there, uncon- 
 scious of his onrushing doom. At the end of a couple 
 of minutes the royal head drooped a little, as if he was 
 sleepy. Then the hunter moved out of the forest into
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 111 
 
 plain sight. The stag noticed him and came forward, 
 as if to do battle, but with unsteady tread. It was a 
 distance of one hundred yards to where the Indian 
 stood, but the deer evidently determined to reach his 
 foe. As he drew near he lowered his formidable head, 
 as big as an elk's, as if to charge, but the splendid 
 crown of cuitlers "wabbled" and when he was within 
 almost a horn's thrust of Shaney John he dropped over 
 dead against a corn shock. 
 
 The Indian left the carcass lay while he walked over 
 to the Crosgrove home to bring his friends to the scene. 
 When he returned to the spot, accompanied by a score 
 of comrades, including several friendly Indians who re- 
 sided in the neighborhood, it was found that the deer 
 had turned coal black in color. The animal was bled 
 and opened, but the flesh had become rancid. The 
 grand antlers crumbled in the hunter's grasp when he 
 tried to roll the carcass over. All present agreed that 
 the White Ghost was a "g/ispoo^" sure enough. The 
 ghost of this deer, coal black, is said to haunt the valley 
 to this day. But Shaney John had landed the prize. 
 His fame as the slayer of the elusive white hart would 
 last as long as there were hunting annals in White Deer 
 Valley. Before leaving the spot, he dug his arrow out 
 of the dead stag's flank, wiped it off on his coat, and 
 presented it to Simon Crosgrove. It remained in the 
 Crosgrove family for several generations, a priceless 
 souvenir. 
 
 Next morning he returned homeward along the 
 White Deer range, a proud and happy Indian. But in
 
 112 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 all sections of the country he was not so popular as in 
 the White Deer Valley. Some of the more narrow- 
 mmded settlers along Jack's Mountain objected to an 
 Indian residmg in their neighborhood. They were 
 jealous because he killed so much game, and wanted 
 an excuse to drive him away, as was done with Captain 
 Logan at the Big Spring at Tyrone. To make their 
 dislike plausible they said that the redman caused un- 
 easiness to their women and children, that he was wan- 
 dering around in the woods at all hours of the day and 
 night, that undoubtedly he would do some harm. Sev- 
 eral times his camps on Saddler's Run were purposely 
 pre-empted by white men, and he was forced to move 
 further up stream. 
 
 But Shaney John resolved to remain in the Juniata 
 country a few years longer. To attain this end he con- 
 ceived the idea of starting a "hunting school," where 
 the 3'^oung sons of the settlers could be taught to hunt 
 "Indian style," or else with rifles or muskets. Being 
 tolerably well versed in the English language, he com- 
 posed a clever little speech which he recited at each 
 farmhouse where he suspected there was hostility 
 against him. If he could remain in the locality he 
 would teach the boys to be real Indian hunters and kill 
 lots of game, so that they could always have a kindly 
 m.emory for Shaney John. There was a deserted field 
 or common at the mouth of Saddler's Run where he 
 proposed to set up his targets and begin the term the 
 following week. 
 
 The pioneer boys took to his idea with enthusiasm.
 
 NEAR THE SITE OF SHANEY JOHN'S CABIN
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 113 
 
 They knew that he was the greatest shot in all the val- 
 leys tributary to the Juniata; it would be worth while 
 to give an afternoon a week to learn his secrets and arts. 
 So on the date appointed, the wornout field was filled 
 with mountain boys clad in their picturesque suits of 
 buckskin or homespun. All carried weapons of some 
 kind, long rifles of the pre-revolutionary days, or old 
 flint locks, while some had home-made bows and ar- 
 rows. Shaney John was there, smiling and affable, 
 with a friendly word for every one. The boys were 
 going to win for him his right to remain by his beloved 
 Juniata. 
 
 The lessons given were so unique and edifying that 
 they were never to be forgotten. The quaint atmos- 
 phere of it all, the amount of knowledge imparted, 
 made every lad an apt pupil. Every pupil had a good 
 word to say of Shaney John when he returned that 
 night to his cabin or blockhouse. The women were in- 
 terested in what their boys had to say, and quite a few 
 of them then and there revised their previous low opin- 
 ions of the canny old redman. The hunting school had 
 come to stay; its fame spread into adjacent valleys and 
 pupils came from as far west as Tuckahoe. Shaney 
 John was now a fixture in the Juniata Valley; no one 
 dared oust him now. 
 
 As his students progressed in marksmanship or arch- 
 ery he took them on still hunts, and showed them some 
 truly marvelous shots at moving deer, squirrels or birds. 
 He tracked several panthers during the winter, killing 
 them by impaling them with sharp stakes, the real old
 
 114 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 Indian fashion. And most wonderful of all, he ran 
 down wolves and deer on the deep snow, following 
 them on snow shoes. If he had been alive to-day he 
 would have been the leader of the Boy Scout move- 
 ment. Stories connected with his exploits multiplied 
 and spread, making his name like that of a patron saint 
 of outdoor life. 
 
 But as he grew older, despite his popularity on the 
 Juniata, he longed for the society of members of his 
 own race. Roving Indians were always welcomed at 
 the birch-bark cabin which he constructed on the edge 
 of his shooting range, at the mouth of Saddler's Creek. 
 But few of them were likeable characters, or inclined 
 to remain long in one locality. The Indian settlements 
 at the forks of the Susquehanna were long since broken 
 up, only a few camps on the West Branch and on Bald 
 Eagle Creek remained. At the Bald Eagle's Nest, at 
 the confluence of Spring Creek with the Bald Eagle, a 
 few Indian families resided, and to be with them 
 Shciney John's heart was set in the sunset of his life. 
 He postponed again and again breaking the news of the 
 abandonment of his hunting school to his pupils; he 
 loved them all, he loved his work. 
 
 But at length the desire to be with his kind became 
 so strong that one evening he gathered "his boys," as 
 he called them, about him, and told them of his plans. 
 The young lads were heartbroken, and begged him to 
 reconsider his decision, but when they saw that he was 
 obdurate they said no more, but went their way sadly 
 and silently. That night a dozen of the boys met to-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 115 
 
 gether and collected a purse of money which they pre- 
 sented to the old redman next morning. One of them 
 made a nice little address, in which he thanked the In- 
 dian for teaching them all so m.uch and hoped that since 
 he insisted on leaving them, he would come back to see 
 them once in a while The Indian was visibly affected, 
 and promised to return to the Juniata country once a 
 year at least, "while his strength held out." 
 
 The next moming he started out on foot across the 
 mountains, carrying on his back his favorite rifles and 
 bows. He was welcomed by the Indian families at the 
 Bald Eagle's Nest, and settled dov/n to live a life of 
 contentment. He had enough money to last him for 
 life, — a few dollars only, — but as he lived by hunting, 
 fishing and trapping, but a mite sufficed. He was 
 greatly missed by the young boys in the Juniata country, 
 and they watched for his visits like the modern lad does 
 for Christmas. When he returned he was given a 
 hearty welcome, which brought gladness to his old 
 heart. It is related that on the occasion of one of his 
 visits he came upon a number of his former pupils, now 
 well-growTi young men, holding a shooting match a 
 survival of their Scottish ancestors' Popinjay, on a plain 
 east of Shade Mountain, a few miles from the present 
 tov/n of McAllisterville. The marksmen felt honored 
 to have the great Indian hunter with them and to their 
 surprise, despite his age, he hit the gaudy effigy of a 
 bird, which they used as target, at all distances, as well 
 as the best of them. 
 
 As the afternoon progressed, the marksmen were so
 
 116 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 engrossed with the contests that they did not notice the 
 form of a four-hundred pound red bear emerging from 
 the forest at the point nearest the mountain. The huge 
 brute was half way across the plain before even the 
 dogs spied him, and to old Shaney John was due the 
 honor of the discovery. The aged Indian whistled 
 and the marksmen looked up, seeing the bear almost in 
 their midst. Instantly a state of panic reigned among 
 them, as they dropped their guns and bows and scam- 
 pered off to points of safety. Their dogs, which became 
 too scared to bark, ran with them. Not that the sports- 
 men were afraid of the bear, for almost every one of 
 them had killed such a bear in his time, but the sudden- 
 ness of the brute's appearance in an open plain, awoke 
 latent instincts of self-preservation. 
 
 Of all the bears of Pennsylvania the red bear was 
 the only species known to charge. Sometimes when 
 the two varieties of black bear, the "hog bear" and the 
 "dog bear," have been wounded or their young mo- 
 lested, they attack hunters, but they will take a great 
 deal of provocation before resisting. But the red bear 
 will attack out of pure hatefulness, which he did on 
 this occasion. He had come out of the forest with 
 lowered head, and slow gait, evidently on some errand 
 best understood by himself, but the noise of the panicky 
 sportsmen and their dogs roiled his temper, and he lifted 
 his head, coming on at a trot. Shaney John, whose 
 presence of mind was proverbial, let him advance, so 
 close in fact that some of the marksmen hidden behind 
 rocks were getting ready to shoot, until he was within
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 117 
 
 a dozen paces of him. Then he raised a small bow 
 which he always carried, and sent a dart at the monster, 
 not to kill but to wound him. As the arrow penetrated 
 back of the right shoulder the Indian turned around 
 and called to the boys, "don't shoot, I am going to have 
 some fun." 
 
 By the time he had finished speaking, the bear, limp- 
 ing terribly, was directly in front of him, and raising 
 up on its hind feet. The Indian had dropped his bow, 
 and throwing himself forward seized the bear by the 
 throat with both hands, and before the creature knew 
 where he was at he was sprawling on the turf, with 
 Shaney John on top of him. The old Indian tussled 
 with the big brute for several minutes, during which 
 time he outpointed his adversary. When he felt that 
 he had clearly demonstrated his superiority he calmly 
 reached for his hunting knife and stabbed the bear 
 through the heart. With a groan, the defeated savage 
 expired, while Shaney John danced a jig over his 
 carcass. 
 
 At this time the Indian could not have been less than 
 seventy years of age. Those who witnessed this exhi- 
 bition of nerve and resource concluded that if all In- 
 dians were like him they were the greatest race of 
 hunters that the world has ever known. The young 
 men crowded about their old teacher after the exploit, 
 showering him with congratulations. Then the bear 
 was skinned and a fire lighted, and that night, as the 
 moon shone down on the plain, a happy circle could 
 be seen around the ruddy campfire, feasting off the
 
 118 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 biggest red bear that Shade Mountain ever harbored. 
 
 During his residence at Bald Eagle's Nest, Shaney 
 John devoted more of his time to hunting than he had 
 for a number of years. Most of his expeditions were 
 in the mountains adjacent to his camp, as he had a ready 
 sale for his deer and bear skins from the fur traders who 
 penetrated the valley in goodly numbers. As years 
 advanced he sought to perform those deeds of daring 
 that had brought him fame in his youth. In fact, there 
 was no young "buck" in all the camps at the headwaters 
 of Bald Eagle who could equal his prowess as a deer 
 slayer. His favorite manner of excelling in the chase 
 was to kill his deer "without arrow, powder or ball." 
 The method was to locate the tracks of the animals in 
 the snow, and selecting one, usually a giant stag, follow 
 it on snowshoes. When the snow was deep the deer 
 could not travel very fast, and he was often able to 
 overtake them after a short chase. But not infrequently 
 they sought sanctuary in the deep pools or swift-flowing 
 streams. But nothing could daunt Shaney John. Into 
 the icy water he would plunge, clothes and all, reach 
 the deer by several deft strokes, for he was a powerful 
 swimmer, cut its throat, and drag it to shore. 
 
 But the exposure from these midwinter immersions 
 began to tell on him; he was a very old man. Similar 
 exploits in icy waters cut off the life, it is well known, 
 of his white pupil, Joshua Roush, the greatest deer 
 hunter of the Seven Brothers, at the early age of fifty- 
 five years. He had taught Roush his methods while 
 living at the "Nest." Shaney John became stiff and
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 119 
 
 rheumatic, his big hands were knotted, but he refused 
 to lead a calm existence about the camps. *'Why Hve 
 Hke a woman?" was his favorite answer to his well- 
 wishers. "Better to die like a man." "Nothing lives 
 long except the earth and the mountains." 
 
 There were many in the Bald Eagle Valley who for 
 years remembered his last hunt. It was in January and 
 he had trailed a huge stag across the ridges in the di- 
 rection of Bald Eagle Valley. It was a raw, treacher- 
 ous day, and the old hunter was much overheated and 
 overtaxed. He had managed to keep close behind the 
 deer, but could not prevent its running down the moun- 
 tain in the direction of the creek. All through the 
 chase the Indian was hoping that the deer would get 
 "crusted," but the animal, by keeping on points and 
 ridges, cleverly avoided these pitfalls. Down the side 
 hill he plunged, and through the present town of Miles- 
 burg. A party of young Indians and white boys, 
 among the latter "Josh" Roush, who had been spearing 
 fish-otters, were passing along the creek, when right be- 
 low the meeting of Spring Creek and the Bald Eagle, 
 where there is a deep hole, the frenzied stag, with 
 Shaney John literally at his heels, took sanctuary. Sev- 
 eral of the lads raised their guns, but the old hunter 
 shouted, "Please don't shoot," and with these words 
 plunged into the frigid water. By rapid swimming he 
 reached the deer, catching him by the beam of one of 
 the antlers. The animal gave a lunge, and in some way 
 the old hunter's knife was struck from his hand and 
 sank to the bottom. The Indian then determined to
 
 120 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 strangle the deer before it reached shore, and wrestled 
 and grappled with it, while the water assumed the foam 
 and activity of a whirlpool. Several times the Indian 
 "went under," but each time coming up he bravely 
 contmued the battle. In a contest between man and 
 beast, the persistent man must win, so thought Shaney 
 John, as he fought the stag to a standstill and eventually 
 throttled him. A cheer went up as the old man dragged 
 the dying deer on shore, and borrowing a knife cut its 
 throat. 
 
 Then Shaney John had a severe chill, but he man- 
 aged to reach his camp and light a fire to dry his clothes. 
 By night he was a very sick man, exhibiting symptoms 
 of pneumonia. He sank rapidly during the following 
 day, and by night was in a dying condition. Yet his 
 marvelous constitution kept him alive until the next 
 morning, when he expired. His last words were, "My 
 hunting days are just beginning." 
 
 His age was estimated at more than ninety years. 
 He was buried in a hillock near the giant hollow but- 
 tonwood tree that long had been the "Nest" of Chief 
 Woapalanne or Bald Eagle, and thus departed a 
 hunter of a type that is no more, and in commenting 
 upon whose deeds of valor it can truly be said, "There 
 were giants in those days."
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 121 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE HART'S HORN. 
 
 A LEGEND FROM HARE's VALLEY. 
 
 DOWN in Hare's Valley, on the banks of Hare 
 Creek, a family of Shawnee Indians Hngered on 
 for some years after most of their race had been 
 dispossessed from the neighboring regions. Consisting 
 of a mother, two daughters and a son, their peaceable 
 qualities enabled them to remain unmolested until such 
 time as some v/hite man would covet their little clearing 
 and spring. Then they would have to move on, — 
 somewhere, — no one would care where, as long as they 
 made room for the conquering race. 
 
 Although it was policy not to show it, the older gen- 
 eration of Indians deeply resented their dislodgment 
 from their home of centuries. They had sweet memo- 
 ries, sentiment, attachment for the familiar scenes, with 
 a keen perception of the beautiful, and as a rule were 
 not a roving, nomad race, as careless historians are wont 
 to depict them. True they went on the warpath, hunted 
 and trapped, and followed the migrations of the bison, 
 but there was always some secluded little valley or 
 creekside that was home. There generation after gen- 
 eration lived and died, the bones of their beloved an- 
 cestors were on the hill, they were a part of the soil so to
 
 122 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 speak, they hated to move on. By whose authority 
 were they evicted; only that of a parchment signed by 
 men who got their power from a king who lived thou- 
 sands of miles away, across an ocean. It all was so 
 unjust that it is small v/onder that hatred of the white 
 usurpers became a part of their natures. 
 
 The Indian woman whose home was in a quiet 
 meadow on Hare Creek was named Mahaque, her hus- 
 band, a peace-loving redman had been shot down in 
 cold blood by a wandering white trader. No excuse 
 had ever been given, though the case had been presented 
 to the Proprietary Government through Col. George 
 Croghan. It was pigeon-holed and allowed to be for- 
 gotten. Small wonder that the old squaw disliked the 
 white race collectively. Her eldest daughter Elahne, 
 was a most beautiful girl. She was paler than most 
 Indians, slender and lithe, a perfect artist's dream.. She 
 was unconscious of her beauty, which made it all the 
 more dangerous in her watchful mother's estimation. 
 
 Living in the secluded valley, the old squaw hoped 
 that the girl would escape the sight of the white men, 
 who coveted every attractive Indian girl they saw. 
 Generally they did not make good husbands, secretly 
 despising their Indian wives. But Indian suitors were 
 scarce. The best type were always on the warpath, 
 and had no chance to marry and settle down. The 
 worthless drunkards, victims of the white men's vices, 
 who hung around the camps, drinking themselves to 
 death with poisonous adulterated whisky were undesir- 
 able as husbands as the white men.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 123 
 
 Mahaque selected as her daughter's future husband 
 a middle-aged warrior, a widower named Chemook. 
 He had an ugly scar over one eye, several of his fingers 
 had been bitten off by a white man, he was prematurely 
 toothless. He hated the white m.en as much as did old 
 Mahaque, and with as good reason. He dabbled in 
 the black art, and in an earlier day would have been 
 called a medicine man. He led a solitary life in a log 
 cabin on the opposite side of the meadow from the 
 home of Mahaque and her family. He had watched 
 Elahne grow up, had secretly admired her, and when 
 she reached a marriageable age he proposed the subject 
 to her delighted mother. 
 
 As most Indian marriages were arranged by the par- 
 ents, the girl might have accepted him as her first chance 
 had she not seen a more attractive looking white man 
 named Alexander McEwing. 1 his young pioneer was 
 a reliable fellow, his greatest desire being to find a home 
 for himself, marry and rear a family. He had not 
 thought of choosing a wife from among the Indians until 
 his eyes rested on the fair Elahne. He had heard of 
 the "Indian meadow," as the flat where old Mahaque 
 lived was called, and had com.e to the valley to have a 
 look at it. If it suited he would put the government 
 forces to work to oust the Indian family, — though if 
 there was anything in the law of "eminent domain" 
 they were the lawful owners, having lived there for five 
 generations. But when he saw Elahne one morning 
 on her knees stirring the campflre his heart was touched; 
 he would have her along with the meadow.
 
 124 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 Surely it was a lovely spot, full of long grass and 
 lined with willows, an orchard at one end of it, a rip- 
 pling stream forming a semi-circle about it. He could 
 not understand why no other white man had taken it. 
 Knowing a few words of the Shawnee language, he 
 scraped up an acquaintance with Elahne. As he was 
 the best looking man she had seen, far better looking 
 than young warriors with scars and warpaint, she en- 
 tered eagerly into the conversation. During the talk 
 old Mahaque appeared, but she remained in the back- 
 ground, viewing the apparent flirtation with disfavor. 
 
 When he went away, McEwing promised to return 
 and pitch his camp in an unoccupied corner of the 
 meadow. Old Mahaque waited until he was out of 
 sight before she severely admonished her beautiful and 
 trembling daughter. She gave her to understand that 
 she would beat her half to death if she ever spoke to 
 the white wretch again, and previous experience made 
 the girl realize that the old squaw meant what she said. 
 
 "You are to marry Chemook, the good Chemook, 
 and if you notice this white man our old friend may 
 change his mind." 
 
 In order to have peace and quiet Elahne said that 
 she would have nothing more to do with the paleface, 
 adding that probably he would never come that way 
 again, but secretly hoping that he would keep his word 
 and come. That night old Mahaque took Chemook 
 aside and told him to prepare to be married in a fort- 
 night. The old Indian grinned; it was nice to have 
 sugh an ardent matchmaker enlisted in his behalf.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 125 
 
 Meanwhile McEwing, whose permanent camp was 
 on the Juniata, not far from the mouth of Licking 
 Creek, was making arrangements to move his belong- 
 ings to Hare's Valley. He engaged a couple of stal- 
 wart Indians to assist him in moving, which was to be 
 done overland across the Black Log and Jack's Moun- 
 tains. 
 
 Peace reigned in the secluded little meadow until' 
 old Mahaque met the young frontiersman with his 
 bearers arriving as if for a permanent stay. The old 
 squaw scowled at them, and longed to ask him by 
 what right he was moving into their midst, but dearly 
 bought experience taught her to ask no questions of 
 white m.en. They were predatory; they were mur- 
 derous, their ways were past finding out. It would 
 now be no use to forbid Elahne from seeing the young 
 fellow; all she could do would be to hurry up her mar- 
 riage to old Chemook. 
 
 This old Indian dropped his long pipe when he saw 
 the new arrival. He scented a rival from afar; he 
 could coerce his way against any young buck, but 
 against a white man — never. He hurried across the 
 meadow, lifting his red cloak like a woman would her 
 skirts as he stepped through the tall lush grass. Quickly 
 confiding his fears to Mahaque, the pair held a council 
 of war. The marriage must take place that very night, 
 no matter how unwilling the bride might be. Ma- 
 haque shook her grizzled old head. 
 
 *T cannot force her to marry you with your 
 rival a stone's throw away; she might call; he would
 
 126 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 come to her rescue and murder us all like dogs." 
 
 Then her voice fell, as she put her arm over old 
 Chemook's shoulder and drew him closer. "Can't you 
 cast a spell of some kind over that white devil, change 
 him into an animal or something?" 
 
 Chemook's beady eyes gleamed with sudden inspi- 
 ration. "Of course I can," he gloated, "why didn't I 
 think of that before. By sunset the white rascal will 
 be a hart, and out of reach of harming us." 
 
 Then he strode away across the meadow chuckling 
 in fiendish triumph. He entered his cabin, and closing 
 the door tightly sat down to meditation, to conjure up 
 the evil powers of the unseen world. And he was 
 quickly surrounded by wicked hordes, created from his 
 own unclean consciousness. For man can will evil just 
 as well as good. 
 
 Meanwhile young McEwing, after paying off his 
 bearers, walked with them a short distance on their 
 homeward journey. After parting with them at a ford 
 he started back to his new camp site. He had not gone 
 more than a few steps when he felt strange sensations, 
 like violent spasms, which agitated him from head to 
 foot. His skull seemed bursting, his entire body itched 
 and he sank down on the grass in utter misery. He 
 seemed to fall asleep just for a minute, during which 
 time he saw Elahne's face and much bright sunshine. 
 When he awoke he looked down and about him. He 
 was no longer a human being, but a stag. Walking to a 
 deep pool in the stream he looked in its mirrored depths. 
 His surmise was correct. He had been transformed
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 127 
 
 into a huge helmeted stag. He sought to give way to 
 a cry of anger, but it only came from his lips as a rau- 
 cous snort such as he had often heard from stags when 
 suddenly put up from their brake. The realization of 
 it all was horrifying, so he took to his heels and gal- 
 loped like a riderless horse up and down the creek bank. 
 
 As night set in he began to feel hungry, yet his 
 physical desires were only for twigs and grass. He 
 became thirsty and drank from the pool as if he had 
 been accustomed to it all his life. When he felt sleepy 
 he instinctively retired to a dense laurel thicket and 
 laid down. 
 
 At dusk old Chemook emerged from his camp, a 
 malicious twinkle in his little shoe-button eyes. Pick- 
 ing up his cloak like an old woman, he tramped across 
 the meadow to where old Mahaque was seated by her 
 campfire. In an undertone he asked the whereabouts 
 of Elahne, her brother and her sister. .Mahaque told 
 him that they had gone for a stroll along the brookside, 
 that they would not be back for an hour. 
 
 Then Chemook guffawed out loud: 'Tve fixed the 
 white boy," he said amid convulsions of laughter. 
 "He's now a big stag, running around in the woods; 
 he'll never trouble us again." 
 
 Mahaque leaned over and took him by the hand, 
 which she pressed warmly in token of her appreciation 
 of his powers of sorcery. The old pair talked together 
 until Elahne, her brother and sister returned. The boy 
 and the younger girl seemed in high spirits, but Elahne 
 was silent and hung her head. The boy went on to tell
 
 128 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 with a great display of enthusiasm how an enormous 
 hart had stood across their path, and instead of run- 
 ning away had hcked Elahne's hand! Chemook and 
 Mahaque exchanged glances. A new peril was immi- 
 nent. They pretended not to be interested in the nar- 
 rative, and urged the young people to go to bed. 
 
 When they had retired the old woman spoke as fol- 
 lows: **You made a happy stroke when you changed 
 the white man into a deer, but if he is going to hover 
 around our camp all the time Elahne will never come 
 to our way of thinking. I can tell by her manner that 
 already she suspects some connection between her lover 
 and that tame stag." 
 
 Chemook thought a moment. Then he replied, say- 
 ing : "There is one thing left, and that will settle mat- 
 ters forever. I can kill that stag with a silver bullet. 
 If he was in human form I would have to be delivered 
 up as a murderer. But I can kill all the deer I have 
 a mind to." 
 
 Mahaque nodded her head approvingly, clapping 
 her big hands. Then Chemook said that he would 
 have to make a journey over to Sinking Creek Valley, 
 where the Indians had a silver mine. He would col- 
 lect the silver and forge it into a bullet upon his return. 
 So bright and early next morning he started on his long 
 tramp to Sinking Valley. That day Mahaque ordered 
 her family to remain within her sight, she was afraid 
 that the tame deer might harm the young people, deer 
 were always treacherous! 
 
 The beautiful Elahne seeing or hearing nothing of
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 129 
 
 her lover, and noting with concern that his pile of pots 
 and hunting implements lay untouched where the In- 
 dian bearers had laid them in the meadow, concluded 
 that the big deer was none other than the missing lover. 
 Her mother's anxiety to keep her away from the ani- 
 mal clinched this impression. Nothing was seen or 
 heard of the stag until sundown, when Elahne, who 
 had gone to the creek to clean some fish, heard the 
 handsome hart breaking through the brush across the 
 brook. It came out in the middle of the stream, where 
 simultaneously it was seen by old Mahaque. For a 
 squaw she was a good shot, so grasping a rifle she 
 aimed and fired at the deer. As the report was heard, 
 Elahne screamed, falling over in a swoon, while the 
 deer stood unhurt in the middle of the rippling current. 
 Leaving her daughter to recover as best she could, the 
 squaw fired at the impertinent stag again and again, but 
 with no effect. Throwing her rifle down with a thud, 
 she muttered: "How foolish of me to try and hit a 
 spook deer." 
 
 When Elahne came to her senses the deer was by 
 her side, licking her face. There was a look of recog- 
 nition in her eyes, so he threw up his fine antlered head 
 and crossed the stream with a single bound. Ma- 
 haque's first idea was to beat the girl soundly when 
 she returned to the camp, but on second thought con- 
 cluded that it would be better to keep her in good humor 
 until Chemook returned. Then the troublesome hart 
 could be put out of harm's way. 
 
 Elahne suspected nothing from her elderly suitor's
 
 130 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 absence, as he frequently went away for days at a time 
 on elk or deer hunts. When he came back he said 
 that he had had very good luck, game was never more 
 plentiful. He confided to Mahaque that he had se- 
 cured some silver at the head of Elk Run, and would 
 speedily mould it into a bullet. This he did that night, 
 and waited for the propitious moment. About sun- 
 down he strolled over to Mahaque's camp, his rifle 
 nonchalantly laid across his shoulder. Elahne was 
 walking pensively by the brook, secretly hoping that 
 the noble stag would return, yet wondering why her 
 mother allowed her so much liberty after the episode 
 on the night before. She did not notice Chemook, else 
 her suspicions would have been aroused ere it was too 
 late. Yet her heart was sad to the breaking point. 
 Her lover for some reason had become a deer. Would 
 he always retain that shape and be lost to her, or was it 
 only a temporary whim of his to test her love, and not 
 a spell cast by the jealous Chemook. Many and bitter 
 were the sobs she gulped back, as she resolved to meet 
 her tragic situation with Indian fortitude. 
 
 While thus walking in sorrow, she heard the crack- 
 ing of twigs on the opposite bank, in the same spot 
 where the stag had appeared the previous night. Pull- 
 ing herself together, a happy light came into her dark 
 eyes, a smile on her pale lips. Soon the antlered head 
 of the forest monarch appeared, and with a leap he 
 crossed the creek, and stood at her side attentively. 
 Over by the camp, Chemook had seen the hart come 
 into sight. It would be a difficult shot to make to kill
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 131 
 
 the deer, yet not hit the girl by its side. If he killed 
 both, it would be "love's labor lost." So he nerved 
 himself for a supreme effort. Whispering prayers to 
 the powers of evil, he sighted and pulled the trigger. 
 There was a loud report, and more smoke euid odor of 
 brimstone than was generally the case. The silver bul- 
 let sped its course, but a quick move of the stag's head 
 had saved it from penetrating the skull; instead it hit 
 one of the brow tines. Had it been any other kind of 
 a deer it might have knocked him down, and he would 
 have speedily gotten up and decam.ped, but with this 
 ghost deer it was different. He fell over stone dead. 
 The noise of the gun and the collapse of the deer ter- 
 rified the frail Elahne so much that she fell over the 
 dead deer unconscious. 
 
 Fearing that he had hit the girl, Chemook cleared 
 the space to her side almost as quickly as the deer 
 could have done it. He was relieved to find the girl 
 alive, the deer dead. He had merely struck a brow 
 tine, yet blood was pouring off the nick he had made 
 in it. As he did not want to be troubled by Elahne's 
 lamentations, he left her alone until he could finish with 
 the deer. Taking his hunting axe from his belt, by a 
 swift blow he struck off the top of the skull which held 
 the horns. Then he dragged the carcass a short dis- 
 tance up the creek and sunk it in a deep hole. Return- 
 ing to the girl he picked up the antlers and hung them 
 on a stab on a young oak tree. Then he threw water 
 in the girl's face and restored her to consciousness. 
 When she recovered, and seeing so much blood around
 
 132 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 and the horns on the tree, she reahzed what had hap- 
 pened. She fell on her knees before Chemook, im- 
 ploring him to leave her alone, that she would die 
 rather than marry him, and calling him a murderer, a 
 coward and a thief. 
 
 The aged Indian strode away, as he realized that she 
 was not herself in such an hysterical outburst. "She 
 will be all right in the morning," said old Mahaque 
 gleefully, as she congratulated Chemook on his clever 
 shot. 
 
 But the girl's nervous system had been terribly af- 
 fected. She lay all night in the tall grass, muttering 
 to herself and moaning. When she did not return by 
 breakfast time Mahaque considered that it was time to 
 end her foolishness, so picking up a club she went after 
 her. She had only taken a few steps when she heard 
 a commotion on the other side of the meadow. Three 
 strange white men were standing over McEwing's 
 abandoned belongings, and talking to Chemook in 
 angry tones. From his gestures she could note that 
 they were accusing him of withholding a knowledge of 
 the young man's whereabouts, and the old savage was 
 pleading ignorance. But the upshot of it was that one 
 of the men, a big, tall, blonde youth, and McEwing's 
 elder brother, by the way, seized Chemook by his cloak, 
 making him a prisoner. Then the party led him across 
 the meadow to Mahaque's camp. They interrogated 
 the squaw, but getting no satifaction from her, placed 
 her son, who was ignorant of the entire transaction, 
 under arrest. Before they departed Elahne looked up
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 133 
 
 and saw them, but she felt too dazed to arise and drag 
 herself over to the scene of the inquisition. 
 
 As the burly white men went away with their cap- 
 tives, one of them remarked that they would put them 
 in Carlisle jail. That word struck terror to Mahaque. 
 as no Indian who entered there ever came back. Sob- 
 bing, she followed the party down the run, protesting 
 that none of them knew where McEwing was, and beg- 
 ging for their release. It was not until one of the fron- 
 tiersmen, who, losing his temper, pointed his loaded 
 rifle at her, did she turn back. 
 
 It appeared that McEwing when he moved into 
 Hare's Valley had told his family that he would be 
 back in a couple of days for some ammunition that he 
 was expecting from Lancaster, and his non-appearance 
 had caused the sallying forth of the search party. 
 
 When Mahaque returned to her camp she found 
 Elahne and her sister sitting dejectedly by the bumt- 
 out hearth. TTiey all exchanged glances, it would be 
 best to say no more, all had been losers by the old 
 squaw's avarice. They would have to eke out their 
 lives as best they could in a manless camp, for Che- 
 mook and the young buck were gone forever. And 
 there is no record that the two prisoners ever got to Car- 
 lisle jail or any other jail. Either they tried to escape 
 en route and were shot down, or else their captors were 
 self-constituted Regulators who escorted them to a 
 quiet nook and executed them. But nothing more was 
 ever heard of old Chemook and Mahaque's son. They 
 vanished as if the earth had swallowed them.
 
 134 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 TTie old squaw's manner changed after this holo- 
 caust. She became gentler and more patient. With 
 her two daughters she cooked and fished and wove. 
 Elahne and her sister became proficient as huntresses, 
 keeping the modest larder supplied with game. The 
 white traders and hunters became well acquainted with 
 the three lonely Indian women, and none were base 
 enough to molest them. 
 
 Eventually the younger girl married a white man 
 named Cantrill, who squatted on the spot selected by 
 the unlucky youth McEwing, and appropriated the en- 
 tire meadow. But poor Elahne never married, and 
 most of her beauty was melted away in tears. Out at 
 the brookside she securely nailed the dead hart's antlers 
 to the oak tree, which still dripped blood from the shat- 
 tered brow tine. It seemed to be her dead lover griev- 
 ing his heart's blood away for her, so why should she 
 not grieve in return? It seemed a shame to allow this 
 precious blood to run away. So she fashioned a gourd 
 like a cup to receive it, and placed it at the foot of the 
 tree to catch the drip. There the small red drops fell 
 day and night, winter and summer. And yet the gourd 
 placed below never seemed to fill. Every evening, fair 
 or stormy, the bereaved girl would go out and sit be- 
 fore the tree, thinking of how near she had come to 
 tasting true happiness. Yet deep as was her grief, she 
 did not want to die. She wished to remain always in 
 the vicinity of the bleeding hart's horn, which was 
 pouring out its deep essence for her. 
 
 For long and weary years she visited the oak trcQ,
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 135 
 
 long after old Mahaque had been laid away under the 
 Indian apple trees at the foot of the meadow, and her 
 younger sister had become grandm.other to a sturdy 
 race. And when she passed away she was buried un- 
 der the tree, with the gourd as the sole marker beneath 
 the antlers. 
 
 As years went by the thrifty oak aggrandized in 
 girth until it grew over and around the horns, com- 
 pletely imbedding them in its capacious heart. And 
 if the horn bleeds to-day its drip is inward, hidden com- 
 pletely, and for the years, as it is truthfully said that 
 there is nothing so secure and all-resisting as "hearts 
 of oak."
 
 36 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 X. 
 
 NITA-NEE. 
 
 A TRADITION OF A JUNIATA MAIDEN. 
 
 ONE of the last Indians to wander through the 
 Juniata Valley, either to revive old memories or 
 merely to hunt and trap, his controlling motive 
 is not certain, was old Jake Faddy. As he was sup- 
 posed to belong to the Seneca tribe, and spent most of 
 his time on the Coudersport Pike on the border line be- 
 tween Clinton and Potter Counties, it is to be surmised 
 that he never lived permanently on the Juniata, but had 
 hunted there or participated in the bloody wars in the 
 days of his youth. He continued his visits until he 
 reached a very advanced age. Of a younger genera- 
 tion than Shaney John, he was nevertheless well ac- 
 quainted with that unique old redman, and always 
 spent a couple of weeks with him at his cabin on Sad- 
 dler's Run. 
 
 Old Jake, partly to earn his board and partly to 
 show his superior knowledge, was a gifted story teller. 
 He liked to obtain the chance to spend the night at 
 farmhouses where there were aged people, and his 
 smattering of history would be fully utilized to put the 
 older folks in good humor. 
 
 For while the hard-working younger generations
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 137 
 
 fancied that history was a waste of time, the old people 
 loved it, and fought against the cruel way in which all 
 local tradition and legend was being snuffed out. If 
 it had not been for a few people carrying it over the 
 past generation, all of it would now be lost in the whirl- 
 pool of a commercial, materialistic age. And to those 
 few, unknown to fame, and of obscure life and resi- 
 dence, is due the credit of saving for us the wealth of 
 folklore that the noble mountains, the dark forests, the 
 wars and the Indians, instilled in the minds of the first 
 settlers. And there is no old man or woman living in 
 the wilderness who is without a story that is ready to 
 be imparted, and worthy of preservation. But the 
 question remains, how can these old people all be 
 reached before they pass away? It would take an 
 army of collectors, working simultaneously, as the 
 Grim Reaper is hard at work removing these human 
 landmarks with their unrecorded stories. 
 
 Out near the heading of Beaver Dam Run, at the 
 foot of Jack's Mountain, stands a very solid-looking 
 stone farmhouse, a relic of pioneer days. Its earliest 
 inhabitants had run counter to the Indians of the neigh- 
 borhood for the possession of the beavers whose dams 
 and "cabins" were its most noticeable feature clear 
 to the mouth of the stream, and later for the otters 
 who defied the white annihilators a quarter of a cen- 
 tury longer. Beaver trapping had made the stream a 
 favorite rendezvous for the red men, and their camp- 
 grounds at the springs near the headwaters were 
 pointed out until a comparatively recent date.
 
 138 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 But one by one the aborigines dropped away, until 
 Jake Faddy alone upheld the traditions of the race. 
 There were no beavers to quarrel over in his day, con- 
 sequently his visits were on a more friendly basis. The 
 old North of Ireland family who occupied the stone 
 farmhouse was closely linked with the history of the 
 Juniata Valley, and they felt the thrill of the vivid past 
 whenever the old Indian appeared at the kitchen door. 
 As he was always ready to work and, what was better, 
 a very useful man at gardening and flowers, he was al- 
 ways given his meals and lodging for as long as he 
 cared to remain. But that was not very long, as his 
 restless nature was ever goading him on, and he had 
 "many other friends to see," putting it in his own lan- 
 guage. He seemed proud to have it known that he 
 was popular with a good class of white people, and his 
 ruling passion may have been to cultivate these asso- 
 ciations. On several occasions he brought some of his 
 sons with him, but they did not seem anxious to live 
 up to their father's standards. And after the old man 
 had passed away none of this younger generation ever 
 came to the Juniata Valley. 
 
 The past seemed like the present to Jake Faddy, 
 he was so familiar with it. To him it was as if it hap- 
 pened yesterday, the vast formations and changes and 
 epochs. And the Indian race, especially the eastern 
 Indians, seemed to have played the most important part 
 in those titanic days. It seemed so recent and so real 
 to the old redman that his stories were always interest- 
 ing. The children also were fond of hearing him talk ;
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 139 
 
 he had a way of never becoming tiresome. Every 
 young person who heard him remembered what he 
 said. There would have been no break in the "apos- 
 toHc succession" of Pennsylvania legendary lore if all 
 had been seated at Jake Faddy's knee. 
 
 Of all his stories, by odds his favorite one, dealt 
 with the Indian maiden, Nita-nee, for whom the fruit- 
 ful Nittany Valley and the towering Nittany Moun- 
 tain are named. This Indian girl was born on the 
 banks of the lovely Juniata, not far from the present 
 town of Newton Hamilton, the daughter of a powerful 
 chief. It was in the early days of the world, when 
 the physical aspect of Nature could be changed over 
 night by a fiat from the Gitchie-Manitto or Great 
 Spirit. It was therefore in the age of great and won- 
 derful things, before a rigid world produced beings 
 whose lives followed grooves as tight and permanent 
 as the gullies and ridges. 
 
 During the early life of Nita-nee a great war was 
 waged for the possession of the Juniata Valley. The 
 aggressors were Indians from the South, who longed 
 for the scope and fertility of this earthly Paradise. 
 Though Nita-nee's father and his brave cohorts de- 
 fended their beloved land to the last extremity, they 
 were driven northward into the Seven Mountains and 
 beyond. Though they found themselves in beautiful 
 valleys, filled with bubbling springs and teeming with 
 game, they missed the Blue Juniata, and were never 
 wholly content. The father of Nita-nee, who was 
 named Chun-Eh-Hoe, felt so humiliated that he only
 
 140 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 went about after night in his new home. He took 
 up his residence on a broad plain, not far from where 
 State College now stands, and should be the Indian 
 patron of that growing institution, instead of Chief 
 Bald Eagle, who never lived near there and whose 
 good deeds are far outweighed by his crimes. 
 
 Chun-Eh-Hoe was an Indian of exact conscience. 
 He did his best in the cruel war, but the southern In- 
 dians must have had more sagacious leaders or a bet- 
 ter esprit de corps. At any rate they conquered. Chun- 
 Eh-Hoe was not an old man at the time of his defeat, 
 but it is related that his raven black locks turned white 
 over night. He was broken in spirit after his down- 
 fall and only lived a few years in his new home. His 
 widow, as well as his daughter, Nita-nee, and many 
 other children, were left to mourn him. As Nita-nee 
 was the oldest, she assumed a vicereineship over the 
 tribe until her young brother, Wo-Wi-Na-Pe, should 
 be old enough to rule the councils and go on the war- 
 path. 
 
 The defeat on the Juniata, the exile to the northern 
 valleys and the premature death of Chun-Eh-Hoe were 
 to be avenged. Active days were ahead of the tribes- 
 men. Meanwhile if the southern Indians crossed the 
 mountains to still further covet their lands and liberties, 
 who should lead them to battle but Nita-nee. But the 
 Indian vicereine was of a peace-loving disposition. She 
 hoped that the time would never come when she would 
 have to preside over scenes of carnage and slaughter. 
 She wanted to see her late father's tribe become the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 141 
 
 most cultured and prosperous in the Indian world, and 
 in that way be revenged on their warlike foes: "Peace 
 hath its victories," 
 
 But she was not to be destined to lead a peaceful 
 nation through years of upward growth. In the Juni- 
 ata Valley the southern Indians had become over- 
 populated; they sought broader territories, like the 
 Germans of to-day. They had driven the present oc- 
 cupants of the northern valleys out of the Juniata coun- 
 try, they wanted to again drive them further north. 
 
 Nita-nee did not want war, but the time came when 
 she could not prevent it. The southern Indians sought 
 to provoke a conflict by making settlements in the Bare 
 Meadows, and in some fertile patches on Tussey Knob 
 and Bald Top, all of which were countenanced in 
 silence. But when they murdered some peaceable 
 farmers and took possession of plantations at the foot 
 of the mountains in the valley of the Karoondinha, 
 then the mildness of Nita-nee's cohorts came to an end. 
 Meanwhile her mother and brother had died, Nita-nee 
 had been elected queen. 
 
 Every man and boy volunteered to fight; a huge 
 army was recruited over night. They swept down 
 to the settlements of the southern Indians, butchering 
 every one of them. They pressed onward to the Bare 
 Meadows, and to the slopes of Bald Top and Tussey 
 Knob. There they gave up the population to fire and 
 sword. Crossing the Seven Mountains, they formed 
 a powerful cordon all along the southerly slope of the 
 Long Mountain. Building block houses and stone
 
 142 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 fortifications — some of the stonework can be seen to 
 this day — they could not be easily dislodged. 
 
 The southern Indians, noticing the flames of the 
 burning plantations, and hearing from the one or two 
 survivors of the completeness of the rout, were slow to 
 start an offensive movement. But as Nita-nee's forces 
 showed no signs of advancing beyond the foot of Long 
 Mountain, they mistook this hesitancy for cowardice, 
 and sent an attacking army. It was completely de- 
 feated in the gorge of Laurel Run, above Milroy, and 
 the right of the northern Indians to the Karoondinha 
 and the adjacent valleys was signed, sealed and deliv- 
 ered in blood. The southern Indians were in turn 
 driven out by other tribes; in fact, every half century 
 or so a different race ruled over the Juniata Valley. 
 But in all those years none of the Juniata rulers sought 
 to question the rights of the northern Indians until 
 1635, when the Lenni-Lenape invaded the country of 
 the Susquehannocks and were decisively beaten on the 
 plains near Rock Springs, in Spruce Creek Valley, at 
 the Battle of the Indian Steps. 
 
 As Nita-nee wanted no territorial accessions, she 
 left the garrisons at her southerly forts intact, and re- 
 tired her main army to its home valleys, where it was 
 disbanded as quickly as it came together. All were 
 glad to be back to peaceful avocations, none of them 
 craved glory in war. And there were no honors given 
 out, no great generals created. All served as private 
 soldiers under the direct supervision of their queen. It 
 was the theory of this Joan of Arc that by eliminating
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 143 
 
 titles and important posts there would be no military 
 class created, no ulterior motive assisted except pa- 
 triotism. The soldiers ser'/ing anonymously, and for 
 their country's need alone, would be ready to end their 
 military duties as soon as their patriotic task was 
 done. 
 
 Nita-nee regarded soldiering as a stem necessity, 
 not as an excuse for pleasure or pillage, or personal 
 advancement. Under her there was no nobility, all 
 were on a common level of dignified citizenship. Every 
 Indian in her realm had a task, not one that he was 
 born to follow, but the one which appealed to him 
 mostly, and therefore the task at which he was most 
 successful. Women also had their work, apart from 
 domestic life in this ideal democracy of ancient days. 
 Suffrage was universal to both sexes over twenty years 
 of age, but as there were no official positions, no public 
 trusts, a political class could not come into existence, 
 and the queen, as long as she was cunning and able, 
 had the unanimous support of her people. She was 
 given a great ovation as she modestly walked along 
 the fighting line after the winning battle of Laurel 
 Run. It made her feel not that she was great, but 
 that the democracy of her father and her ancestors was 
 a living force. In those days of pure democracy the 
 rulers walked: the litters and palanquins were a later 
 development. 
 
 After the conflict the gentle Nita-nee, at the head 
 of the soon to be disbanded army, marched across the 
 Seven Brothers, and westerly toward her permanent
 
 144 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 encampment, where State College now stands. As 
 her only trophy she carried a bundle of spears, which 
 her brave henchmen had wrenched from the hands of 
 the southern Indians as they charged the forts along 
 Long Mountain. These were not to deck her own 
 lodge house, nor for vain display, but were to be placed 
 on the grave of her father, the lamented Chun-Eh- 
 Hoe, who had been avenged. In her heart she had 
 hoped for victory, almost as much for his sake as for 
 the comfort of her people. She knew how he had 
 grieved himself to death when he was outgeneraled in 
 the previous war. 
 
 In those dimly remote days there was no range of 
 mountains where the Nittany chain now raise their 
 noble summits to the sky. All was a plain, a prairie, 
 north clear to the Bald Eagles, which only recently 
 had come into existence. The tradition was that far 
 older than all the other hills were the Seven Moun- 
 tains. And geological speculation seems to bear this 
 out. At all seasons of the year cruel and chilling 
 winds blew out of the north, hindering the work of 
 agriculture on the broad plains ruled over by Nita-nee. 
 Only the strong and the brave could cope with these 
 killing blasts, so intense and so different from the calm- 
 ing zephyrs of the Juniata. The seasons for this 
 cause were several weeks shorter than across the Seven 
 Mountains; that is, there was a later spring and an 
 earlier fall. But though the work was harder, the soil 
 being equally rich and broader area, the crops aver- 
 aged fully as large as those further south. So, taken
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 145 
 
 altogether, the people of Nita-nee could not be said 
 to be an unhappy lot. 
 
 As the victorious queen was marching along at the 
 head of her troops, she was frequently almost mobbed 
 by women and children, who rushed out from the settle- 
 ments and made her all manner of gifts. As it was in 
 the early spring, there were no floral garlands, but in- 
 stead wreaths and festoons of laurel, of ground pine 
 and ground spruce. There were gifts of precious stones 
 and metals, of rare furs, of beautiful specimens of In- 
 dian pottery, basketry and the like. These were gra- 
 ciously acknowledged by Nita-nee, who turned them 
 over to her bodyguards to be carried to her permanent 
 abode on the "Barrens." But it was not a "barrens" 
 in those days, but a rich agricultural region, carefully 
 irrigated from the north, and yielding the most bounti- 
 ful crops of Indian corn. It was only when abandoned 
 by the frugal redmen and grown up with forests which 
 burned over repeatedly through the carelessness of the 
 white settlers that it acquired that disagreeable name. 
 In those days it was known as the "Hills of Plenty." 
 
 As Nita-nee neared the scenes of her happy days 
 she was stopped in the middle of the path by an aged 
 Indian couple. Leaning on staffs in order to present 
 a dignified appearance, it was easily seen that age had 
 bent them nearly double. Their weazened, weather- 
 beaten old faces were pitiful to behold. Toothless, 
 and barely able to speak above a whisper, they ad- 
 dressed the gracious queen. 
 
 "We are very old," they began, "the winters of
 
 146 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 more than a century have passed over our heads. Our 
 sons and our grandsons were killed fighting bravely 
 under your immortal sire, Chun-Eh-Hoe. We have 
 had to struggle on by ourselves as best we could ever 
 since. We are about to set out a crop of corn, which 
 we need badly. For the past three years the north 
 wind has destroyed our crop every time it appeared; 
 the seeds which we plan to put in the earth this year 
 are the last we've got. Really we should have kept 
 them for food, but we hoped that the future would 
 treat us more generously. We would like a wind- 
 break built along the northern side of our corn patch; 
 we are too feeble to go to the forests and cut and carry 
 the poles. Will not our most kindly queen have some 
 one assist us?" 
 
 Nita-nee smiled on the aged couple, then she looked 
 at her army of able-bodied warriors. 
 
 Turning to them she said, "Soldiers, will a hundred 
 of you go to the nearest royal forest, which is in the 
 center of this plain, and cut enough cedar poles with 
 brush on them to build a wind-break for these good 
 people?" 
 
 Instantly a roar arose, a perfect babel of voices; it 
 was every soldier trying to volunteer for this philan- 
 thropic task. 
 
 When quiet was restored, a warrior stepped out 
 from the lines saying, "Queen, we are very happy to 
 do this, we who have lived in this valley know full well 
 how all suffer from the uncheckable north winds." 
 
 The queen escorted the old couple back to their
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 147 
 
 humble cottage, and sat with them until her stalwart 
 braves returned with the green-tipped poles. It looked 
 like another Bimam Wood in process of locomotion. 
 The work was so quickly and so carefully done that it 
 seemed almost like a miracle to the wretched old In- 
 dians. They fell on their knees, kissing the hem of 
 their queen's garment and thanking her for her benefi- 
 cence. She could hardly leave them, so profuse were 
 they in their gratitude. In all but a few hours were 
 consumed in granting what to her was a simple favor, 
 and she was safe and sound within her royal lodge 
 house by dark. Before she left she had promised to 
 return when the corn crop was ripe and partake of a 
 corn roast with the venerable couple. The old people 
 hardly dared hope she would come, but those about 
 her knew that her word was as good as her bond. 
 TTiat night bonfires were lighted to celebrate her re- 
 turn, and there was much Indian music and revelry. 
 
 Nita-nee was compelled to address the frenzied 
 mob, and in her speech she told them that while they 
 had won a great victory, she hoped it would be the last 
 while she lived; she hated war, but v/ould give her life 
 rather than have her people invaded. All she asked 
 in this world was peace with honor. That expressed 
 the sentiment of her people exactly, and they literally 
 went mad with loyalty and enthusiasm for the balance 
 of the night. Naturally with such an uproar there was 
 no sleep for Nita-nee. 
 
 As she lay awake on her couch she thought that far 
 sweeter than victory or earthly fame was the helping
 
 148 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 of others, the smoothing of rough pathways for the 
 weak or oppressed. She resolved more than ever to 
 dedicate her hfe to the benefiting of her subjects. No 
 love affair had come into her life, she would use her 
 great love-nature to put brightness into unhappy souls 
 about her. And she got up the next morning much 
 more refreshed than she could have after a night of 
 sleep surcharged with dreams of victory and glory. 
 
 As the summer progressed, and the corn crop in the 
 valleys became ripe, the queen sent an orderly to notify 
 the aged couple that she would come to their home 
 alone the next evening for the promised corn roast. It 
 was a wonderful, calm, cloudless night, with the full 
 moon shedding its effulgent smile over the plain. Un- 
 accompanied, except by her orderly, Nita-nee walked 
 to the modest cabin of the aged couple, a distance of 
 about five miles, for the cottage stood not far from the 
 present village of Linden Hall. Evidently the wind- 
 break had been a success, for, bathed in moonlight, 
 the tasseled heads of the cornstalks appeared above the 
 tops of the cedar hedge. Smoke was issuing from the 
 open hearth back of the hut, which showed that the 
 roast was being prepared. The aged couple were de- 
 lighted to see her, and the evening passed by, bringing 
 innocent and supreme happiness to all. And thus in 
 broad unselfishness and generosity of thought and deed 
 the great queen's life was spent, making her pathway 
 through her realm radiant with sunshine. 
 
 And when she came to die, after a full century of 
 life, she requested that her body be laid to rest in th?
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 149 
 
 royal forest, in the center of the valley whose people 
 she loved and served so well. Her funeral cortege, 
 which included every person in the plains and valleys, 
 a vast assemblage, shook with a common grief. It would 
 be hard to find a successor like her, a pure soul so 
 deeply animated with true godliness. 
 
 And it came to pass that on the night when she 
 was buried beneath a modest mound covered with 
 cedar boughs, and the vast funeral party had dispersed, 
 a terrific storm arose, greater than even the oldest per- 
 son could remember. The blackness of the night was 
 intense, the roar and rumbling heard made every be- 
 ing fear that the end of the world had come. It was 
 a night of intense terror, of horror. But at dawn, the 
 tempest abated, only a gentle breeze remained, a 
 golden sunlight overspread the scene, and great was 
 the wonder thereof! In the center of the vast plain 
 where Nita-nee had been laid away stood a mound- 
 like mountain, a towering, sylvan giant covered with 
 dense groves of cedar and pine. And as it stood there, 
 eternal, it tempered and broke the breezes from the 
 north, promising a new prosperity, a greater tranquility, 
 to the peaceful dwellers in the vale that has since been 
 called John Penn's Valley, after the grandson of 
 William Penn. 
 
 A miracle, a sign of approval from the Great Spirit, 
 had happened during the night to forever keep alive the 
 riiemory of Nita-nee, who had tempered the winds 
 from the compatch of the aged, helpless couple years 
 before. And the dwellers in the valleys adjacent to
 
 150 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 Mount Nittany awoke to a greater pride in them- 
 selves, a high ideal must be observed, since they were 
 the special objects of celestial notice. 
 
 And the name of Nita-nee was the favorite cogno- 
 men for Indian maidens, and has been borne by many 
 of saintly and useful life ever since, and none of these 
 namesakes were more deserving than the Nita-nee who 
 lived centuries later near the mouth of Penn's Cave.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 15 
 
 XL 
 THE ORIGINAL. 
 
 A TALE OF KITTANNING POINT. 
 
 KITTANNING POINT is a spot pre-eminent 
 in Pennsylvania song and story. As a pivotal 
 point in history it will alv^ays be remembered; 
 as a scenic glory it is the envy of all the States. And 
 in legendary lore it holds a secure place, for clustered 
 about it are many weird and curious traditions, some 
 of which still linger only in the hearts and minds of the 
 old folks. Those few of the tales which have been 
 written out are read and re-read with breathless in- 
 terest. Still there are others unrecorded that possess a 
 thrill or charm worthy of competent chroniclers. 
 
 History tells us that many Indian paths converged 
 at Kittanning Point, consequently it was a frequent 
 meeting place of the savages in their journeys across 
 the mountains. They often camped near the springs 
 in Kittanning Gap, or on Burgoon's Run, and many 
 are the arrow points and other relics picked up there- 
 abouts by persons of quick wit. 
 
 In addition to the Indian paths, the Point was a 
 favorite "crossing" for many kinds of wild animals. 
 While out of the line of the bison, whose main trails 
 were further east and further west, these noble crea-
 
 152 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 tures sometimes summered on the high mountains in 
 small bands, coming to and from their fastnesses 
 through the Gap. It was a favorite rallying ground 
 for the elk and deer. They were so plentiful in Revo- 
 lutionary days that all the hunters had to do was to 
 penetrate the forests a few steps from their camps in 
 order to have venison for dinner. And at that only the 
 hindquarters or the saddles were used. A few elk 
 lingered long in the region, ranging between the Point 
 and Laurel Ridge, where one of the last killed in the 
 State was slain at the Panther's Rock, in Somerset 
 Count5\ about the middle of the last century. Pan- 
 thers also had a "crossing" over Kittanning Point. It 
 was on one of their "migratory lines" between West 
 Virginia and Central Pennsylvania, They always 
 traveled by the same paths, consequently a hunter with 
 a fair degree of patience would surely be rewarded. 
 This "fixity" of travel was one of the reasons for their 
 practical extinction in our Commonwealth. The 
 wolves were prevalent at the Point until comparatively 
 recent years, principally on account of the abundance 
 of game. When it decreased, they left for more pro- 
 ductive regions. Bears were often found about the 
 Point, as the fine chestnut and walnut trees gave them 
 rich "pickings" in the autumn months. In the Gap 
 were several bear dens, which are still pointed out by 
 the old hunters. These bears were all of the black 
 variety. But most interesting of all the wild life, large 
 and small, which ranged over these now desolated 
 hills were the black moose.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 153 
 
 This mammoth animal, known in pioneer days by 
 the quaint name of the Original, because it was sup- 
 posed to be the parent of all the deer families, was 
 particularly partial to the glades and vales about Kit- 
 tanning Point in the years immediately preceding the 
 Revolution. In fact, its path for migration passed over 
 the Point in a southwesterly direction. In these migra- 
 tions these huge beasts made a practice of tarrying for 
 several days amid the grand primeval hardwoods 
 which covered the Point. 
 
 Despite its size, for it is the largest of all deer, ex- 
 tinct or existing, the Original was very fleet of foot 
 and well able to take care of itself. As far back as 
 tradition goes there is no record that the moose ever 
 bred in Pennsylvania to any considerable extent. They 
 were distinctively a northern animal, though they had 
 been coming to this State for untold ages, as their 
 fossil remains well show. Pennsylvania was about 
 the southerly limit of their migrations. 
 
 After Southern New York had been opened to 
 settlement, and the forests between the southern border 
 of the Adirondack Mountains and the Pennsylvania 
 State line cut away, the moose were unable to continue 
 their journeys into the walds of the Keystone State. 
 The last to enter Pennsylvania came from the Catskill 
 Mountains, crossing the Delaware River at various 
 points north of the Water Gap. When the migrations 
 ceased those moose already in Pennsylvania had to 
 remain there, and they were cruelly butchered by the 
 settlers.
 
 154 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 Perhaps on account of their all-time scarcity in our 
 State, the early Indians seldom killed the Original. 
 They looked with veneration on this gigantic brute, 
 viewing it as the dignified progenitor of elk and deer, 
 which formed their staple articles of life. To have a 
 moose browse in the vicinity of an encampment pre- 
 saged victory in war, to find a moose head or antlers in 
 the forest, good luck in the chase or domestic life. The 
 moose stood for all that was biggest, noblest and best 
 in Indicin life, it typified all outdoors, the grand free 
 scope of the wilderness. To single out such a splendid 
 animal for slaughter, while all around were myriads 
 of deer, herds of elk, companies of bears and countless 
 smaller game, seemed to the Indian mind, with its 
 Mosaic sense of justice, almost a sacrilege. Conse- 
 quently the moose were never killed unless in dire 
 necessity, or in the later days of the Indian race when 
 they were desperate and had lost many of their former 
 ideals. 
 
 But it was galling for them to see the white men 
 slay moose without quarter, to see them disregard sport- 
 ing standards that had been maintained for centuries 
 
 Among the proudest and shrewdest Indians resid- 
 ing in the Juniata Valley was Young Jacob, the young- 
 est son of the knightly defender of Fort Kittanning, 
 Captain Jacobs. Inborn was his mistrust of the white 
 men, whose wanton destruction of forests, game and 
 fish went hand in hand, he felt, with the complete anni- 
 hilation of his own race. He resented the friendly 
 advances made to the newcomers by the copper-colored
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 155 
 
 aborigines. He held aloof from all gatherings where 
 the two races apparently fraternized together. He 
 would listen to no compliments, accept no favors from 
 the white men. He never forgave the wrongs of his 
 own family. James Logan, or Tah-gah-jute, was the 
 only other Pennsylvania Indian who held similar views 
 to a marked degree. He often told Young Jacob, as 
 they rested under the shade of the giant white oaks at 
 Logan's Spring, near Reedsville, that the white men 
 wished the entire Indian race under the sod, and would 
 put them there as soon as they could. 
 
 "Some of us," he declaimed tragically, "they will 
 kill with bullets, others of us they will kill with a poi- 
 son called rum, our women and children they will 
 starve to death." 
 
 Logan's greatest sorrow was that he could not im- 
 press his ideas on the other Indians. They laughed 
 away his fears, drank the white man's bad whisky, 
 bartered and played with him on all occasions, suspect- 
 ing nothing, fearing nothing. Logan would go on to 
 say that a hundred years in the future, when the proud 
 Indian race remained but as a faint remnant of its 
 former strength and greatness, his words would prove 
 true, but now he was looked upon as such an anarchist 
 that he could not even impress his own brothers, Thach- 
 nedoarus, or Captain Logan, and John Petty Shi- 
 kellemy. 
 
 But Young Jacob shared Logan's views to the 
 minutest detail; he was intuitive, and he had proofs of 
 the white man's perfidy. Never could he be influenced
 
 156 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 by soft speeches or tawdry gifts. He would be a true 
 redman of the forest, uncorrupted to the last. He had 
 as one of his special missions in life to save the wild 
 animals and birds of the Juniata Valley from extermi- 
 nation. He traveled up and down the three branches, 
 preaching toleration, moderation, conservation among 
 the drink-ridden Indians, who still lingered at their old 
 hunting grounds. He begged them to cherish their old 
 ideals, only to kill such game as was absolutely neces- 
 sary for food and clothing. 
 
 Even if the white men killed right and left, and per- 
 mitted dead game to rot in the woods, which they called 
 "sport," the Indians should kill moderately, as they 
 did in the past, for was not the wild life a gift from 
 the Great Spirit, and should be carefully tended as 
 such? 
 
 But most of his preaching fell on deaf ears. Home- 
 less, drunken savages were out of touch with the high 
 principles of the past; they wanted to kill just as their 
 white corrupters were doing. Young Jacob was like 
 an echo from the past, a past so distant that it hardly 
 seemed possible ever to have existed. And once in a 
 great while Young Jacob argued with white men on 
 the impropriety of wasting wild life. 
 
 Sport, as defined by the Indians, meant harmless 
 pleasure, physical exercise, feats of skill, fun, the chase, 
 but never wanton destruction of any gift of the Great 
 Spirit. But the white men could not see it that way, 
 as long as they had guns they liked to practice on liv- 
 ing targets, to see how many animals or birds could be
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 157 
 
 killed in a day or hour, besides game was a nuisance 
 in a rapidly developing country. The game was in 
 the woods to be killed, and if they did not kill it, some- 
 body else would. And they laughed in Young 
 Jacob's face as the price of his pains. 
 
 All this served to deepen his hatred for the cruel 
 white men who claimed they were "civilizing" the 
 Juniata Valley, but to his mind desolating it. It 
 grieved Young Jacob to see the Indians yielding to the 
 white men's false titles and moving westward without 
 a protest. He longed to fire their hearts with a sense 
 of their wrongs, and lead them in a bloody war 
 against their foes. 
 
 With this in view he traveled up and down the val- 
 ley, preaching a gospel of resistance. And sometimes 
 he crossed over into the Allegheny headwaters 
 beyond Kittanning Point. Almost every Indian was 
 content to follow the white men's orders and move on, 
 but occasionally he met one who was sober enough to 
 realize the terrible injustice of it all. 
 
 But the Indians who felt that way would say, "What 
 you state is true; we are being robbed and murdered; 
 but what can we do when the majority of us are willing 
 to submit?" 
 
 It was a hopeless task, the Indians were a doomed 
 race. Still Young Jacob's energy was inexhaustible, 
 he would not admit his teachings fruitless. He con- 
 tinued his missionary work, trusting that some spark 
 from his torch of hate might kindle the unhappy red 
 race to a last defiant stand. He carried on his work
 
 158 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 so quietly that none of the white men in authority sus- 
 pected that he was any more than a surly, disgruntled 
 savage, as befitted the son of a defeated Indian chief- 
 tain. And he was glad that they felt that way about 
 him. Otherwise there would be a price on his head, 
 or he would be ordered out of Pennsylvania on pain 
 of death, like was meted out to the resisting Logan. 
 He played his part better than Logan had done, and 
 it gratified his savage heart. 
 
 It was on one of his homeward trips from the Alle- 
 gheny River that he shed the first white blood, which 
 put a price on his head, and made him a skulking exile 
 to the last of his days. He had been visiting the aban- 
 doned Indian settlements at Logstown and Kittanning, 
 at the last-named important town viewing the grave of 
 his defeated but not dishonored father. Captain Jacobs. 
 He had followed the Indian trail across the mountains, 
 his ultimate destination being Black Log Valley and 
 Standing Stone. 
 
 Near Kittanning Point, on Burgoon's Run, he had 
 built a lean-to of boughs, expecting to be joined there 
 shortly by a couple of Indian spies who had gone down 
 the Allegheny River in a canoe, and were to travel 
 eastward by way of Laurel Ridge. 
 
 On the night of his arrival, to his great pleasure, a 
 giant moose ambled out of the forest and began 
 leisurely browsing on the twigs of the moosewood trees 
 which formed an undergrowth of the great hardwood 
 forest. Apart from his delight in watching the mon- 
 ster's antics, as he bent down the trees and nibbled at
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 159 
 
 the tenderest twigs, much as an elephant would feed, 
 was the feeling that the beast foretold that the propa- 
 ganda which he was promoting would some day be- 
 come a reality. The moose saw the Indian, and looked 
 at him with his comical little eyes, but he had perfect 
 confidence that the redman meant him no harm. For 
 several days and nights the mammoth animal made 
 the vicinity of Young Jacob's camp his headquarters. 
 He became so used to the Indian's presence that he 
 kept as close to him as if he had been a big mule. 
 
 On the evening of the third day Young Jacob was 
 getting ready to start on his journey, as evidently his 
 Indian friends had been detained or gone by a different 
 route. His chief regret was at leaving the moose, 
 which stood munching at the succulent twigs. He 
 liked to travel by night, it was cooler, and as he knew 
 every foot of the way he could travel further. 
 
 AVhile he was adjusting his pack on his back he 
 heard the twdgs crack and looked up. Perhaps it was 
 another Original, and he had been camping in a moosic 
 rendezvous! But instead of another moose he saw a 
 solitary white man, clad in a green shirt, buckskin 
 trousers, and moccasins, and carrying a long rifle. It 
 is hard to tell whether the newcomer saw the Indian or 
 the moose first. In any event he raised his firearm and 
 took aim at the unsuspecting animal, which kept on 
 browsing. 
 
 When Young Jacob saw the white man's intentions 
 he stepped forward, saying politely, "Brother, don't 
 kill that moose. The woods are full of deer, if
 
 160 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 you are hungry, and the moose is a pet of mine." 
 
 But the white man only sneered, and pulling the 
 trigger the ball sped with unerring aim, lodging in the 
 big Original's heart. With an awful bellow of pain, 
 mingled with surprise, the animal turned and charged 
 at his white destroyer. The hunter, who reloaded his 
 gun deftly, let the moose get within a few feet of him, 
 when he fired again, but the big brute had been already 
 mortally wounded, and fell without the aid of the sec- 
 ond shot. 
 
 With a sound like a falling pine the Original crashed 
 to the earth, lying dead among the ferns and hazel 
 bushes, his wide-spreading palmated antlers stretching 
 out on either side like the knives of a reaper. Planting 
 one foot on the dead animal's swarthy proboscis, the 
 white man struck a silly attitude. Young Jacob, sup- 
 posed savage, looked at him a moment in disgust. 
 Then calmly he asked him what he intended to do 
 with the mammoth carcass in the middle of summer. 
 
 The white man stroked his yellow beard a moment 
 and said, with a great show of insouciance, "Why, of 
 course, leave it. What else could I do with it?" 
 
 That was too much for the fair-minded Indian. 
 The white man had killed the harmless moose for 
 "sport" and now was going to leave it to rot and feed 
 the ravens. He could contain himself no longer, and 
 cursed the paleface roundly for his folly. 
 
 "Why," he shouted, "that moose was around my 
 camp for three days and nights, happy and doing no 
 harm, and I thought no more of shooting him than I
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 161 
 
 would the little singing birds in the trees above. We 
 Indians only kill when we have to; we have sense." 
 
 The white man's temper was equally aroused, and 
 he swore at the Indian in turn. "You say you Indians 
 only kill when you have to. You are damn fools. 
 We white men kill when we want to, and intend to kill 
 everything before we get through." With that he 
 raised his rifle threateningly. 
 
 But Young Jacob suspecting such a motive, and for- 
 getting that the white man had not reloaded his weapon, 
 pulled his own trigger first, and the paleface fell to the 
 earth, a bullet through his lungs. When the redman 
 saw what he had done he showed no remorse, until on 
 picking up the white hunter's rifle he found it empty. 
 Then he threw down his own gun and went to the 
 dying man's side. 
 
 Stooping down he said to him, "White man, I can- 
 not call you brother now. I am sorry for what I have 
 done. I did not remember that your gun was empty." 
 
 But the white man, rolling his eyes which were glaz- 
 ing with death and staring at his slayer, cursed the 
 Indian with his dying breath, then closed his eyes in 
 death. 
 
 As he passed away Young Jacob, leaning over him, 
 muttered, "Now you know how it feels to be in the 
 moose's place." 
 
 The die was cast. Young Jacob had now been 
 added to the list of Indian murderers. It would be a 
 waste of time to bury the dead man, the wolves would 
 dig him out. The crime would be discovered sooner
 
 162 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 or later. So, without deigning to rifle the corpse's 
 pockets or touch his gun and powder horn, he left him 
 lying in the now profound darkness, within a dozen 
 feet of the dead moose. 
 
 It was there that the two Indians, arriving from 
 Laurel Ridge found the body the next morning. 
 Though they suspected some such episode as what had 
 actually happened, knowing Young Jacob's nature so 
 well, they seized upon it as a good excuse to curry 
 favor with the white men. So they went through the 
 dead man's effects, finding documents which identified 
 him as Jacob Gleeson, an adventurer and land pros- 
 pector from Pennsbury on the Susquehanna. From 
 the look of things he had been shot down by an Indian, 
 Young Jacob, in cold blood. 
 
 They made haste to report the crime when they 
 arrived at Standing Stone. 
 
 The virtuous Proprietary Government, on the alert 
 to avenge a white man's death, but sometimes singularly 
 apathetic when an Indian was slain, no matter what 
 the circumstances, set its wheels in motion to apprehend 
 the savage murderer. A reward was offered, and the 
 news spread to the four corners of the wilderness. 
 
 Young Jacob sensed this situation perfectly, and 
 made himself a fugitive. When the pursuit became too 
 hot he allied himself with the Tories and was one of 
 the real leaders of that treacherous band. The con- 
 tempt which the settlers once had for him changed to 
 fear. Many were the white men ambushed and cruelly 
 slain by his direction. His youth, his dash, and his
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 163 
 
 close relationship to the old chiefs gave him the 
 sobriquet of "the king's son." He seemed to be the 
 active agent for all the devilish conduct of Indians and 
 white renegades. The government was most anxious 
 to apprehend him to atone for Gleeson's "murder," 
 and to remove the ringleader of so many bloody deeds. 
 It had not been forgotten how Young Jacob's father 
 and his warriors had been rounded up at Kittanning by 
 a force of three hundred intrepid men sent after them 
 from Fort Shirley, under the command of the famous 
 Colonel John Armstrong, for whom Armstrong County 
 was named, and to whom the city of Philadelphia pre- 
 sented a silver medal for his great victory. 
 
 It was in the month of September, in the year 1 756, 
 when the attacking force surprised the Indian band at 
 three o'clock in the morning. They had been guided 
 to the town through the darkness by the whooping of 
 the Indians, who were holding a war-dance. Young 
 Jacob had urged them to save their energies for a bet- 
 ter purpose, but to no avail. And it was he, with 
 clearer senses than the rest, at dawn first noticed the 
 attacking party crossing the cornfield which bordered 
 the settlement. 
 
 Rousing the sleepy-eyed defenders, he posted them 
 at the loopholes in Captain Jacobs's redoubt. A shot 
 from Young Jacob's rifle wounded Colonel Armstrong 
 in the shoulder, and he fell in a heap. Directing the 
 forces from where he lay, he ordered that the Indians* 
 huts be set on fire, as the redmen refused quarter. The 
 redmen mocked their efforts to fire the buildings, but
 
 164 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 some of the soldiers with reckless bravery were able to 
 start the blaze going at one corner of Captain Jacobs's 
 house. 
 
 During a lull in the firing the old chieftain, his 
 squaw and Young Jacob, "the king's son," attempted 
 to escape from the burning building through a window 
 nearest the river. Captain Jacobs, in assisting his 
 squaw through the window, was shot in the head and 
 he fell back dead amid the smoke. The squaw 
 plunged bravely into the water, but was shot dead. 
 Young Jacob, not wishing to die a coward's death, 
 sprang through the window and reached the opposite 
 shore of the river before he fell wounded, pierced by 
 half a dozen balls. The first reports had it that he 
 was killed. 
 
 A party of Indians who arrived on the far shore after 
 the battle was in progress, at the risk of their lives 
 rescued the courageous young warrior and carried him 
 back into the forest. There in a dismal glade, in a 
 haunt of night herons, he was nursed back to health, 
 as befitted "the king's son." 
 
 But after years of plotting Young Jacob was shot 
 to death ignobly with Weston and his Tories, when 
 they were surprised at Kittanning in 1 778, And thus 
 ended the earthly career of one of the most remark- 
 able Indians of the Juniata, an unreconcilable to the 
 last, fighting for the ancient ideals, for "life, liberty 
 and the pursuit of happiness." 
 
 And when the report was sent broadcast that Young 
 Jacob was among the fallen, the slaughter of the Tories
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 165 
 
 at Kittanning was accounted doubly a victory. But 
 when James Logan, or Tah-Gah-Jute, heard the news 
 out in Ohio he grieved silently and long, thinking of 
 the old days at his favorite resting place, under the 
 giant oaks by the boiling spring, in old Pennsylvania, 
 where he had spent so many hours in conference with 
 the dead warrior. And his grief was deep, because 
 he knew that the Indian race had lost its sincerest cham- 
 pion; that the hoped-for renaissance would never be.
 
 166 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 XII. 
 LOST CREEK VALLEY. 
 
 THE STORY OF A JUNIATA TRIBUTARY. 
 
 THE historian Jones mentions Lost Creek Valley 
 as one of the most beautiful regions in the Juniata 
 country, and explains how it obtained the name. 
 It appeared that some Indian traders visited the valley 
 in 1 740, finding it inhabited by Indians, and were able 
 to make some satisfactory deals with them. In 1741 
 they returned to the Juniata Valley, but were unable 
 to find the valley of Lost Creek. It was not until the 
 following summer that they found it again. By that 
 time the Indian inhabitants had disappeared and were 
 never afterward heard of. With this outline the de- 
 tails of the finding and losing of Lost Creek Valley, 
 and the vanishing of its inhabitants, a strange old 
 legend, were listened to with breathless interest when 
 told by one of the aged inhabitants of the locality. 
 This story had come down through four or five gen- 
 erations from the old Indian, John Hutson, who fig- 
 ured so frequently in the early annals of Juniata 
 County, and who was one of the guides who led the 
 traders back into the valley in 1 742. 
 
 Hutson's name v/ill live in Pennsylvania history for 
 the part he played in the celebrated Grey case, which
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 167 
 
 involved the carrying away to the North of a beautiful 
 white child named Jenny Grey, and the later substitu- 
 tion by her mother of a "black Dutch" orphan, in 
 order to claim a valuable estate located about six miles 
 from Mifflin. The case was in the courts for fifty 
 years, and was finally decided against the false claim- 
 ant. Meanwhile, according to Hutson, the real Jenny 
 Grey was married to a prominent man, one of Sir Will- 
 iam Johnson's neighbors in Northern New York State, 
 and became the mother of a large family. 
 
 It was said that Hutson was a Tuscarora. At any 
 rate he seemed friendliest with that tribe. From the 
 date of the first settlements at Harris' Ferry, later Har- 
 risburg, that important trading post became the head- 
 quarters for adventurers, soldiers of fortune and traders 
 of all stripes and shades. First settled by John Harris 
 in I 726, it was possessed of a considerable population 
 in 1 740, in which latter year Paxton Church, three 
 miles east of the trading post, was erected. 
 
 The adventurers and traders on their way to the un- 
 settled regions and the big game country usually rested 
 for a few days at "The Ferry," listening to the tales 
 of those recently back to civilization, outfitting them- 
 selves and securing directions. Harris' trading house 
 had connected with it a long avenue of sheds, which 
 sometimes were filled to the roofs with hides and furs, 
 mostly obtained by him in trading with the Indians. In 
 many respects it corresponded to the town of Nairobi 
 in British East Africa, a favorite outpost for settlers 
 and big game hunters before going into the wilderness.
 
 168 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 If only records or descriptions of that early life had 
 been kept, it would have been a wondrous groundwork 
 for romance. As it is, we have only the severe Puri- 
 tanical account from the pen of the ascetic David 
 Brainerd to guide us in forming a mental picture of 
 Harris' post. 
 
 But at all times the "Ferry" was thronged with a 
 picturesque and motley crew. From government agents 
 and military officers, big game hunters and trappers, 
 down to half-breed camp-followers and sharpers, the 
 floating population exhibited all the gradations of hu- 
 man society. It was virtually a "port of missing men," 
 as persons long since disappeared from their early en- 
 vironments could be met with about the old stockade. 
 Romantic were the tales that they could tell, these in- 
 satiable ne'er-do-wells, who were ever on the watch 
 for a fresh chance for excitement and gain. Some of 
 the most degraded looking were men of education, 
 graduates of colleges in Germany or Ireland, black 
 sheep, being dyed a deeper color amid the lawlessness 
 of the frontier. And there were some not really bad, 
 but weak characters, sunk by drink into existences of 
 shady nature. Murder, pillage, oppression, swindling, 
 had been the crimes of many, all unrecorded in the un- 
 trameled life of the forests. 
 
 Of varied antecedents was a party of four young 
 men who started on an exploring and bartering trip 
 from the Harris trading house in 1 740. The leader 
 of the party, James McHale, was a recent graduate 
 of Trinity College, Dublin. His companion, Jacob
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 169 
 
 Jondro, had attended the University at Bonn in Ger- 
 many, while attached to their party were two Penn- 
 sylvania Frenchmen from Conoy Creek, near Lemcas- 
 ter, PhilHp and Isaac La Bolt. Both McHale and 
 Jondro came of respectable parentage, but had wasted 
 their inheritances and were much addicted to drink and 
 carousing. The La Bolt brothers had hunted and 
 pioneered along the Juniata for several years, were 
 friendly with the Indians, and understood the practical 
 side of camping and trading. 
 
 McHale and Jondro had become acquainted at 
 Lancaster, where they decided to pool their small re- 
 maining capital and spend a year trading with the In- 
 dians, eventually locating in some fertile valley where 
 game was plentiful. Before leaving Harris' stockade, 
 where they secured their outfit, they had met the 
 Indian, John Hutson, who was anxious to accompany 
 them, but his offer was refused, as it would have meant 
 dividing the spoils of the expedition into five parts in- 
 stead of four. 
 
 The La Bolts, who were expert canoe builders, con- 
 structed two stout boats, and with one of them as pilot 
 for each craft, started away one fine spring morning 
 for the wilds of the Juniata country. Their aim was 
 to follow the stream, trading with the Indians on the 
 way, until they passed all existing settlements or signs 
 of settlements. Then they would hide their canoes in 
 the woods and follow some unexplored creek to its 
 headwaters, there to meet with plenty of game and per- 
 haps good homestead sites.
 
 !70 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 But as they paddled along they found that most of 
 the redmen whose camps lined the banks had earlier 
 in the season sold their furs to the traders, and many 
 of the hides which packed John Harris' sheds had come 
 from that region. But the idea of hunting, of finding 
 suitable homesteads, was uppermost in their minds, so 
 they pushed on up stream. Every night they tied up 
 near an Indian encampment, as they liked to mingle 
 with the picturesque redskins, and learn many things 
 from them concerning the new country. 
 
 One night they moored near a cabin occupied by a 
 solitary old Indian named O-To-Wa, who proved to 
 be one of John Hutson's friends. This old savage 
 was very communicative, and painted a brilliant pic- 
 ture of the rich valleys which lay beyond. A small 
 stream emptied into the river near this encampment, 
 about which the pioneers thought little until old 
 O-To-Wa told them that it issued from one of the 
 most beautiful valleys in the province, a vale teeming 
 with rich land and game, as yet unvisited by white men 
 and still inhabited by a few peaceful Indians. 
 
 McHale suggested that such a narrow, unimportant 
 looking stream could hardly drain a very large valley, 
 but the Indian told him that the creek had several 
 mouths, and pointed a few hundred yards up the river 
 to where it had another outlet. Between these mouths 
 was jungle and brake, and the old oaks and birches 
 hung over the estuaries, practically hiding them from 
 view. The old Indian told the young men that they 
 would be making no mistake to explore the hidden
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 171 
 
 valley, so they decided to take his advice and abandon 
 their up-stream expedition for the present. 
 
 The lower reaches of the creek, just beyond the foot 
 of the mountains, seemed to run through an impene- 
 trable morass, filled with water birds of all kinds, and 
 with a tropical touch added to it by the presence of 
 large flocks of Carolina paroquets, white herons and 
 innumerable insects. But a country difficult of access 
 was what the young men were seeking, they longed to 
 be off the beaten path, to hew a way for themselves, a 
 home for themselves in the heart of the wilds. But 
 after they reached the gorge between the mountains, 
 where the creek fell with a deafening roar over three 
 waterfalls, the scene became very different. The nar- 
 row gap, grown thick with giant hemlocks and pines 
 whose tops were reaching out to the sun, was as dark 
 as night for the most part of the day. Fallen trees lay 
 across the stream, covered with mosses, the oft-used 
 bridges of the panthers, wolves and lynxes. Peeping 
 through the thickets of tall rhododendrons, many otter 
 slides could be noticed on the hillsides, and in whose 
 deep rock fissures were the lairs of bears and wolves. 
 Up on the steeps of the forested mountains ravens 
 croaked and jays screamed. It was like the gateway 
 to some hunters' paradise, so thought the young ex- 
 plorers as they clambered up slippery logs and over 
 sharp rocks, through the wild gorge. 
 
 When they reached the top of the highest of the 
 three waterfalls they obtained their first glimpse of the 
 sun, — the beavers had dammed the stream almost the
 
 172 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 width of the valley and cut off most of the smaller tim- 
 ber. Looking beyond the beaver pond with its "cab- 
 ins," so reminiscent of the ancient huts of the lake 
 dwellers, the pioneers could see that the valley widened 
 appreciably, and there were gaps in the endless growth 
 of tall white pines, which might be clearings or settle- 
 ments. From the long lines of the high mountains on 
 either side of the valley, which faded into the land- 
 scape at the far southwest end, they decided that the 
 valley must be at least ten miles in length. At some 
 points it seemed to be several miles in width. There 
 was something about this secluded valley that appealed 
 to all four adventurers. It had been well worth coming 
 to, and McHale showed so much delight that Jondro 
 suggested that they elect him "king." 
 
 "I would like to rule over this valley if I could find 
 a queen," said the young Irishman jokingly. 
 
 After taking in the splendid scene for some minutes 
 the party, headed by McHale, went on their way, 
 soon falling into an Indian path, which came into the 
 valley from the most easterly mountain, showing that 
 the redskins had easier access to the region by avoid- 
 ing the rocky creek. From the looks of the path it was 
 frequently used, so the explorers had high hopes of 
 reaching an Indian settlement for the night. 
 
 Despite this evidence of human inhabitants, the 
 prevalence of game indicated a virgin wilderness. In 
 a mile the tracks of a hundred deer were counted cross- 
 ing the path, as well as the spoor of bears, wolves, 
 foxes and other beasts. Jondro had his rifle primed to
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 173 
 
 kill the first thing he saw, but his companions urged him 
 not to shoot, as they did not want to make a bad "first 
 impression" on the Indians. 
 
 When a flock of fifty wild turkeys marched across 
 the trail not a dozen paces in front of the impetuous 
 German, he could restrain himself no longer and shot 
 the head off the biggest gobbler. He picked up the 
 dead bird, as the others flew away, but it was so heavy 
 that after carrying it a few feet he dropped it into the 
 brush. 
 
 "We'll come back after it if we need it," he said as 
 he resumed his way. It was fortunate that none of 
 the Indians heard this remark, as they hated nothing 
 worse than the wastefulness of the white men. 
 
 It was mid-afternoon when the party reached the 
 Indian campground. It covered about ten acres, al- 
 though there were only about half a dozen huts in it. 
 Most of the big pines had been girdled and were dead, 
 and there were signs that part of the ground had been 
 recently planted with Indian corn. Hanging on trees, 
 and from poles and ropes, were hundreds of bear hides, 
 red and black, black, cross and grey fox hides, beaver, 
 fisher and otter skins, while many deer and wolf hides, 
 of less commercial value, lay about on the turf. The 
 skulls of bison, here and there, added to the pic- 
 turesqueness of the scene. The fires on the stone 
 hearths were completely out, evidently the Indians had 
 gone away the day before. They must have lived in 
 a country where there was no molestation of any kind 
 to leave such a valuable stock of furs entirely unpro-
 
 174 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 tected. Jondro, half jokingly, suggested that the party 
 load up with the best skins and strike for the Ju- 
 niata. 
 
 "No," said McHale, "if I am to be king here I 
 don't want to begin my reign by robbing my subjects." 
 
 The Indian camp was situated in an elbow of the 
 creek, a beautiful land, the bottom well drained and 
 with rich soil. It was an ideal spot to stop, so the pio- 
 neers decided to make themselves at home until the In- 
 dians returned. They were tolerably certain of a 
 friendly welcome, especially since they would say that 
 they were friends of old O-To-Wa. So the newcomers 
 took possession of the hearths, building on them cheery 
 fires, as the night settled in very cold. Isaac La Bolt 
 found the hindquarters of an elk in one of the pools, 
 and this made a very acceptable supper. After the 
 meal, when all were ready to retire for the night, a 
 pack of wolves surrounded the camp, drawn thither by 
 the human voices and the smell of the cooking. The 
 fierce animals kept up their howling all night, although 
 the young men discharged several volleys from their 
 rifles into the darkness. 
 
 In the morning when the La Bolt brothers were 
 cooking a breakfast of wild pigeon eggs, the Indian 
 families who resided at the secluded village appeared 
 on the scene, single file. Their coming was so silently 
 accomplished that no one was aware of their presence 
 until they stood within a few feet of the campfire. 
 
 Unaffected by the dissimulation of the white men, 
 their faces were wreathed with smiles and trustfulness
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 175 
 
 as they greeted the four young strangers. Isaac 
 La Bolt, whose long association with the Conestogas, 
 Conoys and Shawnees made him an adept in handling 
 the savages, responded in a graceful manner, and pre- 
 sented the old chief, who seemed to be the leader of 
 the party, with a string of glass beads. The chief 
 handed his pipe to La Bolt, and the friendship was 
 declared cemented. 
 
 The white men explained to the Indicms that they 
 had come into the valley on a peaceful mission, to 
 trade and barter with the inhabitants. They would 
 be willing to discuss terms for the sale of the entire 
 stock of furs which hung about the encampment. As 
 Isaac La Bolt, who did most of the talking, conferred 
 with the chief, McHale was looking around at the 
 faces of the Indians. They were a copper-colored lot, 
 with sloping foreheads, wide mouths and shoe-button 
 eyes, all but one. This was a girl about seventeen 
 years, quite tall for her age, slim and very white. But 
 for the texture of her blackish hair, and her general at- 
 mosphere, she might have passed for a very good look- 
 ing white girl. La Bolt, who was a quick trader, had 
 almost bought the entire winter's catch of furs, the price 
 to be two rifles and a certain number of rounds of am- 
 munition, before McHale was aware of what was go- 
 ing on. He was blind to everything except the slim 
 pale girl's charms. He had been looking at her so hard 
 that she dropped her head, but he felt that she was 
 not unfriendly to him, as she cast sidelong glances at 
 him from under her long dark lashes.
 
 176 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 During a lull in the negotiations the young Irishman 
 put his arm around La Bolt and asked him if he no- 
 ticed the white girl, and if he had any idea who she 
 might be. The trader shook his head, but said that he 
 would soon find out. After he had spoken McHale was 
 sorry for expressing a confidence to a man of La Bolt's 
 type, the fellow might also admire the white girl. 
 
 But at noon, when the Indians as hosts entertained 
 the white men at a venison dinner, McHale was intro- 
 duced to the girl as Mary Melanie, step-daughter of 
 Ki-Ni-Ka, the chief of the band, and niece of the 
 great Chief Toganogan, well known along the Susque- 
 hanna. During the meal he further learned that she 
 had been born along the "big river" near Pennsbury 
 Manor, her father, now dead, having been a white man 
 named Benjamin McMorris. As the day wore on the 
 young Celt became well acquainted with the fair half- 
 breed, and as she could speak a few words of French, 
 as well as English, they grew to know each other as 
 well as other shy and rather silent young persons do in 
 this modern civilized life. For we all like fully as 
 much those with whom we exchange few words as 
 those who entertain us with their conversational gifts, — 
 for liking comes from inward harmony. 
 
 By the end of a week the young men knew the val- 
 ley thoroughly. Each had chosen the corner where 
 he would like to live, and blazed a few trees, not 
 enough to disturb the Indians, to mark his selected 
 boundaries. They could be happy and prosperous in 
 that valley, it was easy of access over the ridges, hunt-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 177 
 
 ing and trapping would be good for years, agricultur- 
 ally it was a "gold mine." 
 
 McHale and Mary Melanie were drawn to each 
 other by a mysterious bond, and while the canny Irish- 
 man confided in no one, his three companions decided 
 that he had gotten a start on them and chosen a life 
 companion for the new home. The young men held 
 many councils together. They decided that it would 
 be best for them to buy the stock of furs and carry it 
 across the mountains and load it on a flat and take it to 
 Harris' Ferry. The two La Bolt brothers who had a 
 farm on Conoy Creek, would travel east with the furs 
 and put their place in order with a view to selling it. 
 McHale and Jondro would continue their canoe trip 
 to the headings of the Juniata to explore the country, 
 and find, if possible, a location that would suit them 
 better. They would return in the autumn and report 
 at the La Bolt home. If nothing suited better all four 
 would go in the early spring to the hidden valley and 
 take up homesteads. In any event the La Bolts would 
 go there, as they had younger brothers growing up who 
 would take care of their aged parents. 
 
 Ki-Ni-Ka and some of his stalwart retainers acted 
 as bearers for the pioneers with their superb lot of furs. 
 It was a steep climb to the top of the ridge, then over 
 a tableland, thence down grade all the rest of the way 
 to the Juniata. It would not be worth while to go 
 back after the cheap bark canoes left at old O-To- 
 Wa's camp, so a compact flat boat was constructed, 
 with a tent made of buffalo hides on the deck, and on
 
 178 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 this the two young La Bolts, with their load of hides, 
 floated with the current to John Harris' trading house. 
 
 McHale and Jondro, in canoes built by the Indians, 
 paddled westward, eventually penetrating as far as 
 French Run, near the head of the Raystown Branch. 
 At French Run they fell in with a large party of 
 French surveyors and prospectors, with whom they ex- 
 plored and hunted until late in the autumn. 
 
 McHale was well pleased with the country on the 
 Raystown Branch, especially the Broad Top plateau, 
 and would have selected a home site there instead of 
 in the hidden valley had it not been for his memories 
 of the rare Mary Melanie, better known as "Toga- 
 nogan's niece." The young Irishman was secretly very 
 lonely for her, and had to be on the move constantly to 
 keep from grieving. If there had been any "firewater" 
 in the Frenchmen's camp he might have returned to his 
 old habits, but there was none and he felt himself im- 
 provmg physically under the strenuous existence he was 
 leading, and his hopes of love and happiness for the 
 future. 
 
 But with the prospects of cold weather he started 
 for the east, accompanied by his friend Jondro. The 
 Frenchmen had not liked the young High German 
 very much, as he was proud and boastful, and several 
 times it v/as only McHale's tact that saved him from 
 altercations with them. 
 
 When the tv/o young men beached their canoe at 
 Harris' Ferry the first person to greet them was the old 
 Indian, John Hutson. He hastened to tell them that
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 179 
 
 the La Bolt's flatload of furs was considered the finest 
 shipment received at the trading house that season. 
 Though it was the last to arrive it brought the biggest 
 price. Dozens of trappers had tried to coax the loca- 
 tion of the hunting ground from the brothers, but they 
 refused to divulge it. 
 
 This pleased the young men, who did not tarry long 
 at the trading house. They were anxious to reach the 
 La Bolt home and hear the good news first hand. 
 When they came to Conoy Creek they found the La 
 Bolts ensconced in their comfortable home, which they 
 had now arranged to sell to their four younger brothers 
 on easy payments. They confirmed everything that Hut- 
 son had said, and were delighted to know that McHale 
 and Jondro would accompany them back to the hidden 
 valley in the early spring. The brothers gave an honest 
 accounting of the sale of furs, and with the proceeds 
 of it, and with other money, McHale and his friend 
 spent the winter very comfortably in Philadelphia. 
 
 McHale could hardly wait to resume his journey 
 back to the Juniata, never did a winter pass more 
 slowly. The young Irishman managed to do a little 
 teaching to help pass the time, but he was mentally dis- 
 tressed. The night before starting again for the wilds 
 he confided to Jondro that he had proposed marriage 
 to the half-breed girl, had been accepted, and would 
 marry her as soon as they were reunited in the hidden 
 valley. There was a dealer in rings and precious 
 stones, a Portuguese Jew, one of the first in the Quaker 
 province, living in the house where the young men
 
 180 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 boarded, and from him McHale invested practically 
 his last cent in a handsome gold ring set with small dia- 
 monds. It was to be the token of his unselfish love for 
 Mary Melanie. 
 
 The young men, filled with high hopes, traveled by 
 wagon to Lancaster, where they cut across country on 
 foot to Conoy Creek to the La Bolt home. They 
 found two Indian boys in the Market Square at Lan- 
 caster who acted as bearers for their goods. The La 
 Bolts were ready, and had constructed a large pirogue, 
 nicely balanced, which carried the four youths and 
 their goods up the river. Of course they stopped at 
 John Harris', where they were the envy of all, — four 
 young men bound for a rich hunting country, the loca- 
 tion of which no one knew aught but themselves. John 
 Hutson tried hard to be taken along. He begged and 
 pleaded and even ran out to his knees' depth in the 
 river when they started away. But they did not want 
 to add to their party. They suspected that all Hutson 
 wanted was to know where they were going, and sell 
 the information to others. 
 
 When they headed their boat into the Juniata it 
 seemed as if their journey was almost at an end. They 
 decided that it would be a little quicker to go in by old 
 O-To-Wa's camp, so kept on the watch for the fa- 
 miliar landmarks. But though they went as far as they 
 were sure it must be, not a sign could they find, or no 
 trace of O-To-Wa. They could not describe the 
 place intelligently to other Indians whom they met, 
 but they learned that old O-To-Wa had gone across
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 181 
 
 country to Shamokin late in the fall, and rumor had it 
 that he had died while on a mission to the north for 
 Shikellemus. 
 
 So they went down the stream to where the trail had 
 brought them out, where Ki-Ni-Ka and his henchmen 
 had built their boats. With some little trouble they 
 found that mooring, but the trails back into the moun- 
 tains had been pretty well broken up by the windfalls 
 and storms of the winter. They followed one, then 
 another, penetrating into many beautiful and fertile 
 valleys, but the valley of "Lost Creek" they could not 
 find. So they returned to their boat and went back to 
 the mouth of the Juniata. Up the West Branch they 
 went in search of Toganogan and O-To-Wa. To- 
 ganogan was well known, but was said to be in the 
 north. The retainers at his camp near McKee's Half 
 Falls knew of his having a niece Mary Melanie, but 
 could not tell the location of the valley in which she 
 lived. 
 
 "Go to Shamokin and see O-To-Wa," was the 
 general advice. At Shamokin they were received in 
 audience by Shikellemus, the mighty vicegerent of the 
 Iroquois Confederation. This grand old Indian and 
 true friend of the white men gave them a royal wel- 
 come, but imparted the sad news that O-To-Wa had 
 fallen over a precipice, while walking in his sleep, 
 somewhere on the North Branch, a few months before. 
 
 Thachnectoarus, better known as Captain Logan, 
 Shikellemus' eldest son, politely offered to escort the 
 white men across the hills to the Juniata, and resume
 
 182 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 the hunt, or if they would wait until October Toga- 
 nogan would be back from his embassy to the Onon- 
 daga and could give them the desired directions. 
 
 As affording the least delay they accepted Captain 
 Logan's invitation and started southward, coming out 
 at the Juniata at the mouth of Delaware Creek. 
 Though it was not far from the spot they were looking 
 for, the combined talent were unable to find it, so after 
 presenting a rifle to Captain Logan as a token of ap- 
 preciation they built a new canoe, with the intention of 
 going to Harris' Ferry to enlist John Hutson's aid. 
 
 At the last minute the La Bolt boys decided not to 
 return east, but instead went back with Logan to Sha- 
 mokin. It is said that they finally settled permanently 
 on Crane's Run, in Pfoutz' Valley. When McHale 
 and Jondro reached Harris' place, John Hutson was 
 not there. He had gone down the river on a flat boat, 
 presumably to Maryland ; no one knew when he would 
 return. 
 
 It was now Jake Jondro's turn to desert. He met a 
 party of Germans bound for the headwaters of the 
 Swatara. They were filled with bright prospects, and 
 one of them had a pretty daughter, so he left McHale 
 without much ceremony to fight out his destiny alone. 
 There was nothing to do but wait for Hutson to come 
 back. After a month and no signs of him, McHale's 
 cash running low, compelled him to take work as a 
 farmhand, and to help clear some land in the Conewago 
 Hills. There he worked until the spring of the follow- 
 ing year, 1 742, when he heard that John Hutson was
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 183 
 
 back at "the Ferry." Throwing up his irksome situa- 
 tion, and with his httle store of money and the gold and 
 jeweled ring, he set out for the famous trading house. 
 
 He found the Indian, who, despite past rebuffs, was 
 glad to go with him, as he said he knew exactly where 
 old O-To-Wa used to camp, also the trail across the 
 high ridges. And McHale also learned that Jondro 
 had been back the week before. He did not like the 
 Blue Mountain country, and was setting out with one 
 compcuiion, also a German, for the Juniata. Perhaps 
 he, too, was seeking the "lost" valley. 
 
 Hutson had become possessor of a good canoe, so 
 the start was prom.ptly made. At the mouth of the 
 Juniata, on Haldeman's Island, they overtook Jondro 
 and his friend, who were encamped there. Past dif- 
 ferences were forgotten, and the two parties joined 
 forces. It was not long before the sloping open beach 
 where the boats had been built was discovered, and 
 Htitson soon had the party on the right trail for Lost 
 Creek Valley. It seemed a very simple place to reach 
 — when one knew how. 
 
 It was in the last moments of the golden hour, on a 
 beautiful day in early June, when the sun was getting 
 ready to sink behind the western mountains that the 
 party got their first view of the elusive vale. Never did 
 its charm show off to better advantage, the lavender 
 colored peaks, the pine-capped slopes, the open 
 meadows, the dark forest corners, the distant roar of 
 the hidden waterfalls. Forest warblers were singing 
 sweetly in the tall hemlocks. James McHale's whole
 
 184 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 nature was aglow with joy and expectation. With 
 rapid stride he led the party down the familiar trail 
 which would come out into the clearing where the In- 
 dian encampment was located. 
 
 When they got within easy distance of it they were 
 surprised to find the surroundings strangely still. 
 Breaking into a run, McHale rushed out of the forest 
 into the opening. The Indians were gone again. But 
 this time it looked as if they had been absent for a long 
 while. The thatched roofs of the cabins had fallen in, 
 there was grass between the stones of the open hearths, 
 there were no hides nailed on trees or stretched by pegs 
 over the grass. Everything savored of abandonment 
 and ruin. The mildewed buffalo skulls seemed em- 
 blems of the desolation. The Indians had gone surely 
 enough, but where to? Would it be hopeless to try 
 and track them further in the wilnerness? 
 
 McHale bit his lips and leaned against a dead pine 
 to steady himself. Lost Creek Valley was doubly lost 
 to him without the pale, wan figure that he loved, and 
 who was the very spirit of the savage place. There 
 was nothing to do but to settle down for the night in 
 the lonely spot, the valley from which the soul had fled. 
 Jondro killed a brace of wild turkeys, and a toothsome 
 supper was prepared, but McHale had no taste 
 for it. 
 
 After dark the wolves surrounded the camp, howl- 
 ing just as they had the first night he had been there 
 two years before. If he only knew their language they 
 might tell him where the copper-visaged campers had
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 185 
 
 gone. But he could make nothing sensible out of their 
 dismal howls and baying. 
 
 In the morning, with his comrades, a thorough ex- 
 ploration of the valley was made, which included a trip 
 down the gorge of the waterfalls, clear to old O-To- 
 Wa's abandoned camp. And the search was con- 
 tinued every day for a week, many adjacent valleys 
 being visited. But not a sign or clew of any of the 
 missing Indians was found. 
 
 Then Jondro and the other German determined to 
 leave again; it was a lonesome valley after all. John 
 Hutson felt that it would be to his best interests to de- 
 part with them. But as for James McHale, he who 
 had discovered Lost Creek Valley, and found love, 
 came out boldly, declaring that he would remain, he 
 could find a living there, and maybe love would come 
 back again.
 
 186 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 XIII. 
 THE OLD TREE. 
 
 THE TALE OF A VANISHED LANDMARK. 
 
 CLOSE by the bank of the "Blue Juniata," fac- 
 ing the dark glen back of the picturesque bor- 
 ough of McVeytowoi, there stood for centuries, 
 and until the flood of 1889 uprooted it and swept it 
 away, a giant linden tree, a conspicuous landmark for 
 generations of red men and white. During its latter 
 years most of its top branches were gone, in fact little 
 else remained except the main trunk with its tremendous 
 girth, and hollow at that, to brave the storms. When 
 the great flood swept down the valley, carrying every- 
 thing before it, it seemed as if it sounded the tocsin of 
 the new order of things. The grave, the quaint, the 
 picturesque, the old-fashioned, all had to make way 
 for the prosaic, matter-of-fact, dollar-mad world, 
 which the com.ing twentieth century would usher in. 
 The stack, the forge, the foundry, the dynamo, the 
 sand-rock quarry, the power house vvould render un- 
 sightly the pleasant nooks and peaceful valleys where 
 the Indians once trod and which a hardier race of white 
 men fought against aborigines and nature to possess. 
 The great flood facilitated the vandalism which fol- 
 lowed in its wake, the forces of discouraged nature
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 187 
 
 swept out quickly what man with his axes, picks, gun- 
 powder, and steam shovels had started to do labori- 
 ously. 
 
 And with the old log cabins, shady groves, giant 
 trees, old fords, ferries, beaver dams, and reed-grown 
 pools, went the legends, the folklore, the ghosts that 
 lingered about these survivals of a simpler and happier 
 day. And no one can be truly happy who does not 
 live in an atmosphere of the past, whether it be mental 
 or actual. The mechanical world may pile up bank 
 accounts mountain high for the few, but it brings mo- 
 notony, dreariness, empty pleasures, short life for the 
 many. Oh, the joy of actually having seen the Juniata 
 before the great flood, yet it only appears in the writer's 
 eye of faith ! 
 
 Toward the last days of the giant linden tree, in the 
 year preceding the deluge, various propositions to cut 
 it down were discussed. "It took up room in the field," 
 "It gave no shade," "It was a rotten old shell," were a 
 few of the wise reasons advanced for its elimination. 
 But the spirit of procrastination that is the bane of 
 many Pennsylvania farmers saved the tree until it 
 might disappear with its generation! The fact that a 
 very curious old legend of the early days of the Juniata 
 Valley clustered about it had no weight with those 
 having influence over the life of the tree. The old 
 stories were "played out," so the shrewd young mate- 
 rialists held, better get rid of all the landmarks con- 
 nected with them, there v/as not time for such trash. 
 
 If the truth must be told, the last fifteen years of
 
 188 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 the nineteenth century worked hardest on the old tales 
 than any other period. It was an ugly period anyway, 
 a period devoid of taste, as is evidenced by the hideous 
 post offices, city halls, hotels and business blocks 
 erected throughout Central Pennsylvania during those 
 years. Their bareness and coldness typifies the ma- 
 terial selfish aims of the builders, and the writer always 
 hurries by them with a shudder and feels uncomfortable 
 whenever he has to enter their inhospitable doors. 
 
 It appeared that for a number of years an aged In- 
 dian, called Old Israel, because of his Hebraic fea- 
 tures, ranged through the Juniata Valley. He was 
 probably the same savage who killed Joseph Campbell, 
 the Indian trader, at the foot of the Tuscarora Valley, 
 near Parnall's Knob, in 1 744, but escaped punishment 
 for political reasons. So with the lapse of years the 
 bitterness felt toward him by the white race passed 
 away, as he became welcome at manj'^ a farmhouse 
 along the Juniata. 
 
 Like most of the wandering Indians, he was a noted 
 story teller. It was an age when books were few, and 
 farming folks had little time for reading, and to supply 
 this want in their busy life, travelers, who put up for 
 the night, were expected after supper to tell to the as- 
 sembled household of their adventures on land and on 
 sea, or of events in the stirring past. In this way the 
 remnant of Indians became a class of professional 
 story tellers, in a sense like the Celtic bards who 
 cheered the long evenings in the Scottish farmsteads 
 pf the ancestors of the Juniata Valley's solid pioneers.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 189 
 
 An Indian who had nothing to relate, who sat before 
 the fire like a wooden image, would have to be a ster- 
 ling workman or he would be apt to be turned away 
 on his next visit. 
 
 As near as can be learned there were at one time 
 nearly a hundred of these wandering Indian story 
 tellers moving up and down the Juniata and other val- 
 leys. Their numbers gradually dwindled until they 
 were all gone, and their places were taken, but not as 
 well, by veterans of the Napoleonic wars, sons of old 
 Indian fighters, drummer boys from the Revolution, 
 great hunters, tinkers, traders, and peddlers. 
 
 Old Israel used to say that when he was a boy it 
 was a part of an Indian's education to receive the 
 oral history of his race from the old people. It 
 was as necessary as the art of hunting, fishing, 
 fighting. It was considered the highest attribute in 
 education, of more importance even than the arts of 
 war. 
 
 These old traditions were told in such an interesting 
 manner that no young Indian ever forgot them. They 
 knew the history of their people better than many of 
 the white settlers, who after one generation forgot 
 everything except that their people had been Ulster 
 Scots or Germans, sometimes even getting their nation- 
 ality mixed, but at best could not name the places in 
 Ireland or the Palatinate where they originated, or the 
 date when they arrived in Pennsylvania. It remained 
 for those of their descendants who amassed fortunes in 
 Pittsburg or Philadelphia to suddenly learn it all to
 
 190 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 the smallest branches, and grow from it an emblazoned 
 "family tree." 
 
 Old Israel's favorite story related to the thrilling 
 days when the Southern Indians, tiring of the confine- 
 ment and struggling of their narrow valleys along the 
 Maryland line, decided on the invasion of the peaceful 
 and beautiful valley of the Juniata. The original In- 
 dians residing there were so happy and contented that 
 they were utterly unprepared for war. As many of 
 them were vegetarians, subsisting on dried fruits and 
 nuts during the winter months, the manufacture of ar- 
 rows and spears was becoming a lost art. Where there 
 were no hunters there were no warriors. That was an 
 old Indian maxim. But agriculture and fruit raising 
 appealed more to these gentle Juniata Indians, they 
 increased more in numbers and wealth by the arts of 
 peace than by the arts of war. They never molested 
 any of their neighbors to the north or south, did not ex- 
 pect to be molested in return. They were making rapid 
 strides in art and music, their bards and story tellers 
 possessed an oral literature as complete as many a white 
 nation would be proud of to-day. Their king, Chun- 
 Eh-Hoe, encouraged all that was best, and he and his 
 family were greatly beloved. 
 
 After many generations of such peaceful develop- 
 ment, it would have been folly to talk of "prepared- 
 ness." Soldiers were a disliked class, no one wanted 
 to think of a time when his ancestors fought, they were 
 as undesirable ancestors as undertakers are to-day. 
 
 But during this blissful period a war-cloud was gath-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 191 
 
 ering among the Southern Mountains. It gathered in 
 size and velocity until it swept into the happy vale of 
 the Juniata. 
 
 One day when Chun-Eh-Hoe, surrounded by his 
 devoted wife and family, were seated by the river bank 
 in the beautiful garden spot now occupied by the Penn- 
 sylvania Railroad creosoting plant at Mount Union, 
 that rare spot where Rev. Cyrus Jeffries dreamed of 
 erecting a replica of the gardens of Versailles, listening 
 to a famous bard recite a lengthy poem depicting the 
 future greatness of his race, a band of citizens, dusty, 
 wan and care-worn, bowed low and asked to be heard 
 in immediate audience. 
 
 As Chun-Eh-Hoe's court was democratic, the bard 
 was motioned to desist for a few moments while the 
 delegation of citizens expressed themselves. They 
 hesitated to break the awful news to spoil the good 
 king's peaceful rapture, but at length one Indian spoke 
 as follows: "Sire," he began, "you are happy, you are 
 good, you do not deserve to hear this, but it must be 
 told. This morning a large company of Southern In- 
 dians, armed with spears and poisoned darts, came 
 across the Blue Ridge through the gap a little to the 
 southwest of Matawanna, and began murdering your 
 peaceable subjects, sparing not even the women and 
 children. No one was able to defend his home, the 
 attacking force has already occupied several hundred 
 acres on the southern bank of the Juniata. What shall 
 we do to check their further advance?" 
 
 Chun-Eh-Hoe raised his hands in horror, his queen
 
 192 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 fell in a faint, the children wept with consternation. 
 
 "There is only one thing to do," he answered at 
 length, "send messengers to every point in my domain 
 informing my subjects of the invasion, and asking all 
 men and boys to arm themselves with stakes and toma- 
 hawks, and advance from north, east and west on the 
 cruel invaders." 
 
 The citizens then withdrew to the edge of the king's 
 camp, where they conferred with their ruler's master 
 of ceremonies. From him they secured a hundred fleet 
 youths, who sped in every direction to spread the 
 dreadful news. 
 
 Before sundown the male inhabitants of every en- 
 campment had armed themselves as best they could, 
 some bore axes, tomahawks, celts, clubs, sharpened 
 stakes, canoe paddles, every article of domestic use was 
 brought into play as a weapon of war, and were on 
 their way to the plains of Matawanna. When they 
 came in sight of the fertile flat which lies between the 
 Juniata and the foot of the Blue Ridge they could note 
 that it was in hostile hands. Stockades were being run 
 up, and smoke curled from the ruins of most of the 
 cabins that had lately stood in this charming area. 
 
 Chun-Eh-Hoe, as gallant a figure no doubt as King 
 Albert of Belgium, marshaled his volunteers for a 
 night attack. The Juniata Indians knew every foot 
 of ground, and thus figured an advantage over the 
 strangers. Almost before the invaders knew that the 
 Juniata forces had arrived they were attacked from 
 the east and west, the Juniata line closing in on them
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 193 
 
 and driving them back into the pass in the mountains. 
 It was there that their superior weapons stood them in 
 good stead, for they held a strong position until day- 
 break, when the attacking party withdrew. 
 
 The Juniata Valley was now free of its foes, but 
 the dead which Httered the plain were nearly all the 
 subjects of Chun-Eh-Hoe. The king determined if 
 possible to keep the Southern Indians in the gap, so 
 he marshaled his forces in solid lines across the paths 
 which led from the wild, deep glen. 
 
 As the morning advanced and no signs of attack 
 were made, Chun-Eh-Hoe commenced breathing 
 easily. He had just seated himself for dinner when a 
 messenger ran up to tell him that a much larger attack- 
 ing force of Southern Indians was crossing the Black 
 Log Mountains, and threatening the royal encamp- 
 ment near Mount Union. 
 
 Chun-Eh-Hoe turned pale, and dropping his morsel 
 of wild turkey breast, called some of his stoutest fol- 
 lowers, and started with them in the direction of the 
 royal campgrounds. When he got there he found that 
 the enemy was in possession of all the lands on the 
 south bank of the river, where they had massacred all 
 the women and children. He was able to prevent the 
 foes from crossing the Juniata, but could not dislodge 
 them from the rich flats in Hill Valley and on Augh- 
 wick Creek. 
 
 In the morning he learned to his sorrow that his 
 forces at Matawanna had been cut in two, and the 
 Southern Indians were again in possession of the flats
 
 194 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 south of the river. At noon he heard of another huge 
 attacking force that had crossed the BKie Ridge oppo- 
 site the present city of Lewistown, and sweeping across 
 the river was in full possession of the fertile plain as 
 far north as the present site of Yeagertown. 
 
 Chun-Eh-Hoe's realm was menaced by three attacks, 
 how could his poorly armed, untrained, pastoral sub- 
 jects hold out against such hordes. But victory some- 
 times is hard won, and long deferred. The forces of 
 Chun-Eh-Hoe, dominated by pure patroitism and love 
 of their king, managed to hold possession of the Juniata 
 Valley for more than a year. 
 
 But gradually the superior numbers of their foes 
 were closing in on them, until all, including the women 
 and children, were forced to make a last stand on the 
 west bank of the Juniata, in and about that remarkable 
 peninsula known as the "big elbow," near where New- 
 ton Hamilton now stands. There they were attacked 
 by forces from the east, west and south and driven up 
 Beaver Dam Run into Jack's mountain. Reduced in 
 numbers, starving, and with the prospect of a long and 
 severe winter there was no other course to pursue. 
 
 Chun-Eh-Hoe and his family were in the thick of 
 the retreat, and sanguinary was the clim.b of Jack's 
 Mountain with the attacking party always close at 
 their heels. 
 
 On the summit a final stand was made, the Juniata 
 Indians hurling rocks down on their pursuers, but they 
 were again repulsed with great loss. The women car- 
 rying infants were compelled to run pell-mell down the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 195 
 
 steep slope in the direction of the present town of Belle- 
 ville. 1 here another brave stand was made, but again 
 the followers of Chun-Eh-Hoe had to break ranks and 
 run in every direction in the cover of the autumnal for- 
 ests to save their lives. It was a terrible defeat, a com- 
 plete rout, and never again was the gallant king able 
 to rally his people around him until they met in the 
 broad valley at the headwaters of the Karoondmha, at 
 what is now known as Penn's Cave. 
 
 Under the sheltering arched roof of the cave the 
 fugitive monarch rested with his family and servants. 
 Warm breaths, like from some cherishing mother, is- 
 sued from the cavern's depths, bringing back life and 
 almost hope. Scouts were sent out to find the stragglers 
 who had survived the journey across the Seven Moun- 
 tains, and they were congregated in the meadows about 
 the cave, which far into the days of Indian antiquity 
 had always been a region of good luck for the redmen. 
 
 But the spirit of the "original people" was unbroken. 
 They had been driven from a beautiful valley, yet 
 they had come into possession of a number of beautiful 
 valleys, theirs was to be a broader destiny. And as 
 the breaths of warm air issued from the giant cave they 
 felt that they were still the favored of the Gitchie- 
 Manitto. 
 
 Though outwardly calm and self-possessed, Chun- 
 Eh-Hoe was sad at heart. Terrible melancholy, that 
 awful sickness of the soul, rested heavily on him, he 
 could see nothing except the memory of his defeat and 
 rout. He busied himself apportioning homesteads and
 
 196 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 hunting grounds in the new territory. Thanks to the 
 prevalence of game, there would be no starvation that 
 winter. He looked after the spiritual welfare of the 
 refugees, cheering the bereaved and sickly, though he 
 had lost a kingdom and was bravest of all at heart. 
 He worked with noble fortitude, sublime unselfishness, 
 a true king. Never once did he utter a word of com- 
 plaint, except when, to his family, he berated his own 
 military ignorance, the unpreparedness of his nation. 
 
 "If we had been a race of hunters this never would 
 have happened. Now I propose to encourage the royal 
 sport of the chase, and the conservation of wild life." 
 
 Yet his soul was dying within him of humiliation, 
 of chagrin, of sorrow for his dead followers. Over- 
 conscientiousness was his greatest fault, and in this 
 case a fatal one. 
 
 Vastly different was the attitude of O-Wan-Sa- 
 Duta, king of the Southern Indians, at his camp at 
 Matawanna. Though he had conceived the expedi- 
 tion into the Juniata Valley, he assumed no personal 
 leadership of his forces. Clever generals arranged the 
 details of the campaign, fought the battles and gave 
 him the glory. He always kept himself at a safe dis- 
 tance in the rear of the belligerents, where, at an un- 
 favorable sign, he could retire into his southern fort- 
 resses. He took no chances. If the invasion failed, 
 and it couldn't as he had been preparing for it for ten 
 years, he would still have his domain in the South 
 with a smaller population to support. He was a wily, 
 cruel savage, with love only for himself. Rumor had
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 197 
 
 it that he had killed several successive wives, he 
 neglected his children, and was civil only to flatterers. 
 Yet this was the king whom destiny was to lead into 
 the Juniata Valley. Surely there must be some mis- 
 take in the lines of fate! 
 
 O-Wan-Sa-Duta was feeling in excellent spirits over 
 the continued successes of his armies. There had been 
 a demand from the victorious troops after every skir- 
 mish that he appear on the battlefront and receive the 
 homage due his greatness, but he preferred the safe 
 seclusion of his camp at Matawanna. He had given 
 orders, however, that when Chun-Eh-Hoe and his fol- 
 lowers had been finally driven beyond Jack's Moun- 
 tain, and cut to pieces, that a swift runner should bring 
 him the tidings. Then he might consent to review the 
 victorious troops as they came back into the Juniata 
 Valley through McVeytown Gap, but that question 
 would be settled after he had received and digested the 
 news. 
 
 After the rout, the generals selected the son of one 
 of the commanders, a youth of sixteen, named Wa- 
 Kan-Nah, noted for his fleetness of foot, to carry the 
 glad tidings to the august monarch. The lad was over- 
 come with joy at this signal honor, but managed to get 
 started promptly on his ten-mile run across the steep 
 mountains. Without a pause or a misstep he ran at 
 breakneck speed, outdistancing the swiftest birds. 
 Within his mind was the fixed idea to bring the glorious 
 tidings to the monarch in less time than any one else 
 could have done it. He would do in an hour or less
 
 198 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 what would take most runners one hundred minutes to 
 accomplish. His brain aflame with pride and love for 
 his king, he plunged on, his black hair streaming in Uie 
 wind, clearing rocks and rivulets, bounding up the steep 
 slopes of the mountains like a deer. 
 
 In an incredibly short space of time, a minute or two 
 less than an hour, he was at the bank of the Juniata, 
 on the opposite shore of which was his king's headquar- 
 ters. Dripping with perspiration, his heart thumping 
 against his breast, his eyes popping from his head, he 
 sprang into the icy current. Swimming with desperate 
 strokes he was soon on the east bank, and another 
 bound or two brought him in front of O-Wan-Sa- 
 Duta's cabin. There he was halted by a sentry, who 
 struck him across the chest with a pike, knocking his 
 breath away. When he recovered, he demanded the 
 cause of such unseemly conduct. The sentry told him 
 gruffly that the king was asleep ; he wanted no disturb- 
 ances outside of his apartment. 
 
 Wa-Kan-Nah, taken aback, informed him that he 
 had brought news of a complete victory over Chun- 
 Eh-Hoe, it must be conveyed to the king at once. 
 
 The sentry shook his head. "My orders are to let 
 his majesty sleep. They cannot be disobeyed." 
 
 So the exhausted and disappointed messenger pre- 
 pared to wait his king's pleasure, his slim body swept 
 by the bitter east wind from the river. His head be- 
 came dizzy, he felt chilly, and an unsteadiness came 
 into his long thin legs. An old m.an, a soothsayer, from 
 one of the southern valleys, who had been waiting two
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 199 
 
 days for an audience with the king, noted the boy's 
 symptoms of exhaustion and handed him his staff, a 
 long linden pole, to lean upon. 
 
 Wa-Kan-Nah rested his tired form on it, and his 
 weight bore it into the freezing ground. His head be- 
 came dizzier, his frame rocked, and he swung around 
 like a top, and in a few minutes he lay at the foot of his 
 staff, stone dead. 
 
 At dark, when the king awakened from his twenty- 
 four hour doze, his servants mformed him of the great 
 victory, of the cutting to pieces of the forces of Chun- 
 Eh-Hoe, and how within an hour after the foe had 
 fled, the news was at his royal camp. 
 
 Then one of the lackeys added, "And the dispatch 
 runner, a youth named Wa-Kan-Nah, son of one of 
 your commanders, dropped dead." 
 
 The king rolled over on his couch and muttered, 
 "Dropped dead, eh? He must have been a weakling. 
 Throw his cursed corpse into the river.'' 
 
 Then he turned his back on his servants and began 
 snoring. The attendants withdrew and did as their 
 master ordered, pitching the lifeless form of the brave 
 messenger into the cold torrent, swept with the autumn 
 winds. But they forgot to remove the long staff, the 
 pole of linden, on which he had leaned so heavily, that 
 it penetrated the cold earth. And it was destined to 
 take root, and next spring, when O-Wan-Sa-Duta had 
 moved his royal lodge house to the meadows at Mount 
 Union, it blossomed forth into pale green foliage. 
 Stronger and bolder it grew, until it became an arboreal
 
 200 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 giant of vast height and girth, watching the dynasties of 
 kings rise and fall, the centuries pass as days, braving 
 all storms, except the driving flood of 1889, which 
 eventually carried it away.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 201 
 
 XIV. 
 THE GIRL AND THE PANTHER. 
 
 A STORY FROM TERRACE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 VISITORS to Juniata College, alma mater of 
 Governors and patriots, after wandering over 
 its superb upland campus far above the blue 
 w^aters of the Juniata and the city of Huntingdon, have 
 noticed lying off to the southeast the giant outlines of 
 the Terrace Mountain. This isolated ridge commands 
 respect by its appalling size, rising defiantly against the 
 horizon, a titan in a family of mountain monarchs. 
 Once seen, the impression persists through the years, its 
 image is as clear cut as the pyramids of Egypt. 
 
 When the first settlers penetrated the Juniata coun- 
 try they were deeply awed by Terrace Mountain, not 
 only by its size and grandeur, but by numbers of fierce 
 beasts which it harbored in its trackless forest covers. 
 There were seemingly all kinds, a Noah's ark of di- 
 versity, all the way from the moose, the bison, the pan- 
 ther or Pennsylvania lion, the grey wolf, the bay lynx, 
 down to the flying squirrel and the chipmunk. 
 
 Of these the most characteristically American was 
 Felis Couguar, that huge cat-like animal called by the 
 first settlers the panther or "painter." The American 
 prototype of the lion, it has all the ferocity and nobility
 
 202 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 of the African and Asiatic king of beasts. In size it 
 is little inferior to the biggest African Hons, panthers 
 having been killed in Pennsylvania which measured 
 over eleven feet "from tip to tip." In bravery it will 
 rank second to none, always defending its young to the 
 last extremity, and charging its hunters when wounded. 
 But there is practically no authentic record of a Penn- 
 sylvania lion or panther having attacked a human being 
 without first being provoked. Its infernal night-time 
 roar, though set in higher key than the thundering of 
 the lion of the Atlas so vividly described by the Spahi, 
 Jules Gerard, is none the less impressive, the grandest 
 voice of nature in the Pennsylvania wilderness. In 
 destructiveness its misdeeds were nil compared with its 
 good works. It preyed on weak or sickly deer or elk, 
 weeded out the old and infirm animals, thereby pre- 
 venting the spread of pestilences and keeping the deer 
 family at all times virile and active. 
 
 When the panthers were destroyed the deer de- 
 teriorated just as the buffaloes, elands, and antelopes 
 in Portuguese East Africa succumbed to the rinderpest 
 after the destruction of the lions. In sagacity it ranked 
 far above all other American animals except the wolf; 
 it possessed an uncanny intelligence. As a picturesque 
 feature of Pennsylvania mountain life it created a host 
 of romances, it was a pre-eminent source of mystery 
 and wonderment. In point of prevalence in the early 
 settler days it was almost as numerous as the wolf, with 
 which it sometimes fought for the supremacy of the 
 forests. Bill Perry killed a panther in Centre County
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 203 
 
 in 1 870, the head of which was scarred from frequent 
 battles. Trapped and hunted at all seasons of the year, 
 the Pennsylvania lion maintained a brave fight for ex- 
 istence, and though now classed by some with the ex- 
 tinct animals of the State, there are at least a hundred 
 reputable mountaineers who will tell of having heard 
 or seen panthers within our borders durmg the past five 
 years. The last to be killed were a nest of cubs taken 
 by "Clem" Herlacher in Treaster Valley, Mifflin 
 County, in the spring of 1893. 
 
 There were two races of panthers in the State : those 
 which maintained a fixed abode in some ravine or val- 
 ley, and those which wandered from county to county, 
 or from West Virginia to Northern Pennsylvania. 
 TTiose having a fixed abode were quickest exterminated 
 — as a general thing — but there were panthers on Rock 
 Run longer than in any other part of the State, except 
 in Treaster Valley. John McGowan, a track-walker, 
 saw a panther sunning itself on a flat rock near the 
 mouth of Rock Run in 1910. Panthers in considerable 
 numbers lingered longest on Rock Run, and in the en- 
 tire Beech Creek region for that matter. Though 
 probably not extinct in this State, they have not bred 
 here since Herlacher broke up the last "nests" in 
 Treaster Valley in 1892 and 1893. Usually four 
 cubs were born early in April, but sometimes there 
 were as many as six at a birth; the rutting season in 
 Pennsylvania occurred at Christmas time. 
 
 There was a great diversity in appearance among the 
 lions of Pennsylvania; some were very dark, others
 
 204 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 almost red, but the prevailing color was a slatey gray, 
 with orange or fulvus tinges about the ears, throat and 
 belly. The males outnumbered the females by about 
 five to one. The tails were thick and long, with a tuft 
 of hair almost as profuse as on the tip of an African 
 lion's tail. On very rare occasions panthers with manes 
 were taken; one of the last of such was killed in the 
 Bald Eagle Mountains by the celebrated frontiersman, 
 Peter Pentz, in 1 797. 
 
 Many and curious were the legends clustered about 
 these savage beasts, especially in the Great Terrace 
 country where they were so numerous that the first 
 settlers thought it nothing remarkable to kill eight to 
 ten in a winter. These rough frontiersmen were enjoy- 
 ing the same wholesale slaughter miscalled "sport" 
 which wealthy young Americans can now only find by 
 traveling to British East Africa. What an argument 
 for conservation! 
 
 Jake Faddy, the old Indian story teller, was spend- 
 ing a night at a farmhouse on Little Trough Creek 
 when one of the last panthers killed on the Terrace 
 Mountain was brought in. It was a half-grown ani- 
 mal, about five feet long, but its capture in a bear trap 
 created no end of excitement, making heroes out of its 
 two youthful slayers, the McConnel boys. The grand- 
 father of the young Nimrods, old Joseph McConnel, 
 had many stirring panther stories to relate that even- 
 ing, but it remained for the Indian guest, Jake Faddy, 
 to unfold the most remarkable anecdote. 
 
 When old McConnel was a young man he had
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 205 
 
 hunted panthers every winter for the bounties. It was 
 wonderful sport, even when the county became so 
 flooded with bounty appHcations that it stopped pay- 
 ment for a time, and the fur dealers ceased buying the 
 hides, they had so many. Panther hides were shipped 
 by the bale to Germany, which now strangely enough 
 is the principal market for the pelts of African lions. 
 One year McConnel killed so many panthers that he 
 covered the four sides of his father's barn with the hides. 
 As there was no market for them, they hung there until 
 they were blown down by the winds. It was no un- 
 common thing in those days to hear four or five pan- 
 thers roaring on the Terrace Mountain in a single night. 
 First one to the south would begin, then a second a mile 
 away would take it up, passing the wierd call on to a 
 fourth a mile further on, or a fifth, until the whole 
 mountain would reverberate with the savage love notes. 
 When the cry would be heard up on the mountain back 
 of the farmhouse McConnel would get his dogs and 
 start a chase which would last until daylight. Some- 
 times the panther would corner the dogs in a hole in 
 the rocks, and leave them bleeding and dying before 
 the hunter could reach the spot. A light tracking snow 
 was the best time to hunt the brutes, when they could 
 be followed to their caves on ledges, or under over- 
 hanging rocks, and shot before they hurt the dogs. But 
 many of them got into bear or wolf traps, which were 
 scattered all over the mountains. That was an inglori- 
 ous end for Pennsylvania's king of beasts, as the hunt- 
 ers usually beat the snarling monsters to death with the
 
 206 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 butts of their rifles. Sometimes the traps were not vis- 
 ited regularly and the victims succumbed to starvation 
 or exposure. 
 
 When the veteran hunter had finished, old Jake 
 Faddy began his narrative. He told of hunting pan- 
 thers in Indiai. days. Then the exciting sport was car- 
 ried on with long oaken or hickory stakes, sharpened at 
 the ends like spears. The panther not being associated 
 with any clan name and being an enemy of the wolf, 
 was hunted more persistently than other animals. Its 
 hide was used for many purposes, ceremonial and do- 
 mestic. The "great medicine" was always kept in a 
 pouch made from it. Its meat was relished even above 
 the flesh of the bison. Its blood gave courage to war- 
 riors, when drunk fresh. Its claws hung around the 
 neck by a cord were amulets ot good luck. Its teeth 
 were much prized as decorations for the person. Shoes 
 fashioned from its paws made young Indians grow tall 
 and strong. Its tongue was the favorite tid-bit for 
 banquets of the chiefs. A decoction made from its 
 eyes prolonged life. Its bones made excellent cutlery. 
 The tuft of its tail made a warrior's war plume. None 
 of it was wasted, all of it was much desired. Despite 
 the fact that it was systematically hunted, there was 
 no intention to exterminate it; the Indians were too 
 sensible for that. It had too many valuable attributes 
 for such a short-sighted procedure. 
 
 The hunting was generally done in the fall and early 
 winter, when the animals were fattest and the hides in 
 prime condition. Once in a while reports were brought
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 207 
 
 to the camps of panthers attacking human beings, espe- 
 cially children. Many braves were foHovvedl at night 
 over hill and dale, with the tawny monsters uttering 
 their mournful cries, but always keeping at a respectful 
 distance in the rear. 
 
 There was one episode of a young girl named 
 Sextua, which happened shortly after the arrival of the 
 Shawnees from Florida in the Juniata Valley. The 
 newcomers did not know the country very well, and 
 many of them, becoming separated from their cohorts, 
 fell into the hands of the local Indians and were mas- 
 sacred. Many of the journeys which ended so disas- 
 trously were caused by curiosity to see the wonderful 
 scenery, "the masterwork of the Great Wolf," they 
 called it. They were especially charmed with the 
 Terrace Mountain, spending days wandering over its 
 wall-like precipices. They were silenced, mystified by 
 the grandeur of this long solitary highland. 
 
 It was probably much as the gifted David Emmert 
 expressed it, that "it is no reflection upon the imagina- 
 tive or moral qualities of the ancients that they per- 
 sonified the mountains and made them the eternal 
 dwelling places of the gods." 
 
 If the home of the Gitchie-Manitto was possible of 
 discovery it seemed to the awe-struck Shawnees that it 
 must be on the Terrace Mountain, for there were sur- 
 roundings of magnitude and impressiveness in keeping 
 with their conception of the Great Spirit. 
 
 Sextua was a maiden of charming appearance, of 
 uncommon intellectual gifts. She felt the beauty and
 
 208 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 mystery of the mountains, yet beyond that she seemed 
 to grasp at the hidden meanings, the relation between 
 the material and spiritual. Therefore she took the 
 deepest pleasure in wandering over the wild crests and 
 gorges back of the Shawnee settlement, which was lo- 
 cated at the foot of the eastern slope of Terrace Moun- 
 tain. While her father, the good Tahwahke, her 
 brothers and her sweetheart, the brave Kussowe, were 
 busily engaged building the lodge houses and cabins, 
 clearing ground, and replenishing the larder, she in- 
 dulged in walks over the mighty mountains that com- 
 manded the country for miles in every direction. As 
 contemplation alone would not justify her lengthy 
 rambles, she gathered many rare medicinal herbs and 
 roots. 
 
 As the summer shaded into autumn she had collected 
 a goodly store for the winter's use, and became well 
 acquainted with the forest by-paths. Often did she 
 encounter game in the mountain fastness — the moose, 
 the elk, the deer, wild turkeys, heath cocks, grouse, 
 quail and wild pigeons were to her like old acquaint- 
 ances — they hardly stirred themselves at her approach. 
 They were such beautiful and trustful creatures, it 
 seemed a shame that so many of them were being 
 slaughtered for the winter's supply of her tribe. But 
 then she also saw some of the fiercer animals, the fisher, 
 the grey fox, the wolf, the black bear and once she saw 
 a huge yellow panther. When she saw these creatures 
 the old primal instinct rose up in her, she wished for a 
 spear or javelin. But as none of these animals molested
 
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 JUNIATA MEMORIES 209 
 
 her, she gradually viewed things from their standpoint, 
 that they had as much right to live as the more inof- 
 fensive animals and birds. 
 
 When she returned from her strolls she would no 
 longer go to the edge of the camp where the women 
 and children stood admiring the results of the day's 
 hunt, gaping at the long line of carcasses of elk, deer 
 and buffalo, the huge piles of dead pigeons, heath- 
 cocks and turkeys. It sickened her now, since she had 
 learned to love these things alive. Such impressions 
 made her a vegetarian. As long as life could be sus- 
 tained on vegetables, nuts and fruit, it was a heartless 
 being who demanded the lives of animals and birds for 
 food. She no longer praised her lover's prowess as a 
 hunter, but urged him to excel in decoration or story 
 telling, in any of the higher forms of existence. She 
 was apart from her race, and all because she had pene- 
 trated nature's reserve and heard its side of the story. 
 Often her mother and other squaws would caution her 
 about her long walks, the danger of getting lost or be- 
 ing devoured by savage beasts. 
 
 But Sextua never listened very attentively; these, 
 she thought, were "old wives' tales," unworthy of be- 
 lief by one who really knew the forest and its denizens. 
 As she always came back safely, aglow with health 
 and happiness, bearing strings of rare medicinal roots 
 and herbs, she gradually laughed down all fear of the 
 wilderness. 
 
 On one occasion, it was in the late summer, when a 
 leaf or two of yellow was apparent on the hardwoods.
 
 210 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 when the crickets chirping in the dry grass gave inti- 
 mation of a change in season, when the mountains 
 shone out preternaturally clear in the mornmgs, and the 
 nights were still and very cool, that Sextua sallied forth 
 to explore still more distant heights and valleys. V/ith 
 buoyant step she traversed the Terrace Mountain, 
 climbing down with agility, and reaching the Rays- 
 town Branch before the noon hour set in. Then she 
 followed the creek in a southerly direction until she 
 came upon a trail which led up the Broad Top Moun- 
 tain. 
 
 That mighty mountain was such an extensive region 
 that there were still many points on it which she had 
 never visited. So she started to climb it, marveling at 
 the beauty of its forests and vistas, the plentitude of its 
 plant life, the glory of its autumn flowers. When she 
 attained the expansive summit she wandered about, 
 enthralled by what she saw. In the open spaces, un- 
 der the hardwood trees pastured vast herds of bison, 
 countless troops of deer and elk that were migrating in 
 great sweeping masses toward the south; in the jungles 
 and ravines bands of moose stood quiescent in the 
 darkest recesses. The cooing of myriads of wild 
 pigeons was like a great soft hymn of nature; wild 
 turkeys were dusting themselves in the buffalo paths, 
 heath-cocks were "booming," ruffled grouse "drum- 
 ming." 
 
 Nature's sounds and ways were uppermost. Man, 
 with his forest fires, his bloody "sport," his "civiliza- 
 tion," had made no entering wedge. Sextua lingered
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 211 
 
 in this wild tableland until the sun declined and shone 
 red through the vistas in the trees. The katydids' 
 chorus that night was at hand before she realized that 
 she was far from the sheltering camp of the Shawnees. 
 With quickened pace she started for the northern edge 
 of the big mountain, but it seemed as if she would 
 never reach it. 
 
 On and on she went, the night becoming darker and 
 colder, but she was still on the broad plateau. Every 
 time she saw a declivity or hollow where a water course 
 had run in the spring she followed it, penetrating 
 deeper and deeper into the trackless wilderness. She 
 had a good sense of direction, she had never been lost 
 before, yet this time she was pitting her skill against a 
 vast region and many miles from her destination. Sev- 
 eral times she slipped on rocks, or tripped over trailing 
 vines, and her sensitive nature was frightened by sud- 
 den glimpses of fox-fire on rotting stabs or logs. Off 
 in the forest she could hear a myriad of nature's sounds, 
 the wild cat tonguing the rabbit, wolves quarreling, the 
 trumpeting of moose, the hooting of owls, the sad songs 
 of kildeers, the soughing of the night wind among the 
 tall white pines. If she had realized that the best thing 
 to do would have been to sit down until morning, all 
 would have been well. But instead she temporarily 
 forgot her excellence as a woodswoman and plunged 
 on ahead to get out at any cost. 
 
 Every moment the forest seemed vaster, blacker, 
 more impenetrable. The roar of the wind became 
 more violent, as if a storm was imminent. Tears came
 
 212 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 to Sextua's eyes. It was terrible to be alone in such 
 a place; if only she had some one to lean upon, to lead 
 her out into the light. Like a blind person, with hands 
 extended, she struggled on, bumping her feet and shins, 
 scratching her fair face with briars. At length she 
 came into a thicket of brambles that was so dense she 
 could go no further. She stopped, folding her arms, 
 thoroughly discouraged. It was then that she felt 
 something brush against her skirts, something soft and 
 living. Straining her eyes she beheld the form of an 
 enormous panther standing beside her in the attitude 
 of a domestic cat, with head raised as if to have its fur 
 stroked ! 
 
 Before she had time to scream with alarm the crea- 
 ture spoke to her in purring, reassuring tones, and in 
 her own, the Shawnee, tongue ! 
 
 "Sextua," it said, calling her by name, "I feel very 
 sorry for you out here in this jungle at night. I have 
 followed you since early morning, as I always do when 
 you go for your walks, but I feared to distress you by 
 placing myself in evidence. I mean no harm. I have 
 never molested a human being, nor ever seen one I liked 
 until my eyes first rested on you. If you will allow, I 
 will conduct you in safety by the easiest route to your 
 father's camp, will have you there by daybreak, for I 
 know all the forest byways." 
 
 The big cat's voice and manner were so reassuring 
 that the girl gladly accepted his proffered services as 
 guide out of the wilderness. And no mistakes were 
 made. Deftly brushing aside the briars with sweeps
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 213 
 
 of his long, powerful tail, he soon had his beautiful 
 charge on a smooth path which led along the brow of 
 the great mountain. 
 
 "This is a path carved out by the panthers," was 
 his next attempt at conversation, begun only when he 
 was sure that they were out of all bramble patches 
 and the girl's calmness restored. 
 
 "It leads along the side of the ridge until it gets over 
 the waters of Trough Creek, when it descends into 
 the valley. It is the smoothest and quickest route off 
 the mountain, except the buffalo path, which is worn 
 too deep in some places for a lady's comfort." 
 
 Sextua thanked the big feline for his thoughtfulness, 
 making him sure of his ground. Evidently he wanted 
 to be friends, but feared to frighten her before she 
 could see the fine sides to his nature. 
 
 "You did not know that I followed you every time 
 you went walking in the mountains. I moved so 
 quietly that you could not hear me, yet many times I 
 was at your side, and generally at your heels, I kept 
 you from all harm. I longed for a chance to make 
 myself known, but I knew how most Indians feel 
 toward the race of panthers: the men hate and kill us. 
 the women fear and run away from us. But now I 
 could do you a favor, and you can see that I mean no 
 harm. This is the proudest moment of my life to be 
 with you, to be escorting you back to your encamp- 
 ment." 
 
 The girl could hardly believe her senses. Was the 
 panther really speaking, or was it some Indian ventrilo-
 
 214 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 quist cleverly concealed In the brush who was throwing 
 his voice in that direction? Feeling that she must re- 
 turn the brute's compliments, she said that she appre- 
 ciated his goodness, and once safely restored to her 
 tribe she would use all her influence to abate the cruel 
 sport of panther hunting. She especially abhorred 
 hunting panthers with the sharp stakes, she said; it in- 
 flicted such a painful death on the animals. 
 
 By this time they had come to the part of the path 
 where it began winding its way off Broad Top. The 
 girl was now sensibly relieved, as it would not be long 
 now until she was in a familiar country. All the while 
 her savage escort entertained her with naive remarks, 
 more or less of a complimentary nature. Clearly he 
 was smitten with her; she would be glad to get away 
 from him as she could not very well retort in kind. 
 Besides, her lover, Kussowe, had won fame as a slayer 
 of panthers; his specialty was overtaking them in the 
 forest, — he was a swift runner, — and impaling them 
 through the heart with his sharp stakes. She could not 
 love a slayer of panthers and be loved by a probable 
 victim at the same time. Soon the foot of the mountain 
 was reached, and Great Trough Creek crossed on a 
 stony ford. After they were across the stream the 
 worst of the journey was over. The panther, noting 
 this, became still more personal in his talk. 
 
 "What I admired so much about you," he said, "is 
 your ability to amuse yourself alone. In the solitude 
 of the forest you seemed to be as happy as if in the 
 midst of a populous camp. Often have I felt sorry
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 215 
 
 for you in your loneliness, because I thought that you 
 would be happier if you had somebody with you to 
 enjoy your knowledge of plants, your appreciation of 
 beauty." 
 
 Sextua did not answer him, she was so wrapped up 
 in the thought that her trip was almost over, her perils 
 at an end. 
 
 At length she could contain herself no longer. "See, 
 over there on the other side of the valley, that camp- 
 fire, it is the Shawnee settlement ; we will soon be to it. 
 I am so happy!" 
 
 The gray dawn was beginning to penetrate the open- 
 ings in the forest, and the huge panther could see his 
 fair companion, and watched her expression closely. 
 
 "I will be so happy to see the one I love best," she 
 rambled on. 
 
 The panther could hardly suppress a growl as he 
 asked her dryly, 'T suppose by the one you love best 
 you refer to your father?" 
 
 Sextua, quite unconsciously, replied, "Yes, I do 
 love him, but I love best of all my sweetheart, Kus- 
 sowe; I do believe he is the only person I really truly 
 love." 
 
 That was too much for the love-crazed panther; he 
 was a wild beast again; he could control his feelings 
 no longer. Jealousy, added to pent-up emotion, made 
 him a demon. His yellow eyes flashed, his jaws snap- 
 ped. Springing at the beautiful girl he bore her to the 
 earth, where she gasped out her life, literally dying of 
 fright.
 
 216 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 Too late the panther saw what he had done, and 
 remorse overtook him. But the harm was done, the 
 beautiful spirit had fled. Skulking away like the wild 
 beast that he was, he soon lost himself in the forest 
 labyrinths ; all his way up the steep mountain moaning 
 and sobbing like a child. During the morning a search- 
 ing party headed by Kussowe found the dead girl, 
 with only a scratch on one cheek. It might have been 
 caused by a wild beast, yet surely it did not kill her, 
 9rt reasoned the bereaved lover.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 217 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE STANDING STONE. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE ANCIENT ONEIDAS. 
 
 ALL the historical traditions of the Oneidas laid 
 stress on their southern origin. Certainly they 
 had come from as far South as the valley of the 
 Juniata, if not further. They were probably one of 
 the many southern tribes which held possession of the 
 Juniata country for a time. Where they originally 
 came from is shrouded in mystery, if we exclude the 
 premise that the Juniata Valley had been their perma- 
 nent, old-time home. It is the antiquity of environ- 
 ment that appeals to every thinking man or woman. 
 Those who travel to European countries think it is the 
 "change of scene," but it is not, it is the desire to asso- 
 ciate oneself with places where man has dwelt and 
 struggled for centuries. As proof, give the average 
 traveler a chance to decide between a trip to Spain or 
 California. Unless he is a native Californian, and 
 knows its history and people, he will choose Spain — 
 every time. 
 
 When all know the antiquity of the Pennsylvania 
 mountains better they will feel a deeper love for their 
 home environment, and not seek to link themselves with 
 some established proof of man's presence elsewhere.
 
 218 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 It is not the visual beauty of the mountain or the ruined 
 castle that we love, but the spiritual conception which 
 is the history of the traditions of the human beings who 
 peopled them. And more valuable than the stacks 
 and stone crushers as upbuilders of character will be 
 the ancient lore of the Juniata, if it be collected and 
 tabulated before it is too late. 
 
 As far as can be learned there were three distinct 
 Standing Stones concerned in the history of the Oneidas 
 and their followers. The first one, the gift of the Git- 
 chie-Manitto, was as old as man himself. The second 
 one, described by John Harris, the younger, as he saw 
 it in 1 754, was fourteen feet high and six feet square, 
 and stood on the right bank of Stone Creek near its 
 mouth. 
 
 Soon after Harris saw it the Tuscarora Indians, who 
 were related to the Oneidas, and came to the Standing 
 Stone about 1712, removed the stone with them to 
 Canada. The third stone, a part of which, rescued 
 from the wall of a bake oven, is now in the library of 
 Juniata College at Standing Stone Town or Hunting- 
 don, was erected probably as a surveyor's corner on 
 the same spot where the earlier stones had stood. 
 
 On the third stone was carved the names of many 
 white men, surveyors, prospectors, politicians, with 
 dates varying from 1 768 to 1 770. Before it was 
 broken up to build a bake oven it was moved to near 
 where the old court house in Huntingdon formerly 
 stood. Much has been written concerning the two 
 later stones, various have been the hypotheses advanced
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 219 
 
 to account for them. Certain it is that the first two 
 stones were used by the Indians to inscribe their glo- 
 rious history, the records of their battles and triumphs. 
 The second stone had an antiquity not to be sneered at, 
 having braved the elements for at least a century or 
 from the time when the true Oneidas departed for the 
 North. 
 
 The Tuscaroras attempted to imitate their glories, 
 their veneration of a Standing Stone, their battles to 
 defend it, but they were only pale shadows of the an- 
 cient people. The Indian burying ground, on the high 
 land near where the old Presbyterian Church stood, at 
 Huntingdon, was very extensive when found by the 
 first settlers. But it gave no idea of the vast number 
 of interments in it, or of its venerable age. It is stated 
 by those who heard it from the aged Indian story tellers 
 that the main body of the Oneidas departed for what 
 is now New York State about the beginning of the 
 seventeenth century, few lingered on until after the 
 Tuscaroras arrived. 
 
 Jones in his "History of the Juniata Valley" quotes 
 Dr. B. S. Barton, an authority, as stating that 
 Oneida meant "Standing Stone." A similar defi- 
 nition is given in the "Handbook of American In- 
 dians," published by the United States Government. 
 With so much diversity of opinion as usually exists re- 
 garding Indian words, it is probably correct. 
 
 When the Oneidas were in their glory at Standing 
 Stone, theirs was an Indian metropolis. It is stated 
 that between three and four thousand redmen resided
 
 220 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 in and about the giant settlement. The buildings were 
 of a permanent type of construction, with streets and 
 alleys terminating in a basilica or public meeting place, 
 in the center of which stood the sacred Standing Stone. 
 There on New Year's Day, with great display and 
 ceremony the high priests performed the rite of chisel- 
 ing the tribe's achievements for the past twelve-month 
 on the stone. Sacrifices were offered up, there was 
 fasting, prayer, dancing and song, to commemorate 
 the valorous deeds of the Oneidas. 
 
 The tradition was that the Great Spirit gave the 
 stone to his favorite people with the understanding that 
 they perform some great deed each year, worthy of 
 recording. It was to be carved on the stone annually 
 on the anniversary of its gift from the Gitchie-Manitto. 
 The appearance of some of the buildings in Standing 
 Stone TowTi of the Oneidas is worthy of description. 
 The great settlement was surrounded by two rows of 
 palisades eighteen feet high; in the ramparts were two 
 gates, one facing the west, over which were erected 
 three images of men carved out of wood, and draped 
 with the scalps of their enemies. On the east side was 
 another gateway similarly adorned. The western gate 
 was three feet wide, the eastern gate two feet. Within 
 the central palisade were several hundred lodge houses 
 of imposing dimensions. These houses were built of 
 logs, covered with the bark of trees. Every lodge 
 house was provided with open fireplaces, some having 
 as many as a dozen in them. There were large store 
 houses where thousands of bushels of Indian corn were
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 221 
 
 kept. The facades of some of the larger houses, which 
 were often two hundred feet in length, were paneled, 
 and on these panels painted pictures of all sorts of 
 animals and birds. The streets were teeming with life, 
 hunters, trades-people, warriors, housewives, children, 
 all attending to their respective tasks. But no Indian 
 could leave or enter the "castle," as the town was 
 called, without giving the password to the gatekeepers. 
 
 The position of gatekeeper was a very honorable 
 one, and was hereditary. On the high ground, where 
 the graveyard was situated, in shady corners of which 
 the ghost-flower grew, all was neatness and precision. 
 The graves were in the shape of mounds, surrounded 
 with small palisades nicely closed up, and painted red, 
 white and black. There were gateways to the graves 
 of the chiefs, on the top of the gates were effigies of 
 large birds, and on the fences were painted all manner 
 of grotesque animals, birds and snakes. 
 
 This description of the Oneida Castle at Standing 
 Stone in its hey-day is reminiscent of Arent Van 
 Curler's account of his visit to some of the castles of 
 the same tribe many years later (1634) in Northern 
 New York. The Oneidas, always a superior people, 
 are the only tribe of Indians who successfully adopted 
 the white man's civilization in New York. Their 
 farms are described as veritable garden spots. 
 
 But like many cities and races that have a 
 "golden age," a period of decadence fell upon the 
 splendid Oneidas along the Juniata. It was a case of 
 too many blessings. Everybody was prosperous, no
 
 222 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 one had to worry about making a living. The bounte- 
 ous Giver of All had showered plenty on his Oneidas. 
 The cleared fields yielded rich crops of corn, melons, 
 and potatoes, the orchards were laden with apples, 
 plums, persimmons, and the peach, which had been 
 brought from the South. The nut trees were full to 
 overbearing, berries and edible roots were found every- 
 where. The forests teemed with game, the river with 
 clams, mussels and fish. The seasons were not un- 
 kind, there were no blizzards or tornadoes, life was 
 easy, supine. 
 
 If the Oneidas had been grateful for all these bless- 
 ings, fate might have worked kinder for them. But 
 they were far from it, the more thej'^ got, the more they 
 wanted. The less they had to work, the less they 
 wanted work. In plain language they wanted to sit 
 under the trees and be fed. They imagined that the 
 universe was created for them, and it wasn't doing all 
 it could for their happiness. They begrudged any time 
 spent in the service of the Power of Nature as ex- 
 pressed in the Gitchie-Manitto. Many of them re- 
 garded religious exercises as "foolery" and wondered 
 what they had to be "thankful" for at services of 
 thanksgiving. They looked upon the New Year cere- 
 monies as tiresome, the inscribing of the achievements 
 of the year as superfluous. They were great; they 
 knew it ; the Great Spirit, if he existed, must also know 
 it. They were sunk to the lowest depths of spiritual 
 degradation inasmuch as they questioned all things, 
 accepting none.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 223 
 
 The leading intellectuals of the castle held numerous 
 secret conclaves with a view of abandoning the New 
 Year ceremonies, so many of the tribesmen were op- 
 posed to it. After all, it was only an archaic old 
 pageant; a gay dance with lively music would best 
 usher in the New Year twelve-month. But it took 
 time to overcome a long-established custom, with the 
 memories of centuries clustered about it, and little more 
 than talk came of these meetings of the innovators. Yet 
 each year fewer attended the mystic rites, while on 
 the other hand a society of mumm.ers who held a mock 
 pageant outside the palisades the same day, with wild 
 orgies and rowdy conduct, was becoming yearl)^ more 
 popular, and drew twice the crowds. 
 
 A wooden pole painted to imitate the Standing 
 Stone was set up in a cornfield, around which the young 
 bucks and maidens danced. On it were carved all 
 kinds of clownish jests at the sacred language of the 
 real stone. But the Indians liked to laugh, life was 
 sad, it was so easy to live, so hard to die. In secret 
 all had a grudge against the Great Spirit as being the 
 author of death; they felt that there was no other life, 
 consequently hated to let go of the one in hand. 
 
 All this time the Great Spirit endured the falling 
 away from grace with extreme patience. In return for 
 agnosticism, neglect, contempt, he handed forth boun- 
 tiful crops, great catches of fish, mammoth kills of 
 game, equable seasons, freedom from pestilences, long 
 life. Good for evil was bestowed to all, but none were 
 wise enough to take heed.
 
 224 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 One evening, shortly before the New Year, an easy- 
 going traveler brought the news to the castle that the 
 bison had arrived in Aughwick Valley. It was late 
 for their fall migration, but it had been a mild autumn, 
 and they lingered longer than usual on their southerly 
 journey. As the grand bison hunt, which usually took 
 place in the latter part of October, "persimmon time," 
 was an annual event of the first magnitude with the 
 Oneidas, as with most of the other tribes in Pennsyl- 
 vania, there was a skirmishing among the braves to put 
 their spears, lances, and bows in order, to sharpen their 
 celts and skinners. Even the august high priests began 
 to take notice, and talked hunting instead of Standing 
 Stone. The senior priest was detected sharpening his 
 skinning knife, when he should have been preparing his 
 sacred hammer and chisel. If another messenger had 
 not brought news that some members of a tribe from 
 the Susquehanna Valley were already at work slaugh- 
 tering the bison, the exodus to Aughwick Valley might 
 not have been so general. This was the final straw, 
 every Oneida able to stand the journey broke for the 
 eastern gates with unwonted alacrity, bowling the gate- 
 keepers aside with coarse jests or imprecations. Some 
 were able to procure canoes and barges for the journey, 
 while others rode on hurriedly constructed dog-rafts, 
 or raced along the banks. It was a frenzied, reckless 
 crowd that followed the course of the Juniata that 
 night ! 
 
 The next day was the first day of the New Year, 
 when the ceremonies at the Standing Stone were al-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 225 
 
 ways held. The morning dawned clear and cool, 
 without a cloud in the sky, but not a male Oneida ex- 
 cept the tiny boys and palsied old men remained in the 
 castle. Many women came out of their houses, as- 
 sembling in little groups, expressing surprise that the 
 time-honored ceremony was not taking place. But as 
 the day wore on, more of them discussed the prospects 
 of the buffalo hunt than the discarded religious exer- 
 cises. 
 
 Night fell, and the New Year had been ushered in 
 without the pageant, which after all no one missed. A 
 few of the very old feeble Indian braves, too decrepit 
 to leave their cabins, bemoaned the changed order, but 
 they were not worth listening to, so the young folks 
 argued. 
 
 At the hunting ground the Oneidas had arrived soon 
 enough to put the marauders from the Susquehanna to 
 rout before they had killed many bison. Before they 
 began the big slaughter, they killed many of the in- 
 truding Indians and burned their bodies in a heap. 
 Then they began the butchery, killing the buffaloes 
 right and left. This slaughter continued until they had 
 put an end to all the mature bulls and cows and a 
 goodly proportion of calves. The rest were let go to 
 carry on the race for the next years' hunt. Then came 
 the carnival of skinning, of drying the hides, of curing 
 the meat. It went on while the creek ran red with the 
 drainage from the gory work. 
 
 Weeks passed before the last Oneida was back at 
 the castle and took up the thread of the old existence.
 
 226 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 The ceremonies at the Standing Stone were forgotten, 
 life went on for a time as if there had never been such 
 a sacred rite. But there soon set in a marked moral 
 deterioration, life without religions could not be other- 
 wise than unmoral. Justice, truth, honor, became mis- 
 nomers. Disease and degeneracy v/ere everywhere 
 apparent. Pleasure and indolence became the only 
 gods. Many manly pastimes fell into disrepute, even 
 the chase was considered too great an effort. 
 
 It was on the first anniversary of the abandonment 
 of the sacred exercises at the Standing Stone that a 
 terrible pestilence broke out among the Oneidas. It 
 was a vile skin disorder like a leprosy, and no medicine 
 man in the tribe was able to cope with it. The Indians, 
 old and young, "died like flies," yet no one thought to 
 seek divine interference. So great was the power of 
 caste and clannishness that none of the redmen cared 
 to bury the dead. The putrifying corpses lay about in 
 the basilica and alleys, or were piled against the stock- 
 ades. Vast flocks of buzzards, ravens and other 
 noxious birds feasted off the remains, the air resound- 
 ing, especially in the night time with their weird cries. 
 
 Among the handful of Indians who managed to 
 escape the plague was one very young brave, of no 
 particular elevation of birth, named Wahoorah. Bom 
 in an obscure corner of the Juniata country, he some- 
 how or other held firmly to the old ideals and religious 
 practices of his race. He was able to witness the 
 failure of medicine and black art in curing the awful 
 scourge, he saw the danger of the quick extermination
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 227 
 
 of his people, he reasoned out but one cure, a return 
 to the ancient landmarks. Yet his counsels were 
 brushed aside, even by dying men. The course of the 
 tribe was forward, through different channels, the past 
 was dead, the Standing Stone superfluous, all held. 
 But Wahoorah felt that he had a mission, he must save 
 his race at any cost. 
 
 Gathermg together a fragment of the tribe, mostly 
 aged men, old women, young women and children, he 
 persuaded them to arrange for the removal of the 
 stone to a new locality to the north. Though he held 
 no official position in the tribe, and was lacking in in- 
 fluential friends, there was no one who interposed any 
 objection to his proposal to carry the stone away. 
 
 On the second anniversary of the abandonment of 
 the ancient rites he appeared before the stone, accom- 
 panied by his devoted little band. Somewhere he had 
 found the hammer and chisel which the priests of old 
 had used to carve the records of the tribe on the sacred 
 stone. Watched only by his followers, he boldly pro- 
 ceeded to cut the following records on the shaft. First 
 he carved, "Year of the abandonment of the sacred 
 rites. Result: Pestilence, Deterioration, Sorrow." 
 "First anniversary of the abandonment of rites. Death 
 rate growing steadily higher." "Second anniversary, 
 Wahoorah and his followers remove stone to the 
 north." 
 
 So absorbed were the tribesmen in their own petty 
 concerns that no one except his followers took the 
 trouble to read the new carvings, which were in hiero-
 
 228 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 glyphic form, the Oneidas having no written language. 
 After the signs had been placed on the stone, Wahoo- 
 rah signaled to the most agile of his disciples to pry the 
 stone loose from its foundations. Crowbars and picks 
 were used with a will, with the result that the huge 
 shaft was soon swaying in its gravelly foundations. 
 Wahoorah held the stone in place while his followers 
 got ready to drop it into a net basket in which it was 
 to be dragged overland to the north. While so en- 
 gaged he failed to notice the approach of the titular 
 chief of the Oneidas, young He-Hu-Ti-Dan. Aroused 
 from a sick bed by the noise in the market place, he 
 had dragged his corruption-covered body to the scene 
 of Wahoorah's activities. With a voice cracked and 
 broken, in a high falsetto key, he ordered the saintly 
 Indian to let the sacred stone alone. His queer voice 
 shrieking from the silence so suddenly caused Wahoo- 
 rah to turn his head. As he did so his hands slipped 
 and the Standing Stone, loose at its foundations, fell 
 to the earth with a crash and was shattered into a hun- 
 dred pieces. 
 
 This was too much for He-Hu-Ti-Dan. Raising 
 his staff, he sought to smite Wahoorah and send him 
 reeling among the wreckage. But the young warrior 
 dodged the blow, and the chieftain plunged forward, 
 falling in a heap in his long gown like a bag of old 
 bones. There he lay until Wahoorah turned him over 
 on his back, finding him dead. Kicking him out of the 
 way as he would a mass of filth, Wahoorah ordered his 
 followers to gather together the pieces of the sacred
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 229 
 
 stone and place them in the net. Then he told his band 
 that he was ready to start to the north, to a new land; 
 that all who wished to leave behind the enervation and 
 sinfulness of the castle and help carve out a new des- 
 tiny could do so. 
 
 Every member of his party old and young elected 
 to go with him, and toward the mysterious north they 
 wended their way that day at sundown. They had 
 barely disappeared into the blackness of the forest 
 when a band of hardy Tuscaroras from the South en- 
 tered the castle gates. They had heard of the plight 
 of their relatives, had come to their assistance, bearing 
 supplies and accompanied by wise men and medicine 
 men. They were shocked to find the Standing Stone 
 gone and the town depopulated except for a few sick 
 men. From a dying savage they learned the story of 
 the ravages of the pestilence, of Wahoorah's fruitless 
 efforts to effect a renaissance, of his tragedy and de- 
 parture. Despite valiant efforts, the proud castle of 
 the Oneidas became a city of the dead in a few days. 
 The medicines and spells of the Tuscaroras availed 
 not, for every Oneida passed away. 
 
 The Tuscaroras decided not to remain in the fair 
 valley of the Juniata. They feared they might become 
 afflicted with the foul malady. Thus the site of Stand- 
 ing Stone Town remained untenanted save for the tem- 
 porary^ camps of wandering hunters for two centuries. 
 At length a permanent settlement of Tuscaroras was 
 made on the spot, and one of the first acts of these 
 settlers was to hew out a new Standing Stone, to con-
 
 230 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 tain their sacred records. With reverent hands it was 
 erected on the site of the ancient stone, and for years 
 it recorded the worthy annals of a noble race. As if 
 to atone for the remissness of their relatives, the Tus- 
 caroras tended this stone most tenderly. And in so 
 doing they won for themselves prosperity and happi- 
 ness. And they m.ight have remained indefinitely at 
 their beautiful home had it not been for the news of 
 the arrival of a white-skinned race of people in their 
 neighborhood. With this news came a vision to their 
 wisest man, old Pa-Tek-Kwa, that they must remove 
 the stone and migrate to the north. In this vision was 
 portrayed the greatness of the remnant of the Oneidas 
 who had long before followed Wahoorah out of the 
 Juniata country; this destiny would follow the Tusca- 
 roras on their northerly pilgrimage. Abundance would 
 be theirs in the North. 
 
 So carefully, fully as carefully as they set it up, the 
 chiefs and wise men took down the Standing Stone, 
 and followed it to the North. In order not to arouse 
 too much curiosity from the white men the stone was 
 taken down at night, and the northerly journey com- 
 menced, unlighted even by rays of the moon. 
 
 A few days afterward when a party of white sur- 
 veyors reached the site of the town they were surprised 
 to find it deserted, and strangest of all to find the stone, 
 which they had marked as a "corner" in their note- 
 books, chief among the missing. But they pitched 
 their cam.ps where the ancient relic had stood, and 
 among themselves resolved to erect another stone in its
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 231 
 
 place as a permanent "corner." One of their number, 
 Andrew Clugage, was able to hew out of the stiff flint 
 a "stone" which seemed the counterpart of its prede- 
 cessors. And when it was being put in place some 
 wandenng Indians appeared on the scene, Indians of 
 venerable mien, who had retentive memories, and they 
 retailed the history of past Standing Stones. And they 
 made the prophecy that as long as a stone stood on 
 the spot and was treated with respect, prosperity and 
 happiness would fall to the lot of all who dwelt near 
 at hand. For was not the first stone the gift of the 
 Gitchie-Manitto himself? 
 
 And for some reason there always has been a stone 
 on view at Huntingdon, the Standing Stone Town of 
 romance and history. There is one now in a small 
 public park near the center of the town. Nature has 
 truly lavished all her gifts upon those who have lived 
 near it, prospent}', happiness, contentment, and power 
 have all been dealt out with a bountiful hand, and the 
 old story stretching back into the vistas of dim antiquity 
 has not been forgotten. The historian, the poet, the 
 orator, as well as the humble narrator of legends have 
 all faithfully striven to keep its memory green.
 
 232 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 XVI. 
 WARRIOR'S RIDGE. 
 
 THE STORY OF TWO MOUNTAIN RANGES. 
 
 MANY have been the explanations advanced for 
 the name "Warrior's Ridge," that bold, cren- 
 elated range which bisects the "Blue Juniata" 
 below^ Petersburg. All of the reasons adduced are more 
 or less true, for it was the home of a warrior race for 
 generations; its whole formation suggests the camp; 
 the famed "Pulpit Rocks" are like the battlements of 
 some ancient fortress. But the Indian with whom the 
 mountain range was most intimately connected in the 
 early settler days was Iron Elk, or He-Ha-Ka-Maza, 
 a Shawnee of matchless courage, rare audacity, and 
 deepest cunning. It was he who announced one after- 
 noon, while standing on the highest point of the ridge, 
 that no white settlers or traders should dare penetrate 
 further west; Warrior's Ridge would be the barrier 
 between the two races. 
 
 For several years he managed to make good his 
 threat, and many were the scalps he accumulated while 
 so. doing. His reputation for bravery becoming spread 
 about by the savage gossips, it was not long before he 
 was followed by a band of bloodthirsty young Indians, 
 who emulated not only his deeds, but his very gestures
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 233 
 
 and tone of voice. He practiced his cruel acts so 
 stealthfully, and in so many divergent localities along 
 the barrier ridge that the crimes were not attributed to 
 one band by the authorities at Philadelphia and Harris' 
 Ferry. A trader could not be murdered one night 
 near McConnellstown and a family butchered a few 
 hours later at the head of Shaver's Creek by the same 
 band; it was a physical impossibility, declared those 
 in control. But nevertheless it was Iron Elk and his 
 cohorts who committed each and every foul deed, run- 
 ning like wolves through the night along paths only 
 known to themselves, which connected the entire range 
 by a network of communication. Many a murder at- 
 tributed to other bands of Indians was in reality the 
 work of Iron Elk or his followers; history has slighted 
 this notorious redskin as an arch-murderer. How long 
 he would have continued his wicked course, or the 
 awful total of scalps he might have collected, is a mat- 
 ter of conjecture, had not a strange thing happened 
 to him. 
 
 Hardened wretch that he was, foe of the white race 
 that he professed to be, he fell in love with a settler's 
 daughter. This pioneer, whose name was Jasper 
 Troxel, had migrated from the Blue Mountain coun- 
 try, from the banks of the Ontelaunee, to try his for- 
 tunes on a triangular plot of ground which lay between 
 Muddy Run and Laurel Run, near their confluence, 
 in what is now Huntingdon County. He was not 
 afraid of Indians, and as proof of his courage had 
 brought his wife and ten children — nine of them were
 
 234 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 girls — as his companions in the wilderness. He was 
 able to make his clearing, build his house and plant his 
 first crop of buckwheat before he saw his first redskin 
 — and that one came on a friendly errand, at least so 
 he thought. 
 
 One evening in the first part of September, after a 
 busy day's work, the pioneer sat with his family on 
 the doorstep, resting and reflecting over the day's 
 labors. Such was their feeling of security that the 
 rifles and muskets were left inside of the house. It was 
 a quiet evening, warm for that time of the year, and 
 the sun lingered on the white trunks of the girdled yel- 
 low pines in the valley seemingly longer than usual. 
 The thoughts of the entire family were far from In- 
 dians, consequently great was their surprise to see a tall 
 redskin, attired in a scarlet cloak and a red cap, emerge 
 from the forest on the eastern. side of the tiny clearing. 
 As if trying to prove the innocence of his intentions, he 
 carried no gun, his long arms waved idly at his sides 
 from under the vivid-hued cloak. He advanced toward 
 the frontier family seated on their doorstep, a smile 
 playing about his wide, thin-lipped mouth. Though 
 the younger children had never beheld an Indian be- 
 fore, for some unaccountable reason they were not 
 afraid, but open-eyed watched his approach. 
 
 Jasper Troxel could not understand the reason for 
 the redman's visit, and would have been more amazed 
 had he known that the stranger was none other than 
 the murderous Iron Elk. Yet less than twelve hours 
 before this same Indian had approached the little clear-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 235 
 
 mg with murder in his heart. With primed rifle he 
 had neared the edge of the farm intent on shooting 
 down the hardy pioneer as he toiled in his field. But 
 he had paused before making his desire a reahty upon 
 seeing the settler's eldest daughter, pretty little Carrie 
 Troxel. The sight of this girl of eighteen had changed 
 him in an instant from a would-be murderer to an ar- 
 dent lover, determined to win by fair means rather than 
 foul. 
 
 He had dismissed his henchmen, retired to his fa- 
 vorite cave for meditation, and then sallied forth in 
 the late afternoon to make the acquaintance of the 
 Troxel family after the manner of a gentleman. In 
 order to explain his presence he said that he had sev- 
 eral knives which needed sharpening, and that he un- 
 derstood there was a good grindstone at the farmhouse. 
 He gave his name, He-Ha-Ka-Maza, which conveyed 
 nothing to the settlers, whereas all would have shud- 
 dered had he announced himself as Iron Elk. He 
 spoke Dutch like a native, and soon was able to in- 
 gratiate himself into the confidences of the family. 
 Tall, lithe, with keen grey eyes that were larger than 
 those of most Indians and possessed of a winning smile, 
 there was nothing about him that suggested the ma- 
 rauder or murderer. 
 
 He sat with the family until dark, artfully managing 
 to direct most of his conversation to the pretty daugh- 
 ter Carrie, who was self-possessed and much older in 
 manner than many of her age. Then he left, after 
 promising to return the next day with his knives. He
 
 236 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 made such an excellent impression that the almost in- 
 evitable family council of war was not held after his 
 departure; nothing sinister was suspected of him; he 
 was declared to be a "friendly Indian," and an un- 
 commonly attractive one. 
 
 The afternoon following, true to his promise, the 
 strange Indian returned with his packet of knives. 
 Carrie was so little afraid of him that he contrived to 
 have her turn the grindstone, for in a family where 
 there were so many girls, all were used to various kinds 
 of work. And as he polished off the blades of his 
 knives, knives that had reeked in human blood, he all 
 the while smiled down at the pretty little pioneer girl 
 with her big blue eyes, her fine aquiline nose, her plump 
 face framed with wavy ash-brown hair, her graceful 
 and winsome figure. Unconsciously the girl felt an 
 attraction for the big savage, such as she had never 
 known for any man before. In fact in her isolated life 
 she had previously only known one man whom she 
 cared to meet a second time. This man was Jimmy 
 MacGiffert, a young Scotch-Irish boy with grey eyes 
 and a shock of stiff red hair, who lived at the foot of 
 the mountains east of McAlevy's Fort, and who occa- 
 sionally visited the Troxel clearing. But he was a shy 
 lad, had never made decided advances, or showed that 
 he preferred her to her sisters; he was merely a pass- 
 ing admirer, she thought. But the Indian in fluent 
 Pennsylvania Dutch complimented her, a thing that 
 had never been done to her before, as in the stern life 
 on the frontier no time was wasted in any household
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 237 
 
 on "soft speeches." She had heard herself called 
 pretty for the first time in her life, and it sounded good 
 to her empty soul. Intensely grateful was she to the 
 Indian for making her feel that she was of some con- 
 sequence, that apart from her ability to perform her 
 share of the family tasks, some one cared for her. She 
 liked the redman immensely by the time the last knife 
 was sharpened. And with the sharpening of that last 
 knife Iron Elk felt that he had ground away all traces 
 of his sanguinary past. He might have murdered all 
 the Troxels except Carrie, and carried her off into the 
 forest; it would have been easy, yet somehow the sight 
 of her had aroused emotions so different that he scarcely 
 recognized his old self. After promising to return with 
 some beaver and otter hides as payment for the favor 
 accorded, the big Indian took his leave, regretted by all 
 the family, who at supper unanimously resolved here- 
 after not to believe all the bad they heard of the sav- 
 ages. 
 
 The next evening at sundown Iron Elk was back 
 again with a big pack of hides, which he threw down 
 on the doorstep unconcernedly, and chatted with all 
 the family until dark, when he took his departure. 
 After that he visited the i roxel family every few days. 
 He became on easy footing with them all, was allowed 
 to talk freely with Carrie, and even to take little walks 
 with her to the spring, which was in the forest just 
 beyond the edge of the clearing. 
 
 On one occasion Jimmy MacGiffert stopped at the 
 Troxel home for dinner. Shy as he was, he had al-
 
 238 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 ways tried to talk with Carrie, but on this day she 
 seemed more distant than ever. Before he left he tried 
 to recall to her an incident when she had met him at 
 the spring, one day the year before, and had punched 
 the first syllable of his last name "Mac" with a sharp 
 stick in a big paw-paw leaf, and had thrown it in the 
 spring to float about like a little boat — the craft that 
 bore his happiness. But she seemed to forget about 
 this early act of sentiment and he went away heavy 
 hearted. Yet after he was gone, her love nature 
 awakened by Iron Elk, Carrie felt secretly elated 
 that she possessed a second lover. She now knew 
 that men cared for her, which made life well worth 
 living. 
 
 Gradually the Indian lover became more personal 
 in his conversation. He was unfolding the story of 
 his love until he might come to the page which revealed 
 his hope to have her all his own One evening when 
 she had accompanied him as far as the spring, where 
 she was to get a bucket of water, the redman gently 
 enfolded her in his arms, and with a voice choked with 
 emotion told her the whole story in more or less co- 
 herent Shawnee and Dutch. Carrie leaned her frow- 
 selled tawny head against his capacious breast, affirm- 
 ing his love, yet fearful of the consequences. She was 
 anxious to marry him, yet dreaded to break the news 
 to her parents, who always regarded the Indian as a 
 "family friend." As a possible son-in-law he might 
 not be so acceptable. She was so slow in answering 
 that Iron Elk divined her reticence.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 239 
 
 "Come with me now, to-night, then there will be no 
 explanations to make, no time lost." 
 
 In answer Carrie pressed her soft face close against 
 his breast. In another instant they were wending their 
 way together along the path which led m the direction 
 of the eastern mountains. 
 
 When, half an hour later, Carrie's absence was com- 
 mented upon, Jasper Troxel was equally decisive. 
 Bringing forth his brace of bear dogs, he strapped them 
 together, and holding them on leash, proceeded to fol- 
 low them into the wilderness. His only son, a boy of 
 ten years of age, bearing a torch of rich pine, followed 
 the procession. 
 
 As he parted from his wife at the spring he mut- 
 tered, "It was a foolish thing to let that Indian have the 
 run of this place, but mark my word, I'll have Carrie 
 back or Iron Elk's scalp on my belt by morning." 
 
 He presented a formidable appearance as, carrying 
 his rifle in his left hand and with the dogs dragging 
 him by the leash in the right, he disappeared into the 
 gloom. All night long he followed the trail, sometimes 
 seemingly coming very close to the runaways. At such 
 times his hopes ran very high. In the morning he ar- 
 rived at the Juniata — it was much swollen by the fall 
 rains — near where the city of Lewistown now stands. 
 There the dogs lost the scent at an old Indian landing. 
 It was clear to the distracted father that the girl had 
 boarded or been placed in a canoe, and taken away. 
 There was nothing left but to turn homewards, a sadly 
 disillusioned man.
 
 240 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 While wandering along disconsolately whom should 
 he meet but Carrie's silent admirer, Jimmy MacGiffert. 
 Of course the heartsick pioneer unfolded his story to 
 him. Did the girl go willingly or unwillingly? Mac- 
 Giffert, his anger and jealousy aroused, was instantly 
 sympathetic. Leaning his rifle against a tree, he an- 
 nounced that he was ready to hunt down the villainous 
 Indian, and rescue the girl. As a hint for his speedy 
 departure, Jasper Troxel told of how suddenly the girl 
 had vanished. 
 
 "I am ready to go now," said MacGiffert, shoulder- 
 ing his rifle again. "I was starting for the East on a 
 moose hunt, but I much prefer trailing a low-blooded 
 redskin." 
 
 A.S the young man knew the ways and the haunts 
 of the Indians, and was animated by malice and un- 
 requited love, he was just the person to start on the 
 man hunt. 
 
 "She will come back as my wife," said the youth 
 with a grim smile. "I don't think you would object 
 to me as son-in-law." 
 
 "Not in the least. You are just the man for her," 
 replied Troxel. "I did not want the girl to marry for 
 a year or two, until I got my plantation cleared, but 
 since she seems determined to marry some one, she 
 could not choose a better man than you." 
 
 Jasper Troxel had had many hard knocks in his 
 day; he knew how to accept fate unflinchingly. He 
 returned to his home without complaint and took up his 
 daily tasks as if nothing had happened. His wife was
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 241 
 
 of the same heroic mould; she accepted matters with- 
 out question. The children were too busy to discuss 
 their sister's adventure. 
 
 After MacGiffert said good-bye to Troxel and his 
 boy, he ruminated further a while before starting on 
 his hunt. He figured out that if the Indian had taken 
 the girl eastward in his canoe, he would probably con- 
 tinue the journey until they reached one of the Indian 
 paths which led toward the Mahantango, Berries, 
 Peter's or the Kittochtinny Mountains. 
 
 TTie young man went to the old landing at the mouth 
 of Jack's Creek, where he found a fairly good canoe 
 hidden in a tangle of red birches and willows. A few 
 repairs made it seaworthy, and in it he started on his 
 pilgrimage. He eagerly scanned the shores for Indians 
 who might be induced to give him information, but not 
 seeing any he continued his way until he reached the 
 mouth of Crane's Run, near the present borough of 
 Millerstown. There he debarked, as he knew that the 
 Indian path to Broad Mountain led from there east- 
 ward through Pfoutz's Valley. But as he found no 
 canoes beached or no Indians to question, he launched 
 his boat again and held his course until he came to the 
 mouth of the Juniata. At Duncan's and at Halde- 
 man's islands he met several Indians, but they declared 
 that no boats had come ashore there for several weeks. 
 
 Taking the chance that Iron Elk and his misguided 
 companion had passed into the Susquehanna after 
 nightfall, MacGiffert embarked once more, floating 
 along until he reached the mouth of Stony Creek. At
 
 242 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 that spot there was a considerable Indian encamp- 
 ment, a mixed lot of redskins, Shawnees, Conestogas, 
 Pequots, as well as some half-breeds. The Indians 
 had been drinking, and were in a communicative mood. 
 The young pioneer asked them if a canoe containing 
 an Indian and a white girl had been seen in that vicin- 
 ity, and if so did they think that the girl was a captive 
 or accompanied him willingly. The Indians laughed 
 when questioned. Yes, they had seen such a pair, the 
 Indian was none other than He-Ha-Ka-Maza or Iron 
 Elk, the terrible slayer of white men. The white girl 
 was fair, very pretty, and seemed happy to be with 
 the hideous painted savage. The couple had hidden 
 their canoe in the bushes, and started along the path 
 which led up Stony Creek. Out in the Blue Moun- 
 tains were ample fastnesses; it was an ideal country in 
 which to elude pursuers. 
 
 MacGiflfert on hearing this unpleasant information 
 did not hesitate long about what to do next. Unac- 
 companied, he boldly struck out along the path taken 
 by the elopers. But it was like hunting for a "shilling 
 in a labyrinth" — the forests were vast, the mountains 
 high, the gloom impenetrable, the paths half hidden 
 and tortuous. Occasionally the young man met red- 
 skins who directed him to the haunts most favored by 
 their race. But he never came across any in all the 
 weary weeks and months he searched who had seen 
 the Indian and his love. But MacGiffert did not come 
 from a race of quitters; he would find the girl and kill 
 Iron Elk if it took ten years.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 243 
 
 Autumn blended into winter, and the snow blocked 
 up the deep ravines and canyons of the Blue Moun- 
 tains. Living as best he could by hunting and trap- 
 ping, and stopping now and then with friendly Indians, 
 or occupying his improvised hut in McGilligan's 
 Rocks, the dreary winter passed, and at length spring 
 intervened. But even with the advent of blue sky, 
 warm breezes, pussy-willows, spice bushes, and Blue 
 Mountain violets, the songs of birds, came no tidings 
 of the lost Carrie Troxel. It was not until the bright, 
 breezy month of June that the quest gave signs of 
 ending. 
 
 One day at noon, weary and well nigh disheartened, 
 MacGiffert was resting by the side of Windsor Brook, 
 a beautiful rushing stream which flows fresh and turbu- 
 lent, as cold as ice, from the very heart of the Pin- 
 nacle, with its thousand caves, and the highest peak of 
 the Kittochtinny range for many miles around. As he 
 sat there watching the speckled trout jumping, the 
 dancing of yellow butterflies, the leisurely flight of the 
 "red hackles" and the "water crickets" skipping over 
 the bubbling surface, he noticed a broad pawpaw leaf 
 swirling along with the current. Instantly old 
 memories were revived, and almost before he real- 
 ized it, he was reaching out and grasping at it as it 
 swept along. Seizing the dripping and icy leaf, he 
 laid it in the palm of his hand. There he saw some- 
 thing which made him wild with surprise and emotion. 
 Pricked on the flat surface of the leaf, as if with a 
 sharpened stick was the word "Mac," Carrie Troxel's
 
 244 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 old pet name for him. Quick as a flash he read a 
 meaning from it. The girl, if not a captive, was un- 
 happy and had launched the leaf on the chance that 
 he might find it. Or she might have heard through 
 some of his Indian friends that he was hunting for her. 
 He knew that the stream extended up the gorge but a 
 mile or two further — Carrie, whom he loved, was near 
 him, and he would rescue her before the sun went 
 down. 
 
 Priming his rifle, and adjusting his long knife, he 
 began his march up the bank of the brook. It was a 
 wild jungle of rhododendrons, fallen trees, vines and 
 briars; it was hard to proceed quietly, but at length 
 he came to a small opening near where the torrent 
 gushed out from the vast mountain's mighty heart. In 
 the far corner, in the dense shade lay the long lean 
 form of the hated Iron Elk, fast asleep. MacGiffert's 
 decision was instantly made. Raising his rifle butt 
 foremost he charged the prostrate savage. Bringing 
 down the heavy butt with a thud on the redman's 
 skull, he sent him from dreamland into unconscious- 
 ness. Hastily looking around lest Carrie intercept him, 
 he resolved to quickly finish his cruel design. 
 
 Dragging the senseless body, the arms and legs of 
 which he securely tied, to the creekside, he leaped in 
 the torrent, and using his ramrod as a crowbar he 
 began digging a deep pit. Goaded to superhuman 
 energy by hate and rage, he soon had the hole as 
 deep as the height of a human body. Then he 
 picked up the wobbling form of th^ Indian and
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 245 
 
 stood it up to its neck in the pit. Close around 
 it he packed the stones and gravel, until the In- 
 dian was wedged solidly into the bed of the stream. 
 
 Then, perhaps it was the cool force of the water 
 that facilitated it, the huge Indian recovered con- 
 sciousness. Looking around him he beheld his foe; 
 he realized his fate, and his helplessness, and he 
 shrieked piteously for mercy. 
 
 But MacGiffert only laughed until his sides shook 
 as he watched the horrid wretch's antics. The In- 
 dian's cries brought Carrie to the scene; she had been 
 gathering berries in the woods, but she exhibited no 
 compassion when she saw her whilom lover's fate. 
 Running to where MacGiffert stood, she threw her 
 arms about his waist. 
 
 "Oh, I am so happy to see you," she cried, "I knew 
 that the paw-paw leaf would reach you and bring you 
 to me. I felt that you were looking for me. I went 
 away with the Indian willingly, but h^ was so mean 
 and so cruel that I would have wished myself dead 
 had I not always cherished the thought of meeting you 
 again." 
 
 The Indian meanwhile kept yelling until his voice 
 cracked, his facial struggles being terrible to behold, 
 but he was trapped in the bed of the brook, to remain 
 there until death released his wicked spirit. Calmly 
 the couple turned their backs on the captive and com- 
 menced a journey which would bring them back to 
 the Juniata country, there to marry and "live happy 
 ever afterwards."
 
 246 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 And to this day, near where the Windsor Brook 
 bursts from the heart of the lofty Pinnacle, Iron Elk's 
 body still stands deep imbedded in the torrent's bed. 
 Moss, green, shaggy moss, has taken the place of the 
 raven locks, green, slimy mould covers the forehead 
 and the eyes, but the skull is still intact, the once proud 
 face, mingled with the pebbles and ooze, is easily 
 discernible. And there he must rest, paying the eternal 
 penalty for his selfish passion, while far away in the 
 Juniata country the descendants of Carrie Troxel and 
 Jim MacGiffert are happy and prosperous, typifying 
 the old saying that "All's well that ends well."
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 247 
 
 XVII. 
 WARRIOR'S MARK. 
 
 A LOVE STORY FROM INDIAN DAYS. 
 
 LIKE Warrior's Ridge, the name "Warrior's 
 Mark" has had many meanings ascribed to it. 
 Geographically speaking, it is a flat piece of 
 table land, well drained and fruitful, an ideal gather- 
 ing place for savages in the olden days. The historian, 
 Jones, states that the name originated from the fact of 
 certain oak trees in the vicinity having crescents or half 
 moons cut upon them with hatchets, so deep that traces 
 remained until recent years. The significance of them 
 was known to the Indians alone; but it is evident that 
 they were of importance, for, during the Revolution- 
 ary War, every time a band of Indians came into the 
 valley, one or more fresh "warrior marks" were put 
 upon the trees. The Indian path leading from Kittan- 
 ning, through the valley of the Karoondinha, to the 
 Susquehanna ran across this table land, and up to the 
 breaking out of the Revolution a good-sized Indian 
 village occupied the site. 
 
 Captain Logan, that noted redman for whom Logan 
 Run in Huntingdon County and Logan Valley in 
 Blair County are named, and one of the last Indians 
 to leave the Juniata Valley, when asked concerning
 
 248 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 the true meaning of the "warrior marks" evaded the 
 general question, but stated that he knew of some 
 marks made by an Indian lover at the time of the 
 great war between the Susquehannocks and Lenni 
 Lenape about 1635, which led to serious troubles, at 
 least for that particular redskin. 
 
 It appeared that for several years before the un- 
 successful invasion of the Spruce Creek Valley by the 
 Lenni Lenape, a well-defined system of scouting and 
 spying was carried on by the Indians living north of 
 the Tussey Mountains. The invasion was looked for 
 during several years before it actually took place, con- 
 sequently the Susquehannocks were enabled to under- 
 stand the exact strength of their foes and crush them at 
 the Battle of the Indian Steps near the famous Rock 
 Springs not far from the present village of Baile5rville, 
 in Centre County. This battle, the greatest in the his- 
 tory of the Indians of Pennsylvania, left the various 
 tribes in the position they were found by William 
 Penn. 
 
 Captain Logan could describe the battle to the 
 smallest detail, and it is a pity that he did not fall in 
 with some historian during his lifetime, who could have 
 transferred it to manuscript form. As it is, after pass- 
 ing orally through several generations, it has lost much 
 of its directness and historical accuracy. But it is per- 
 petuated in stirring verse by Central Pennsylvania's 
 bard, John H. Chatham. 
 
 Among the spies employed by the Northern Indians 
 was a certain young brave named Keneshaw. He
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 249 
 
 came from that picturesque region now known as 
 Brush Valley, not far from Penn's Cave. He was a 
 handsome, vigorous fellow, keen and alert, and his re- 
 ports on the status of the presumed foemen was much 
 prized even by the mighty war-lord of the Susquehan- 
 nocks, Pipsisseway. He was said to be so cunning 
 that no one in the hostile territory was aware of his 
 repeated visits, which was considered remarkable, even 
 in a forested country. 
 
 But he had his vulnerable point, for he was only 
 human, and like most men it was his heart that led 
 him to indiscretion. For one morning in crossing the 
 table land of the warrior's marks he saw a beautiful 
 Indian maiden. It was a bright day in February, the 
 month of flying clouds, and he was homeward bound 
 after securing some particularly valuable information 
 as to the fighting strength of the Lenni Lenape. The 
 air was invigorating, yet in the windwalls where the 
 sun shone down there was a comforting warmth to the 
 atmosphere. Keneshaw was feeling keenly alive and 
 happy, the ideal mood in which to be when overtaken 
 by the god of love. His alert senses told him that 
 some one was coming toward him on the path, so he 
 adroitly stepped behind a giant beech to wait until the 
 danger passed. To his surprise it was not a proud 
 young brave, or a suspicious old chief, but a very beau- 
 tiful young maid. 
 
 Overcome by an impulse he could not resist, the 
 hardened spy and wily diplomat stepped out from be- 
 hind the tree and confronted the girl in the path. He
 
 250 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 had a winning smile, and he knew the Indian world 
 and its ways, for it was a world strangely like ours, 
 and the result produced was the same. 
 
 Alletah, the Lenni Lenape maid, smiled in return 
 and felt no fear. The handsome couple became 
 speedily well acquainted, so much so that the scout was 
 not afraid to tell the girl all about himself. Between 
 lovers there is always self-revelation, even when the 
 confession is perilous. 
 
 But Alletah, her affections struck into flame by the 
 suddenness of the meeting, was to be trusted, besides 
 she had no personal grudge against the redmen of the 
 north. But she frankly admitted the danger of ever 
 being seen with this strange youth. It would mean 
 death at the stake for her and an even more terrible 
 end for Keneshaw if he was caught. And as their 
 great love had been born under the spreading branches 
 of the giant beeech, its dry leaves palpitating in the 
 February breeze, they would meet there, and there 
 alone. It was a secluded spot, and could be ap- 
 proached by night, and gradually their plans for the 
 future could be worked out under it. 
 
 The plan would be that when Keneshaw came into 
 that region on his next spying trip he would carve a 
 half moon very close to the roots of the tree, and Alle- 
 tah when she found it would steal from her parents' 
 lodge house at midnight and meet her lover at the 
 sacred spot. She would manage to pass the tree every 
 day, but if she should happen to miss it by bad 
 weather or absence with her parents on hunting or fish-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 251 
 
 ing trips, Keneshaw would await her at the tree for 
 several consecutive nights, unti she appeared. Then, 
 when they parted, they would carve away the half 
 moon, so there could be no errors until the next time. 
 The horned moon or Astarte was an Indian symbol of 
 love or passion, therefore the most appropriate of war- 
 rior's marks! 
 
 When they parted Keneshaw threw his great arms 
 about the beautiful Alletah and held her face so that 
 he could look down into it, and carry away a lasting 
 image, a likeness burned into his heart of hearts. And 
 Alletah was a very beautiful maiden. She was not 
 very tall, but was of plump and shapely build, and 
 with, oh, such an exquisite face. By far the best fea- 
 ture of all was the eyes, the color of fairy stones, a 
 peculiar changeable hue. By the campfire's ruddy 
 glow they shone blue, but by daylight, under the flying 
 clouds of February, they were brown, with lights of 
 red and agate. By night her hair was golden, yet by 
 day it seemed black, as befitting one of her race. But 
 the waxy pallor of her face, the parchment pink of 
 her thin lips was always the same. Her nose long and 
 straight showed her descent from a line of warriors 
 who were not afraid of death. 
 
 After many embraces, coupled with vows and pro- 
 testations, Keneshaw turned from his new-found love 
 and hurried on his way. He longed to look back, but 
 it meant disaster to every Indian who refused to accept 
 "good-bye" — God be with you until we meet again — 
 as final. But the impression made was a deep one.
 
 252 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 especially as Keneshaw had never been in love before. 
 Much as he adored his w^ork as scout, he loved the 
 fair Alletah more. And he managed to revisit the val- 
 leys about Warrior's Run more frequently than other 
 parts of the territory of the Southern Indians, so that 
 he could be near to w^here she resided. But the 
 meeting of the lovers was alw^ays at the same place, 
 under the giant beech on the table land. From Feb- 
 ruary until September the romance continued unabated 
 every moon. The last time that the pair w^ere together 
 they were particularly happy in each other's company. 
 A definite hope for a speedy union was at hand. 
 
 The Lenni Lenape had decided to cross the Indian 
 Steps and invade the country of the Susquehannocks, 
 and in the confusion of a bloody war, Alletah would 
 slip across the m.ountains and become the wife of her 
 warrior lover. Then he would establish her in some 
 secluded valley in the north until peace was restored 
 and her family would forget that she ever lived. As 
 this might sound heartless to modern readers, it would 
 be well to state that there were no reconciliations 
 among the Lenni Lenape, a daughter who married a 
 foe was dead to them for all time. 
 
 It was a beautiful cloudless afternoon when the 
 lovers parted. There was already a lavender tint to the 
 leaves of the ancient beech. Among the dry grass a 
 few belated stalks of boneset, ironweed and Joe Pye 
 weed bloomed triumphantly. The tops of the golden 
 rods were grey, faded blonde beauties. The blue 
 birds twittered as they flew about in companies, pre-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 253 
 
 paring for their migration. As Nature is loveliest at 
 time of change, so it is said, seems a woman more 
 beautiful at parting. Keneshaw was loath to go, and 
 he clasped and unclasped his arms about the fair Alle- 
 tah, as if filled with some presentiment that it would 
 be for the last time. Why is it that cruel fate is made 
 easier for us by such portends, and happier are those 
 who are sensible enough to heed them. Yet his last 
 words to Alletah were that he would be back the next 
 moon. He did not look back as he hurried away. 
 
 When he reached the headquarters of his king on 
 the banks of the West Branch of the Susquehanna, 
 at the royal village of Tschimingy, he was made ac- 
 quainted with a strange looking being, a pale-faced 
 man, a native of France called Stephen Brule, who 
 had in 1615 been the first white man to visit Pennsyl- 
 vania. At that time he had come to induce the Sus- 
 quehannocks to join the Hurons of Canada in making 
 war on the Five Nations, which then occupied the 
 "lake region" in central New York State. On this 
 later occasion he had come on a friendly visit, but the 
 mighty Pipsisseway had arranged that his favorite 
 scout Keneshaw, upon his return from the South, 
 should act as his escort through Northern Pennsyl- 
 vania and New York, and see him safely into friendly 
 territory in Canada. For no Indian living knew the 
 forest paths like Keneshaw, and he was only a young 
 man, so it must be inferred that the secrets of the for- 
 ests were his special talent, his bom aptitude. 
 
 It would be a long journey, however, and his smile
 
 254 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 left his lips, when the orders were given to him. Many 
 moons must pass before he would again cross the Tus- 
 sey Mountains to his love. But he loved his king, and 
 it was a signal honor to be selected as guide to the 
 white-faced stranger. Stephen Brule was popular with 
 the Susquehannocks. He was a man of genial na- 
 ture and prepossessing appearance. He is described 
 as being of medium height, with reddish brown hair, a 
 full beard, large blue eyes, and an aquiline nose; he 
 was the true type of the adventurer or argonaut. 
 
 The next morning saw Keneshaw and Brule em- 
 barking on the West Branch in a canoe to begin their 
 journey to the north by way of the North Fork of 
 Sinnemahoning. A large assemblage was on the 
 shores to wave "good-bye." Pipsisseway himself 
 helped to launch the canoe in the sparkling waters. 
 There were many who envied Keneshaw, and he 
 wished they could read his heart and be satisfied with 
 their lot. 
 
 As soon as the boat was out of sight up the river the 
 king decreed the appointment of a new scout to tem- 
 porarily visit the southern valleys. Some of the old 
 warriors advised a young brave named Ko-She-Se- 
 Glo, and he was accordingly selected for the post. 
 Two months elapsed before he reached the vicinity of 
 the giant beech tree. All this time Alletah had been 
 on the alert watching for her lover's return, conse- 
 quently she was quick to intercept the stranger wear- 
 ing the headgear of the Susquehannocks, whom she 
 noticed one morning leaning against the old tree.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 255 
 
 Ko-She-Se-GIo was not handsome. He was the 
 possessor of evil thoughts, which, according to the In- 
 dians, accounted for his ugHness. But he admired the 
 opposite sex with all the ardor of an Adonis. Alletah 
 approached him boldly, and asked him if he was ac- 
 quainted with Keneshaw, a member of the same 
 tribe. The new scout looked at the fair girl closely 
 with his beady little black eyes, and thought that he 
 understood the situation. Fie divined that the girl 
 loved his predecessor, and would not favor any other 
 Indian unless she felt that her lover had abandoned 
 her. To have a love affair sub rosa with such a beau- 
 tiful girl while attending to his offical duties in the 
 neighborhood was worth a lie at least. So when she 
 asked him again about Keneshaw, he burst out into a 
 coarse laugh. 
 
 "Keneshaw," he bellowed, "you know Keneshaw? 
 Why he must have had a girl in every valley. But 
 now he's married to a lovely wife, and will never come 
 into these parts again." 
 
 Alletah's pale face flushed, and she bit her parch- 
 ment-like lips to redness. It was hard to believe that 
 she had been deceived, made a cat's-paw of, but it must 
 be true since her lover had ceased coming. She 
 questioned the stranger further on the subject. Kene- 
 shaw had been married some months, he said, but the 
 bride had only lately heard of his love affairs when 
 he was on his various trips and had induced him to 
 take a post nearer home. 
 
 Deceived, deserted, loved by a married man, these
 
 256 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 were terrible things for Alletah to hear. Her savage 
 blood turned her love to hate. She resolved then and 
 there to have revenge somehow, yet she did not en- 
 courage the stranger, as she knew him to be an Indian 
 with evil thoughts. She parted from the visitor civilly, 
 thanking him for his information, but after that she 
 managed never to meet him again. All through the 
 long winter she pined in her parents' lodge house. She 
 could not eat, her sleep was broken by frightful 
 dreams, she became as thin as a copperhead, as irri- 
 table as a lynx. 
 
 One day in April when the sun was shining with 
 rare warmth through the bare trees she went for a 
 stroll on the tableland. She felt so ill that she was 
 seriously considering throwing herself over a precipice 
 and ending it all ; her walk would lead her in the direc- 
 tion of the gorge of Warrior's Run. As she passed 
 the aged beech tree, which had been the scene of so 
 many happy hours, she instinctively glanced at the 
 huge smooth roots. To her amazement she saw a 
 freshly cut half moon on one of them. Her heart 
 began to beat against her breast so fast that she feared 
 that the thumping would throw her to the ground. 
 Her face flushed, her head became dizzy. She would 
 meet Keneshaw that night as if nothing had happened, 
 but alas that fair mood was fleeting. In another in- 
 stant pride mastered her soul ; revenge must be hers. 
 
 Turning on her heel, she quickly made for her 
 father's lodge house. Going up to the old warrior, 
 who was sitting on a red bear's hide, smoking and
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 257 
 
 nodding in the sun, she fell on her knees, and tearfully 
 announced that she had a confession to make. Her 
 health had been poor because her conscience troubled 
 her for her misdeeds. She had met and loved a spy 
 from the Susquehannocks, had given him much in- 
 formation concerning her people. She repented of 
 this wickedness, she gave herself up to die at the 
 stake. At midnight coming the scout could be caught 
 at a certain giant beech tree on the table land. 
 
 The old father, loving his tribe first, his family rela- 
 tions afterward, shed no tears on hearing this awful 
 recital of perfidy. When she finished he reached for 
 a war club which lay nearby and smote her over the 
 forehead, knocking her senseless. There he left her 
 while he strode along the village street to the abode of 
 his chief. He quickly told him of the awful news. 
 
 The chief was, of course, indignant. He sent his 
 bodyguard to bring Alletah to his presence. When 
 she recovered consciousness she admitted the truth, 
 and then she was ordered bound and gagged and the 
 guards threw her like a sack of meal into an aban- 
 doned cabin. At midnight Keneshaw was surrounded 
 at the trysting place, overpowered, gagged and carried 
 into the presence of the chief who decreed that the spy 
 and his traitor sweetheart should die together at the 
 stake at daybreak. A huge pyre was built in the open 
 space in front of the chieftain's castle. In the center of 
 it a hard oak pole or stake was imbedded in the earth. 
 
 Just as the first red glare of the new day appeared 
 above the Warrior's Ridge, the two renegade lovers
 
 258 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 were strapped back to back to the stake. Before the 
 torch was applied by the chief the gags were removed, 
 and he demanded of the victims if they had anything 
 to say. Alletah, paler and more beautiful than ever, 
 was the first to speak. 
 
 With a clear and composed voice she said, "My 
 king, I do not claim any honor for my repentence and 
 confession. I did it because I learned that my fellow- 
 sufferer, who was once my lover, is married and had 
 been deceiving me. Revenge prompted me to confess. 
 I die a disgrace to my family and my tribe." 
 
 A great silence fell over the crowd at these words, 
 which became more intense when Keneshaw began to 
 speak. 
 
 "Great king," he said, "I am guilty of spying and 
 have no excuses to make, but I swear I am not mar- 
 ried. It is a false accusation. I die full of love for 
 the fair girl who, tied to my back, will share my fate." 
 
 At these words, Alletah uttered a piercing scream, 
 and her head fell down on her breast. She had 
 swooned away. 
 
 But the details of the lovers' private lives mattered 
 nothing to the angry multitude. As spies and traitors 
 they must die, and they demanded that the torch be 
 applied forthwith. The king first cut out Keneshaw's 
 tongue with his scalping knife, and then applied the 
 torch to the fagots. The cruel flames leaped up about 
 the helpless victims. Keneshaw met his death in full 
 consciousness, but Alletah never recovered her senses, 
 therefore her end must have been a painless one. But
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 259 
 
 both had given up their Hves through a misunderstand- 
 ing, through another's foul envy and jealousy. The 
 searching flames soon swept everything bare, and then 
 the crowd dispersed, feeling that they had witnessed 
 the extinction of two human fiends. 
 
 Out in the Tussey Mountains, near the crystal 
 spring, where Globe Run heads, where the old folks 
 say the Indians used to camp, is a circular spot of 
 ground where no grass or trees will grow. Barren in 
 a plenteous land, it strikes terror to even an unfeeling 
 heart. And that desert spot, the old folks say, is 
 where Keneshaw and Alletah were burned at the stake 
 nearly three hundred years ago. Perhaps fate leaves 
 that spot desolate as a warning to other lovers, perhaps 
 so that their memories may linger yet a while, a sort of 
 Indian Abelard and Heloise. But as to the details the 
 reader will have to supply himself, for the only person 
 who could furnish the missing links was Captain 
 Logan, who now sleeps at the mouth of Chickacla- 
 moose.
 
 260 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 WILD DUCKS. 
 
 A REMINISCENCE OF AN INDIAN CHIEF. 
 
 OLD LAPPOWINZO, the chief of the Lenni 
 Lenape, after his disastrous business dealings 
 with the whites in Northampton County in 
 1737, was naturally anxious to withdraw to a more 
 secluded locality, and first wended his way to a 
 wooded island on the Susquehanna, a few miles below 
 the present town of Selin's Grove. There he felt he 
 would not receive the reproaches of his tribesmen, who 
 regarded his complaisance to the notorious "walking 
 purchase" as either the act of a madman or a criminal. 
 By it he had agreed to cede to the white men lands ex- 
 tending from Neshaminy Creek "as far as a man could 
 walk in a day and a half." 
 
 When the survey was made a road was built inland, 
 and a trained runner did the rest. But as the chief 
 stuck to his words, it is no wonder that James Logan, 
 of the Proprietary Government, spoke of him as "an 
 honest old Indian." 
 
 On the cozy isle in the "big river" he hoped to have 
 peace, and as if to typify his rank, he built his cabin 
 beneath a giant white oak, on the dead crest of which 
 swung a bald eagle's nest. Many generations of eagles
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 261 
 
 occupied this imposing eyrie before Lappowinzo's 
 coming and after him; in fact, the last of these eagles 
 was shot by a Selin's Grove resident less than a dozen 
 years ago. It had lost its mate in 1 867. Shortly after 
 that Lappowinzo's oak shared the ignominious fate of 
 so many other historic trees, and was cut down for fire- 
 wood. 
 
 But the Indians at Shamokin (now Sunbury) and 
 at Toganogan's Town, near McKee's Half Falls, 
 heard of the presence of the old recluse, and came to 
 see him in their canoes and taunted him until life be- 
 came unbearable. Though he loved the blowy little 
 island where the eagles circled above him when the sky 
 was grey and stormy and the waters high, he could 
 not stand ridicule. So one dark night, accompanied 
 by a faithful nephew, he started up stream in a canoe. 
 They proceeded along the West Branch to the Bald 
 Eagle, thence up Spring Creek to the site of the town 
 of Bellefonte. After spending a few w^eks with old 
 Chief O-Ko-Cho, at the Mammoth Spring, a trip in- 
 land was made, with the result that a pretty site for a 
 permanent abode at the foot of Nittany Mountain was 
 selected. There Lappowinzo seemed content with all 
 the world. It was a veritabe hunter's paradise, teem- 
 ing with bison, elk, deer and several kinds of bears. 
 The climate was mild, the sharp winds so noticeable 
 on the Susquehanna being tempered by the giant moun- 
 tain which rose precipitously at the rear of his modest 
 shanty. The scenery was the finest he had ever looked 
 at. He nev^r hoped for more in the world to come.
 
 262 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 But in this sylvan elysium he was not to be left un- 
 disturbed. The Indians from the Seven Mountains 
 soon came trooping over to see the chief who had sold 
 his people's birthright for the white man's glittering 
 speech. They ridiculed the aged warrior in every con- 
 ceivable way, they were killing him by inches. So 
 again, on a dark night, accompanied by his faithful 
 nephew, he started away, this time for the beautiful 
 valley of the Juniata. There he felt he would be at 
 peace and could spend the balance of his allotted time 
 on earth free from abuse and contumely. He selected 
 a quiet nook, under a spreading buttonwood tree, on 
 what is now the Jenkins' farm, near the present town 
 of Newton Hamilton. For a time he was very happy 
 there. He was left alone for at least a year, which 
 was the calmest year he knew after his pitiful blunder 
 in the East. He passed his time carving out very sharp 
 hickory darts or arrows, which he used with unerring 
 aim at the wild ducks which were present at all times 
 of the year in the lovely river. He often invited 
 settlers or adventurers to stop at his cabin while he 
 "harpooned" them a string of ducks. Without mov- 
 ing from his favorite seat, a wooden bench nailed to 
 some projecting roots of the tree, he would bring down 
 a score of birds in as many minutes. If they fell in 
 the river he would wade or swim after them, if the 
 weather was mild, but in the fall or spring he would 
 quickly launch his paper-birch canoe and retrieve them. 
 
 But in the course of time the Juniata Indians learned 
 his identity, and they ceased to take him seriously,
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 263 
 
 They taunted and abused him, they mahgned him to 
 the white visitors. There seemed no peace on earth for 
 the grand old chief. Like the Wandering Jew, he 
 must ever be on the move. Sometimes he tried to rea- 
 son with his tormentors. Every one made mistakes, he 
 said. He had, previous to agreeing to the walking 
 purchase, heard no ill of the Proprietary Government, 
 he thought he was dealing with men of honor, like 
 himself. If trickery had been practiced the onus fell 
 on the whites, not himself. He asked to be let alone in 
 his old days. If he had made a blunder he was sorry; 
 he would not wittingly have sacrificed his people's 
 territory. But the savages, angered by many wrongs 
 at the white men's hands, were anxious to have a scape- 
 goat, and this old defenseless chief suited the purpose 
 admirably. There was nothing left to do but to move 
 again. 
 
 Stronger than the desire to be left alone was the love 
 of home, of old scenes, old memories. If he must be 
 abused, why not at home instead of in a strange local- 
 ity. Sorrowfully he confided to his nephew that he 
 would like to return to his old headquarters in North- 
 ampton County. It was galling to pride to go back 
 there, but it was home. The young man tried to dis- 
 suade the aged warrior, but it was useless. Back he 
 would go to the old torments. He could endure them 
 best amid scenes he loved, and from people whom he 
 understood. 
 
 Lappowinzo was philosopher enough to know that 
 there is actual retribution for every misstep made.
 
 264 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 whether intentional or unintentional — all must pay the 
 price. There is no escaping from it ; it is a scales which 
 never fails to balance, that no one can cheat who lives. 
 And worst of all, bad judgment is as heavily penal- 
 ized as bad intentions — to err is to suffer. 
 
 On one of his last evenings under the old sycamore 
 Lappowinzo went over all this with a young English 
 surveyor, who listened attentively to the chieftain's tale 
 of sorrow. After he had unburdened himself, he 
 seemed to feel much better. The wrinkles in the old 
 face smoothed out, a new fire came into the amber- 
 colored eyes. It was as if he had temporarily emerged 
 from torment into a land of peace. He began to smile 
 and chuckle to himself. Then he started to tell of his 
 hunting exploits in his youth, when the Wind Gap was 
 the favorite path of the black moose, or original, on 
 their migrations between New York and Pennsylvania. 
 In the fall he would lay in wait for these sylvan kings, 
 slaying as many as six in a day, each one pierced 
 through the heart by his unswerving arrov/s. Some of 
 the mammoth bulls weighed a ton, and fed the entire 
 encampment for a week, as no part was wasted, not 
 like the white hunters who after reserving a choice 
 saddle always left the rest to rot or feed the wolves. 
 Then he told of battles with fierce panthers at their 
 favorite haunt, the headwaters of the Lehigh, how he 
 had climbed to their ledges, resolving to dislodge them 
 or die, and had invariably sent the cougar families 
 sprawling into the valleys below. He told of battles 
 with other tribes of Indians, of massacres and scalping
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 265 
 
 bees, of how his warriors would lay down their lives 
 for him in the old days. Then his soul, mellowed by 
 the flood of memories and a sympathetic audience, he 
 turned to the supernatural, to legendary lore, to that 
 strange realm between the known and the unknown 
 where every Indian is at his best. 
 
 Seeing a flock of wild ducks — Mallards — fly above 
 the river, he carelessly picked up his bow and arrow, 
 which had been lying at his feet, and brought down 
 the leader, a fine drake, with the dart clear through his 
 heart. It fell near the surveyor's feet, and he ex- 
 pressed the greatest admiration for the old chief's 
 matchless skill. Lappowinzo smiled and related how 
 he had once impaled three ducks in the air with a single 
 arrow. It was a feat never equaled before or since to 
 his knowledge. The gun he said was a fine weapon, 
 but it was only for lazy men, a real lover of sport would 
 scorn it and hold to his bow and darts. Any man, he 
 claimed, could learn to use a gun, it required only 
 average sight and intelligence. The bow and arrow 
 belonged to picked men, the elect of the hunter's 
 fraternity. It was a sign of the Indians' decadence 
 when they abandoned their old weapon for the new. 
 
 Just then a kingfisher or Halcyon darted across the 
 river, rattling loudly as only a kingfisher can. The 
 old Indian said that he would shoot it on the wing 
 through the eye. In seeming leisurely fashion he ex- 
 tricated his dart from the duck's heart, took aim, and 
 before the Halcyon had time to alight on the dead 
 black birch on the opposite bank to which it was head-
 
 266 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 ing, it fell, pierced through the eye. It was a difficult 
 shot, as the bird was flying directly across the water, 
 with its back to the archer. 
 
 Seeing another Mallard flying near the tree, he de- 
 clared that he would impale it to the trunk, but not 
 having another arrow handy that remarkable feat was 
 left undone. The old chief smiled again, remarking 
 that as long as he could not show his guest an impaled 
 Mallard, he would tell him the old legend of how and 
 why the first wild ducks were created on the Juniata. 
 The wild duck was not old in creation, was one of the 
 last living things brought into existence, and curiously 
 enough one of the most useful of all forms of life. The 
 afternoon was becoming chilly, so the old Indian 
 threw some more wood on the fire, sending up a warm, 
 cheery blaze. Settling himself back on his bench, and 
 seemingly gazing up at the topmost branches of the old 
 tree, he began his story. 
 
 It seemed that in the old days, when the world was 
 new and the Indians enjoyed the full confidence of 
 their Maker, the Gitchie-Manitto was in the habit of 
 visiting the earth for the purpose of noting the progress 
 of his people, and of ascertaining their wants. Those 
 were happy days, before humanity, gloating with 
 fancied security and power sought to cast aside the 
 Supreme Mind which was first cause of all. In those 
 early days the sun always shone on this beautiful 
 world. It was only when mankind went astray that 
 the clouds and storms typified the grief of the Gitchie- 
 Manitto. Of all the regions created, the valley of the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 267 
 
 Juniata was accounted the loveliest. It was therefore 
 the favored spot of the Gitchie-Manitto when visiting 
 the earth. The residents of the valley were the chosen 
 people, as coming into closest contact with the benefi- 
 cent influence of their Maker. They were a happy 
 race, these early dwellers along the Juniata; they 
 wanted for nothing, yet their wants were few. The 
 beautiful river, with its pure limpid water, was their 
 delight, rippling and dancing in the sunlight by their 
 doors, reflecting the rays of the setting sun at evening, 
 the rays of moon and stars by night. It never looked 
 twice alike; it was called the Happy River, as it was 
 never roily or angry; winds and rains affected it little. 
 In the winter when it froze over, it resembled a won- 
 drous sheet of rock crystal, or a beautiful maiden 
 asleep. The most elegant and shapely trees grew by 
 its banks, stately elms, willows, and birches, hemlocks 
 with branches that kissed the waves, tall dark pines, 
 like silent guardians, massive oaks that harbored the 
 singing birds. All the wildflowers grew by its shores, 
 starting in the early spring with modest white blossoms, 
 windflowers, then a little later would come clusters of 
 pink, swamp pink, then red, cardinal flower, then blue, 
 pickerel weed, then purple, iron weed, and lastly in 
 late September the banks would be lined by the rich 
 clusters of the swamp sunflowers. The glory of the 
 spring was only exceeded by the rich tints of autumn, 
 the scarlets of the oaks, the vermilion of the tupelos, 
 the lavender of the beeches, the yellow of the birches, 
 the brown of the elms, the grey of willows.
 
 268 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 It was all so exquisitely hued that the souls of the 
 simple dwellers along the lovely river were uplifted 
 and made to feel the completeness of Nature's religion 
 when it is worshipped voluntarily every day. TTiere 
 seemed to be nothing lacking in this rare bower, crea- 
 tion had said its last word. But as in art, there is no 
 end to creation ; it is an endless reaching out, and end- 
 less beautifying of the beautiful. Art and Nature 
 never tire as they can never accept a fixed standard, 
 all is change, advance, joy. Death, unending and still 
 is what all recoil from, as against the eternal pro- 
 gression of Nature with its endless chain of possibil- 
 ities. 
 
 When the Gitchie-Manitto visited the Juniata Val- 
 ley on one occasion, he paused to enjoy the transpar- 
 ent beauty of the ever-flowing water. The river 
 flowed over a gravelly bed, filled with smooth pebbles 
 of every color, which added greatly to the translucency. 
 Among the pebbles were mussels, oysters and clams 
 here and there eddying about with the current, in other 
 places half buried in the shining gravel. Their shells 
 were not as bright and attractive looking as many of the 
 shells of the sea; they could hardly be said to add to 
 the beauty of the marine picture. Somehow or other 
 these shells should be improved upon for the pleasure 
 of the good people who would look upon them every 
 day. The fish which swam hither and thither were all 
 beautifully colored, some reflected on their scales a 
 golden hue, others silver, others were mottled with 
 every color of the rainbow. These shells should at
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 269 
 
 least be as beautiful as the fish. Then the river bot- 
 tom would resemble a bed of jewels. 
 
 Just at that minute a beautiful bird, a golden robin, 
 the sun shining on his many colors, flew over the river, 
 reflecting a glorious image on the calm flowing water. 
 Instantly the ideas of the Gitchie-Manitto changed, 
 the shells should no longer languish half buried among 
 the pebbles of the river's bed, they too should be birds, 
 birds of water as well as air, that could swim as well as 
 fly, that could live under the water as well as on it and 
 above it. They would add to the harmonies of lake, 
 pool or stream, could furnish sustenance as well to 
 human beings in need of food. They would be of 
 bright colors, reflecting the sun's rays, adding beauty 
 and light to the world. But some shells should remain, 
 they were useful, but not so plentiful as they once had 
 been. 
 
 And as the Gitchie-Manitto brooded over the beau- 
 tiful and limpid Juniata every shell in the pebbly bed 
 seemed to be motile and expanding. Little patches 
 of froth and bubbles seemed to obscure them from 
 view. They presented the same appearance as water 
 birds working at the bottom of a stream in search for 
 food. This continued for some minutes ; it was a pretty 
 scene, these masses of foam rising in every direction as 
 far as the eye could follow the river. What would it 
 lead to, none but the Gitchie-Manitto himself could 
 know. 
 
 Suddeny there was a still greater commotion, a 
 mighty splash was heard, it was as if the bottom of
 
 270 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 the river was suddenly shooting upward; there was a 
 merry sound, a squan>k'm§, quacli'mg sound, as thou- 
 sands of wings appeared at the water's surface, then 
 gaily colored heads and backs; they emerged every- 
 where, a vast flock of Tvild ducl^s. What a noise they 
 made as for a moment they floated on the river before 
 trying their powers in the still freer world of the air. 
 
 The water was now perfectly calm again, and on it 
 swam as many ducks as there had been mussels and 
 clams and oysters in it but a short time before. Then 
 came another flapping of wings, and the conquest of 
 the air began — and straight upward they flew in their 
 happiness as if to pierce the very blue dome above and 
 never come back again. But after forming a cloud 
 which almost darkened the sun, they descended again 
 and floated serenely on the beautiful river. Then one 
 of their number, as if impelled by the old instinct, 
 dived to the bottom of the stream, and all the others 
 followed. For a moment only the tails were apparent 
 on the surface, looking very like little hilly islets, then 
 they disappeared altogether, perhaps they had resumed 
 their old-time form as mussel shells, and it had been just 
 a temporary mirage or illusion. But soon came the 
 splashing, the reappearance of myriads of wings, then 
 brightly colored heads and backs, and soon again the 
 river swam full of the wild ducks. 
 
 The next move of the merry company was to ex- 
 plore the reedy banks, to seek out, under overhanging 
 trees and roots, dark hiding places or nests. There 
 was a scurrying in all directions until it seemed as if the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 271 
 
 flocks had completely vanished again. But after 
 awhile all were satisfied and they floated out into view 
 again. 
 
 Needless to say, the Gitchie-Manitto was pleased 
 with his work. He had made life and happiness and 
 beauty, all for the benefit of his world, his world of 
 the Juniata. After he had watched the duck colony 
 until the rays of the setting sun shot out from between 
 the tall pines on the summits of Jack's Mountain, he 
 wafted himself away to other regions and other works. 
 
 When a new day dawned the people who lived by 
 the Juniata saw the beautiful water fowl, and mar- 
 veled at the absence of the mussels from the river bed ; 
 som^e wiser than the rest figured out what had hap- 
 pened, they had been blessed again. And those early 
 Indians alv/ays loved the wild ducks. They never 
 killed them wantonly, as the later red men did after 
 coming in contact with the rapacious whites. When 
 doubts as to the meaning of things filled their minds, 
 and their hearts were sad, all the}' had to do was to 
 recall the genesis of the ducks to feel that the Gitchie- 
 Manitto was not really so very far away. Though 
 they had often sorely tried him, and departed far from 
 his plans and hopes, they felt he would forgive them, 
 and make them over as he had done with the dull, 
 formless mussel shells. The wild duck was an emblem 
 of hope, of better things, of a brighter day to come. 
 
 And when old Lappowinzo had finished his narra- 
 tive there were tears in the eyes of the young English 
 surveyor. He resolved if in the future he had a fam-
 
 272 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 ily to recount the story to them, the story with its 
 message of trust and cheer, and also as proof of the 
 innate gentleness of the old Indian chief, who driven 
 from post to pillar, was typical of a changing order of 
 things.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 273 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A STORY OF BLACK JACK. 
 
 THE NARRATIVE OF A BURIED TREASURE. 
 
 THE recent discovery of a box of gold money, 
 mostly Spanish pieces, which had been buried on 
 an island in the Susquehanna near Selin's Grove, 
 recalls the ancient tradition of the cause of Black Jack's 
 coming to the wilds of Central Pennsylvania. This 
 remarkable character, called variously "The Black 
 Rifle," "The Black Hunter" and "The Wild Hunter 
 of the Juniata," whose name will endure as long as 
 Jack's Mountains stand, was none other than plain 
 Jacob Schwartz, of Front Street, Philadelphia. The 
 son of a Spanish sailor and a German lodging house 
 keeper's daughter, he seemed hardly destined for the 
 bold life of a borderer. But the story of the buried 
 treasure sent him to the frontier, where he fell in love 
 and married, and for self-protection alone became a re- 
 lentless foe of the redmen. His swarthy complexion 
 gave rise to many conjectures. Some declared that he 
 was a halfbreed Indian, but his hatred of the red race 
 does not bear this out. Several historians have hinted 
 at Negro blood being the cause of his darkness, but 
 there was nothing Negroid in his features or manner, 
 and his descendants, who are among the most re-
 
 274 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 spected persons in the State, are the best refutation. 
 
 The one great disappointment of his life was when 
 General Braddock refused his services in 1 755, and he 
 proclaimed to the end of his days he would have saved 
 the general's life and prevented the awful massacre, if 
 he could have acted as scout of the party. It is said 
 that because of his dark complexion and heavy black 
 hair, Braddock suspected that he possessed Jewish 
 blood. These were the "unsurmountable reasons" why 
 he would not make a desirable "brother officer." But 
 that is only another evidence of the ex-Cold Streamer's 
 shallowness. A closer scrutiny of the "Wild Hunter's" 
 face would have revealed little affinity with the 
 Semitic race. His eyes were grey, and his mouth, at 
 that time unconcealed by the beard which he later wore, 
 was small and tight-lipped. There was no undue 
 prominence to the cheek bones, the nostrils of his high 
 nose were those of a European rather than of an Ori- 
 ental. 
 
 When Black Jack's services were rejected, his band 
 of frontiersmen were also told that "they were not 
 wanted." The rest of the party accepted their fate 
 good-naturedly, but the Wild Hunter, suspecting the 
 true reason, never forgave or forgot. After Tom Fau- 
 sett's confession that he was the slayer of General 
 Bradock there can be no truth to the intimation spread 
 by some of Black Jack's ignoble foes that he was con- 
 cerned in the cowardly deed. Though he suffered much 
 from the trickery and cruelty of the red men, and on 
 several occasions from the treachery of the whites,
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 275 
 
 Black Jack's life was at all times chivalrous and 
 valorous. As one of the most picturesque figures in 
 the history of the Juniata Valley, he deserves more at- 
 tention paid to his memory, and were it not for the 
 historian Jones, who wrote him down correctly, he 
 might still be confused with the Indian trader, "Jack" 
 Armstrong, who was murdered in the Narrows in 
 1 744. 
 
 But to go back to the Wild Hunter's beginnings, 
 his father whose visits to Philadelphia were infrequent 
 at best, finally ceased to come at all, his last appear- 
 ance being when the son was only four years of age. 
 ^X'^lether he was lost at sea, captured by pirates, or fol- 
 lowed the traditional sailor's prerogative of finding a 
 girl in another port is uncertain, at any rate he was no 
 longer a part of Black Jack's history. The mother, 
 later marrying a man of her own race called Schwartz, 
 gave the little boy his stepfather's name, and there 
 was nobody to object. But during his visits, the 
 Spanish sailor had frequently told his wife of an ad- 
 venture he had taken part in several years antedating 
 his first meeting with her. 
 
 Some one in authority at Madrid had devised a 
 scheme to map out an inland waterway between the 
 Atlantic seaboard and New Spain. The route was to 
 be up the Susquehanna, thence through the Great 
 Lakes, or by som.e Utopian canal to the Spanish posses- 
 sions in the West. As the ownership of the vast cen- 
 tral territory was not fully decided in 1 709, much less 
 Pennsylvania west of Chester County, the ultimate in-
 
 276 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 tentions of Spain can be judged according to one's 
 point of view. Probably disguised as harmless 
 traders the party, which was elaborately outfitted, 
 sailed up the Susquehanna to a point near the present 
 town of Duncannon, where they transferred their 
 equipment into bateaux and canoes. With Indian 
 guides they started up the river, everything running 
 smoothly until they camped for a night on a tiny island 
 a dozen miles below the Shawnee metropolis of Sha- 
 mokin. Though the guides were all Shawnees, and 
 the intentions of the Spaniards of the most friendly na- 
 ture, a night attack, headed by the chief from Sha- 
 mokin, was sprung on the innocent campers. All the 
 Spaniards and their Indian guides were killed or left 
 for dead. The canoe, which contained a chest of gold 
 coins, supposedly to be given to some high officials in 
 the Southwest, had been hidden in a dense willow 
 thicket. It was overlooked by the marauders, who car- 
 ried away all else, even stripping the corpses of their 
 clothing. The father of Black Jack, his name has 
 been lost in the maelstrom of history, was scalped 
 and thrown on a pile with the other victims. He suf- 
 fered unspeakabe agonies until lapsing into merciful 
 unconsciousness. When he recovereed his senses, he 
 was shivering with the cold, a fit subject for river fever 
 or ague, but there was nothing to wear, so he had to 
 accustom himself to conditions. Dragging himself to 
 the water's edge, he drank copiously, which rather 
 steadied his nervous system. Then he thought of the 
 hidden canoe with its chest of gold. Limping to the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 277 
 
 spot, he was surprised to find it untouched. And he 
 was made happy by the sight of a small red blanket, 
 enough to make a cloak, resting under the oaken chest. 
 He quickly threw it around him, and pushed the canoe 
 into the current. A paddle was in the boat, so he felt 
 that he could soon steer himself out of the hostile 
 country. 
 
 He had not gone far, however, when the canoe 
 sprung a leak and water began gushing in. He was 
 able to make shore on another island, where he worked 
 for the balance of the day repairing the craft. But it 
 had been weakened by the heavy weight of the chest, 
 as well as of several brawny red men, and was unfit 
 for a long journey. But the thought of abandoning 
 the treasure, such as few men could earn in a lifetime 
 was abhorrent to him. He pushed off a second time, 
 but was barely able to beach on another islet, to avoid 
 being completely swamped. There was a choice of 
 two things, either to remain on the island and build a 
 new boat, or to temporarily abandon the treasure. He 
 could not build a new boat, as he had not even a 
 pocket-knife. Indians were moving all over the river 
 in canoes, sooner or later he would be caught and mur- 
 dered if he tarried. There was nothing left to do but 
 to abandon the chest. The canoe would carry his 
 weigh, he felt certain of that. He broke off the top 
 of the chest with a heavy stone, and took several hand- 
 fuls of gold pieces. Then he replaced the lid, and 
 buried the chest on dry ground in the center of the 
 island. He put the money he had taken in the bottom
 
 278 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 of the canoe and re-embarked. But the canoe started 
 to leak again. He saw Indians in the distance. It was 
 a perilous position. After considerable effort he man- 
 aged to reach shore ; it took all his skill to do so, as the 
 river was high and the current strong. It was a cold 
 night, though in the month of May, but he took off his 
 cloak and fashioned it into a sack to carry his money. 
 He was now very hungry, not having eaten for forty- 
 eight hours, his scalped head stung and smarted like a 
 fiery cauldron, his teeth chattered, his very ribs shook 
 with cold. Yet he meant to save the money at any 
 cost. 
 
 There was an Indian path along the west bank of 
 the river, and that he followed in the direction of Dun- 
 cannon. All night long he walked, and all the next 
 day. He was so crazed with hunger that he resolved 
 to surrender himself at the first Indian camp he met, to 
 exchange his life and his bag of gold for a square meal. 
 Toward nightfall he saw an Indian in a canoe in mid- 
 river. Stepping out on a rock near the shore, he called 
 to him lustily. The river was wide at that point, it 
 was opposite the mouth of Armstrong's Creek, but at 
 length the redman heard the outcry. Heading his 
 canoe toward the stranger, he paddled to him with 
 great rapidity. The redskin, who belonged to the 
 Saponi tribe, was amazed at what he saw. The 
 scalped, naked, unshaven Spaniard made a motion 
 that he was hungry, and shaking the bag so that the 
 coins rattled, signified that he would give him some of 
 the contents in return. The Saponi signaled to him to
 
 THE FOREST ROAD ACROSS JACK'S MOUNTAIN
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 279 
 
 get into the canoe, and for a time it looked as if the un- 
 fortunate adventurer's troubles were over. 
 
 At the camp the squaws were engaged in barbecu- 
 ing a buffalo calf. It was a pretty sight, the ruddy 
 fire shining on their red capes against the darkening 
 sky. Though the intentions of the rescuing Indian 
 were probably of the best, the chief was at once sus- 
 picious of the newcomer's scalped head. He first or- 
 dered him clothed and fed, and then had him thrown 
 and bound, and his bag of gold taken from him. 
 
 The Spaniard was so grateful to get the meal that 
 he showed no resentment, he could stand anything on 
 a full stomach. All summer and all winter he re- 
 mained a captive with the Saponis. He helped them 
 sow and harvest their crops, accompanied them on their 
 hunting expeditions. Toward the end of the winter he 
 was trusted to go about unhoppled; and on one occa- 
 sion he stole a gun and a bag of shot and made his 
 escape. Somehow or other his lucky star followed 
 him, and he managed to reach Philadelphia. 
 
 He had barely arrived and was wandering aim- 
 lessly along the docks when he saw a boat getting ready 
 to set sail for Spain. A crew was needed, and he al- 
 lowed himself to be impressed and thus returned to his 
 native land. He made a number of trips back to Phil- 
 adelphia, always stopping at a certain boarding place 
 on the river front, eventually marrying the landlady's 
 daughter. 
 
 In Spain he had acquired a luxuriant back wig, so 
 he was not the unpresentable looking individual who
 
 280 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 had been left for dead on the secluded island below 
 Shamokin. He of course told his wife of the buried 
 treasure, drawing diagrams and telling her that some 
 day he would go after it, and they would be rich and 
 happy. 
 
 But he never got started on the trip, at least not to 
 his wife's knowledge. Eventually he disappeared alto- 
 gether, and when the widow, or whatever she was, 
 could make her son understand she told him of the 
 heritage which awaited him, that when he was old 
 enough he must reclaim it. That was why Jack 
 Schwartz left his city home for the perils of the fron- 
 tier. And that was why he felt his first sentiments of 
 hatred for the Indian race. 
 
 Unfortunately for him his mother's directions were 
 faulty. From her he imagined that the chest was 
 buried on an island in the Juniata and it was there he 
 made his most valiant efforts to discover it. 
 
 After his marriage his attention was focused on more 
 practical pursuits, providing for the larder, clearing 
 land, fighting off Indian foes. For a time domesticity 
 caused his interest in the treasure to cease. But when 
 the Indians murdered his wife and two of his three 
 children (the third was visiting its grandparents) his 
 desire for revenge became coupled with the thirst to 
 possess the fortune which it seemed the savages were 
 withholding from him. It was only in the latter days 
 of his life that he learned that the treasure was buried 
 in an island on the Susquehanna, and not on the 
 Juniata.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 281 
 
 As the Indian wars dwindled down to an occasional 
 skirmish, it came to pass that he was reconciled with 
 James Logan, the Mingo orator, who lived at that 
 time at the famous Logan Spring near Reedsville, 
 When "Black Jack" was not drinking his prejudices 
 softened, and he often went unarmed to the home of 
 Logan, who strangely enough made no attempts on his 
 life. Yet the legend is current along the Juniata that 
 it was Logan who instigated the murder of the Wild 
 Hunter's family. But this cannot be correct on ac- 
 count of the apparent friendship between the two men. 
 Black Jack was an old man when Logan came to 
 know him, yet Logan was enfeebled from drink and 
 age, and infirmities soften the worst of hatreds. 
 
 James Logan's brother. Captain Logan, then living 
 at Tuckahoe, had married a Shawnee maiden, who 
 confided to her brother-in-law that one of her relatives 
 had been in the party which attacked the Spanish ex- 
 plorers on the Susquehanna. They learned when too 
 late that they had missed the treasure chest and some 
 of them had spent years hunting for it. James Logan 
 v/as rum soaked when he told this to the Wild Hunter, 
 and together they went over the crumpled, torn, faded 
 diagram which Captain Jack still possessed. Logan 
 and Black Jack, strange partners, resolved to hunt 
 for the treasure together. They spent an entire sum- 
 mer at the work, but Logan, becoming disgusted, 
 abandoned the quest and following a sudden impulse 
 left Pennsylvania for Ohio. 
 
 Evidently the Mingo orator and Black Jack became
 
 282 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 fast friends while on this prospecting tour, for in the 
 year following, 1 772, the Wild Hunter joined him in 
 the West, and they passed a year hunting and trap- 
 ping. But the desire to find the treasure was stronger 
 than all other impulses with Black Jack, and in 1 773, 
 the year before his death, he returned to Pennsylvania, 
 taking up his abode at the spring which bears his name 
 at the foot of Jack's Mountain. He was now about 
 sixty-three years of age, but his life of hardships had 
 told on his Herculean frame. His beard was snow- 
 white, much of the light had gone out of his cold, grey 
 eyes. There was a stoop to his giant, gorilla-like 
 shoulders. He had not killed an Indian in ten years, 
 was anxious to be friendly with every one of the sav- 
 ages he met, but the redmen could not forget the boast 
 he made in 1 763 that he had himself slain three hun- 
 dred of their people. He had parted bad friends with 
 Logan, he wanted him to return east for another search 
 for the treasure, but the Indian was a marked man in 
 Pennsylvania, he was afraid to return. But he was 
 safer there than in Ohio, as the year of Black Jack's 
 death also witnessed the foul murder of all of Logan's 
 family by a renegade white man named Daniel Great- 
 house. 
 
 Unwilling to go to the Susquehanna country 
 alone, because of his increasing feebleness, Black Jack 
 wintered at his cabin, hoping to be strong enough to 
 make the journey in the spring. But with the bloom- 
 ing of the paw-paw trees came no increased strength, 
 and the trip seemed as far from consummation as ever.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 283 
 
 To a traveling Presbyterian preacher, who spent a night 
 at his home, the Wild Hunter stated that he felt no re- 
 morse for killing so many Indians, that apart from his 
 having revenge for the cruel slaying of his family, it 
 was necessary to get the savages out of the country to 
 make way for the settlements, just as the wolves and 
 panthers had to be exterminated. He considered him- 
 self an agent of civilization, he would face his Maker 
 with that plea. But he denied having killed as many 
 as three hundred Indians, he had been drinking when he 
 made such a boast. The old hunter's words jibing 
 with the clergyman's views of predestination, the pair 
 parted in a friendly manner. 
 
 A few days after that the dead body of the Wild 
 Hunter was found by his spring, a bullet through his 
 heart. As he had not been scalped, few ascribed the 
 crime to the Indians. In the dead man's clutched 
 hand was found a much soiled and frayed paper, 
 which fell to dust as the neighbors tried to pry it loose 
 from the marble-like fingers. The body of the Wild 
 Hunter of the Juniata was laid to rest on the summit 
 of the mountain which bears his name and which he 
 loved so well. It is reliably stated that the next year 
 when James Logan secretly revisted the Juniata Val- 
 ley for the last time, he managed to locate the grave 
 of his old-time foe and latter-day friend, and stood by 
 the mound of rocks for a full hour in silent contempla- 
 tion. 
 
 For many years the spirit of the Wild Hunter failed 
 to find rest. Just as there are sleepless nights for the
 
 284 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 living body, there is sleeplessness for the soul. Every 
 night at the midnight hour the great, burly, swaying 
 ghost would rise from its tomb, and with hands grop- 
 ing and tremulous start down the steep mountain to the 
 spring. Fully a score of reputable persons saw the 
 ghost, the historian Jones attests to this, some of them 
 saw it a dozen times or more, so often that they ceased 
 to fear it. In fact they regarded it as one of the regu- 
 lar denizens of the mountain, like the wolves and lynxes. 
 Seated by the spring, breathing heavily the ghost 
 would reach out its right hand, as if to give something 
 that looked like a scrap of paper to the belated 
 passerby. Hie thin mouth would open and snap, as if 
 trying vainly to articulate, tears like moisture on a stone 
 would appear on the cold grey eyes, for no one un- 
 derstood. 
 
 Further west along the Juniata, out on the Rays- 
 town Branch in those days, lived a family named 
 Rote, who often discussed the purpose of this great 
 unquiet spirit, how it could be laid. The old maternal 
 grandmother from the north of Ireland recited the 
 formula that could solve the mystery and bring peace. 
 When the ghost extended its hand the seer must not 
 tremble and run away, but hold his ground, and take 
 whatever the spectre wished to present. But he must 
 hold a wet handkerchief over his hand, lest it be burned. 
 That would end the story and send the Wild Hunter's 
 shade to that bourne where roam the fiery essence of 
 Toconontie or "the Black Prince," of Allumoppies, of 
 Canassatego, of Teedyuscung, of Scaruaddy, in en-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 285 
 
 forced calm. But the thunders of the Revolution in- 
 tervened. The old grandmother from Donegal went 
 to her reward all peace, the young boys fought with the 
 Associators and almost forgot the memories of the past 
 in the fury of battle. But when they laid down their 
 muskets and returned to the calms and joys of dear 
 old Path Valley, they heard that Black Jack's ghost 
 was still worrying, still clambering about his rocky 
 mountain at night. 
 
 One night the young veterans left their dogs at 
 home, they carried no lights, and tramped in darkness 
 over to the famous spring, where they waited the 
 witching hour. At the moment of twelve they heard a 
 heavy breathing high up on the mountain side. Nearer 
 and nearer it came, louder and louder. How a soul 
 must suffer to breathe like that! At length it came into 
 view, a great, unsteady ghost, the pale starlight spar- 
 kling through the tree tops on its capacious breast. The 
 cold eyes blinked and glittered, one huge arm was ex- 
 tended, as if to present something. Deftly one of the 
 young men dipped his handkerchief in the spring and 
 slipped it over his hand. Then he advanced to meet 
 the ghost. Three things happened. The young soldier 
 found himself holding a piece of very yellow, ragged 
 paper; there were huge black finger marks scorched all 
 over the linen handkerchief; the wheezing ghost was no- 
 where to be seen. The paper, still an enigma of faded 
 scrawls, and the scorched handkerchief are still in the 
 possession of the descendants of the brave young man. 
 So far as it is known Black Jack's soul is at peace.
 
 286 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 XX. 
 
 TOM FAUSETT. 
 
 THE RECORD OF A TRIPLE LOVE TRAGEDY. 
 
 AS slayer of General Edward Braddock in 1 755, 
 Tom Fausett has found a place in history, even 
 though he killed his commanding officer from 
 the rear and in a fit of anger. As a man who lived to 
 the age of one hundred and ten years, his grave is still 
 pointed out along the State Road near Ohiopyle Falls, 
 in Fayette County, he will always be of interest to sci- 
 entists and statisticians. As the husband of three 
 women who were murdered by Indians, two of them 
 killed "before his very eyes," his tragedy strikes a sym- 
 pathetic note with the chivalrous and the brave. 
 
 Though he was bom in the Cumberland Valley, 
 Tom Fausett after leaving the parental roof, made his 
 first essay in pioneering and domesticity in Woodcock 
 Valley, which is adjacent to the valley of the "Match- 
 less Juniata." Building a small cabin near Coffee 
 Run, he soon secured a good-looking Irish girl to share 
 it with him as his wife. He was married less than six 
 months, when returnmg home one evening from a hunt, 
 he found the lovely bride lying inside the cabin door, 
 scalped and her throat cut. As the body was still 
 warm, he put his dog on the trail, and all that night
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 287 
 
 tracked the wily murderers over the mountains. When 
 he got back to the shack in the morning the body had 
 been removed. He never found it again, although he 
 was sure that Indians and not wild beasts had done it. 
 Heartbroken, he left the valley concluding that it had 
 been a foolhardy act to bring a woman into such a re- 
 mote, savage region. 
 
 But as he loved the Juniata country nothing could 
 induce him to return to the banks of the Conodogwinet. 
 He therefore made himself a small clearing in Liberty 
 Valley, near the headv/aters of Buffalo Creek. A few 
 bison still summered there, as well as much other game. 
 It was a more smiling vale than he had lived in previ- 
 ously, everything seemed to augur well for happiness 
 there. He found another Irish girl from the Juniata 
 to be his helpmate, and who, like her unfortunate prede- 
 cessor, was willing to live in a wilderness away from all 
 other human habitation. He frankly told her of his 
 former trouble, assuring her that he would never leave 
 her out of his sight. But the bride had been brought up 
 in an Indian country, and was as fearless as her hus- 
 band. Still as the bridegroom did not care to risk a 
 second tragedy, he managed to keep close to her day 
 and night. 
 
 On the anniversary of their six months of happy 
 marriage they were returning from a huckleberry pick- 
 ing expedition. It was a clear, crisp evening in Sep- 
 tember, with only a few crickets daring to chirp in the 
 face of the frost promised for the night. The young 
 couple were walking hand in hand, smiling upon each
 
 288 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 other as lovers should, when suddenly an arrow sped 
 out of the forest, piercing the bride's jugular vein. 
 There was a great rush of blood and the girl fell to the 
 ground and expired. The dog which had been with 
 them had been caught napping, but he soon took the 
 scent, bounding into the thickets in pursuit of the hid- 
 den murderer. 
 
 For once in his life Tom Fausett was panic stricken. 
 Robbed of his second bride under such cruel circum- 
 stances, he was dazed at the terrible extent of the dis- 
 aster. Much as he would have longed to avenge her 
 death by sending a bullet into the miscreant's brain, he 
 feared to leave the body lest it be carried away in some 
 mysterious manner. 
 
 Picking up the limp remains as tenderly as he could, 
 he carried it a distance of three miles to his cabin. 
 There he laid the fair body in the bunk, which so lately 
 had been the bridal bower. Then he knelt beside the 
 couch, weeping as if his great manly heart would 
 break. About midnight the hound returned, weak and 
 covered with foam. It hung its head, and with its tail 
 between its legs slunk into the building, crouching be- 
 fore the fire with an expression which seemed to say 
 that it had been "foiled." 
 
 All night long the stricken man sat by the corpse, in 
 darkness, save the glow of a few coals in the hearth. 
 When the morning dawned he went outside and dug a 
 deep grave at one comer of the tiny garden. Then he 
 carried the body out and lowered it into its tomb. 
 
 After that devolved upon him the unpleasant duty
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 289 
 
 to go over to the Juniata and break the news to the 
 girl's family. It would be hard to explain, this mys- 
 terious loss of a second wife. There might be many 
 evil-minded enough to intimate that he had killed the 
 woman. As he walked along with hanging head the 
 thought which had tortured him during the weary 
 watches of the night came over him again. Why was 
 he singled out to be so persecuted? He who had never 
 harmed an Indian by word or deed was worse treated 
 by the redskins than their most relentless foes. Per- 
 haps, he reasoned, it was a case of mistaken identity; 
 he was being pilloried for some other backwoodsman's 
 sins. 
 
 When he reached the cabin of his wife's parents it 
 took a world of courage to break the news. His worst 
 fears were realized. The excitable north of Ireland 
 couple berated the youth for taking such poor care of 
 his wife, and a half-witted son rose up from a couch 
 declaring that Fausett had killed her himself. 
 
 "You murdered your first wife, you did," he 
 shrieked, "and now you are tired of your second and 
 have fixed her the same way." 
 
 The stricken husband kept his temper admirably, 
 but he longed to fly at the thoat of the evil-minded 
 idiot. He had turned his back to speak further to the 
 old folks when the crazy man picked up a heavy 
 wooden bench and swinging it with superhuman 
 strength brought it down on Fausett's head. The 
 wretched man fell to the deal floor and lay uncon- 
 scious. He was in that condition for a week, and when
 
 290 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 he woke up he was lying in the straw in the old 
 couple's barn. Evidently he had been put out there to 
 die. Bracing himself together with a mighty effort, he 
 climbed out of the mow and into the sunlight. Seeing 
 no one in the barnyard or about the cabin, except a 
 mangy hound, he climbed the worm fence, and struck 
 out aimlessly into the forest. The further he walked 
 the clearer his mentality asserted itself. He learned 
 his course of direction from the sun, altering his route 
 so as to travel west. He wanted to get out of the 
 cursed region where so much misfortune had beset him. 
 Toward evening he came to an Indian trail, which he 
 decided to follow. It would lead him to a trapper's 
 cabin, or even an Indian's camp, where he might get 
 some food, or directions how to get out of the valleys 
 tributary to the Juniata. 
 
 Evening set in, but he saw no sign of life except night 
 hawks flitting above his head. In the starless darkness 
 the wolves began to howl. Some of them came dan- 
 gerously close to him, but he was not afraid. When 
 he stopped to rest his head ached, so he decided to keep 
 moving until he reached some human habitation. 
 
 It was nearly mid-day on the day following when he 
 came in sight of a small log cabin. It was in a glade, 
 with a clear stream purling close to it. The giant pines 
 and hemlocks about it had all been girdled and stood 
 gaunt and barkless, like horrid skeletons along the 
 creekside. There was a nice patch of corn and buck- 
 wheat among the slashings, evidently the settlers were 
 industrious folks and aspired to a more permanent ex-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 291 
 
 istence than hunting or trapping. As he neared the 
 cabin a pair of hounds, chained to a shed, commenced 
 barking. The door opened and a short thick-set man, 
 bearded and wearing a backwoodsman's suit of buck- 
 skin, emerged and gazed up the path. Fausett quick- 
 ened his steps and was soon within speaking distance 
 of the frontiersman. 
 
 The men exchanged friendly greetings, and Fausett 
 noted that the settler spoke in broken English, much 
 like the Low Dutchmen whom he occasionally met 
 with in the eastern part of the province. The Dutch- 
 man asked him his name and where he was going to, 
 and he replied by saying that he was on a prospecting 
 tour to the Allegheny River. In return the Dutchman 
 said that his name was Jacob Reningher, that he had 
 been born in New Jersey, of Holland parentage, but 
 had moved into the wilderness three years before with 
 his wife and five children. He invited Fausett to re- 
 main with him over night, as he liked to meet strangers 
 with whom he could discuss the outside world. He 
 explained that his clearing was located near the head- 
 ing of Shaver's Creek, which was probably twenty-five 
 miles in a straight line from where Faucett had been 
 attacked by his crazy brother-in-law. 
 
 Fausett liked the spot, and resolved to tarry there 
 a while. First of all he made a clean breast of his re- 
 cent adventures to the pioneer; he could deal openly 
 after that, with nothing concealed. Dinner was over 
 when he arrived, but Reningher brought his guest into 
 the house, introducing him to his wife and daughters.
 
 292 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 They were an open-faced, healthy looking fam- 
 ily, but Fausett's eyes lingered longest on the eldest 
 girl, Annie, a very buxom young miss of fifteen, who 
 was destined to live in history as his "little Dutch wife." 
 She was an uncommonly pretty and refined looking 
 girl to be met with in such an out-of-the-way spot. Her 
 features were clear cut, which the poutiness to the lips, 
 indicating a strongly developed love nature, could 
 not destroy. Her eyes were full and dark blue, more 
 like Irish eyes, her hair chestnut brown, her complexion 
 clear, her figure, though inclining to plumpness, was 
 well turned, the ankles being particularly small. She 
 returned the newcomer's gaze with those wide-open 
 blue eyes in such a way that he lost his heart com- 
 pletely. 
 
 Tom Fausett, in the language of the frontier, was 
 a "pretty man." About thirty-three years of age, of 
 medium height, slender and well made, he had a fine 
 long nose, deep-set blue eyes, a clean-cut mouth, a crop 
 of light brown hair, and a flowing blonde beard. Ar- 
 rayed even in his tattered deerskin suit, he was a pic- 
 turesque and winning figure; the handsomest man she 
 had ever seen, thought Annie Reningher. 
 
 The relations between guest and host early becoming 
 so harmonious, Fausett offered his services to help clear 
 ground, only asking his board in return. If his host 
 would loan him a rifle he would help with the larder, 
 as he was a dead shot, he said. The offer was ac- 
 cepted, so the young man settled down to an idealistic 
 existence in the little cabin at the head of Shaver's
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 293 
 
 Creek. His romance with the buxom Annie progressed 
 apace. They were not long in declaring their mutual 
 admiration, or settling a date to be married. They 
 would travel to Carlisle in the spring, meet some of the 
 bridegroom's relatives, who were people of standing, 
 and have the ceremony performed there by a Presby- 
 terian pastor. 
 
 They often discussed the mysterious fate of his 
 earlier wives, but could arrive at no satisfactory con- 
 clusions. Fausett suggested that they abandon the 
 frontier after the wedding and live in the Cumberland 
 Valley, so as to absolutely avoid a repetition of the 
 past tragedies. But the fair Annie said vehemently 
 that she was not afraid, she would live anywhere with 
 him, but preferred the outposts of civilization. But 
 they decided to move out of the watershed of the 
 Juniata to the Allegheny, where in the vicinity of 
 Shannopin's Town, now Pittsburg, there were some 
 nice stretches of bottomlands that as yet. had not been 
 touched by the white settlers. 
 
 But before the romance proceeded further a holo- 
 caust engulfed the happy family. Jake Reningher, his 
 two boys and Fausett went on a bear hunt to the Seven 
 Mountains; it was in the month of March, when the 
 red bears sometimes emerged from their caves. They 
 deemed it safe to leave the good wife and her three 
 daughters, including Annie, to "mind the house." 
 Nothing could possibly happen, there had not been an 
 Indian in the neighborhood in months. The hunt was 
 a great success, six monster bears were secured with
 
 294 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 pelts as bright and shiny as red foxes, hides which 
 would sell for "big money" at Carlisle. 
 
 The hunters were gone a week. When they re- 
 turned they found the cabin door open and half off 
 its hinges. The fire was out, the house in darkness. 
 The anxious men hastened inside. As their eyes be- 
 came accustomed to the gloom they saw a pitiful sight. 
 On a bunk, side by side, lay the pioneer's wife and two 
 daughters, bound and gagged. Fausett looked about 
 for Annie, his Annie, but she was nowhere to be found. 
 Quickly the frenzied borderers loosed the gags and 
 thongs, releasing the unhappy women. But they were 
 unconscious from cold and starvation, and were re- 
 vived with difficulty. 
 
 The mother, after many unsuccessful efforts, man- 
 aged to tell the dreadful story. Four days before a 
 band of five masked Indians had come to the cabin, 
 while the family was at dinner. Their leader, the big- 
 gest, blackest and most hideous looking savage that 
 they had ever seen, ordered the women to get up from 
 table and turn the meal over to them. This they were 
 glad to do, and they waited on the redskins while they 
 ate. Then at a signal from the big chief, the Indians 
 quickly arose and each seized one of the women. 
 They held them tightly while the chief bound them. 
 They had all been too frightened to cry out, but after 
 the binding they were gagged. The mother and the 
 two younger daughters were rolled on the bunk, while 
 the chief picked up Annie as if she were a bag of corn, 
 and threw her over his shoulder. Then, followed by
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 295 
 
 his band, he left the cabin and was not seen again. No 
 violence was attempted, but the women would have 
 died of starvation if the rescuers had not arrived when 
 they did. As it was the presence of a small jug of rum 
 in Jake Reningher's coat pocket was the real lifesaver. 
 By a hot fire the overwrought nerves and aching 
 bodies were restored to normal, while a good dinner 
 of bear steaks was the finishing touch in the cure. But 
 all were sorrowing over the kidnapping of Annie, espe- 
 cially Fausett, who was this time bereaved before his 
 wedding day. With a great outburst of grief he swore 
 that he would find the missing girl and restore her to 
 her family, even if it took him until the end of his life. 
 He believed that clues were about the cabin. Going 
 outside he carefully examined the soft earth for foot- 
 prints. If he found only one he would know in which 
 direction the savages had carried their victim. It did 
 not take him long to find a footprint. The Indians had 
 been very careful to step on solid turf or on stones, but 
 there was one impression, of a very large moccasined 
 foot, in a spot of thawed earth. It was headed for the 
 North. 
 
 Tom Fausett, knowing the Indian paths like a school- 
 boy does the war map of Europe, at once figured out 
 that the victim would be taken over the Onondaga 
 trail into Canada. The day was well-nigh spent, but 
 the dauntless frontiersman insisted on starting on his 
 long journey. He secured the best rifle, a stock of am- 
 munition, as well as a bag of provisions. 
 
 "I promise to bring her back if she still lives," were
 
 296 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 his words of parting, uttered as he shook each member 
 of the stricken family by the hand. 
 
 "God bless you, God bless you," were the echoes 
 he heard as he hurried up the lonely glade. 
 
 He found a path which he imagined the miscre- 
 ants must have taken, and despite the darkness he was 
 able to follow it until daylight. He followed it into 
 Nittany Valley and through Nittany to the West 
 Branch of the Susquehanna, where he passed the 
 flourishing Indian village on Monsey Town Flats, near 
 where Lock Haven now stands. He did not care to 
 rzsk entering the settlem.ent and askmg questions boldly, 
 but followed the south bank of the river, hoping to meet 
 a stray Indian who might converse with him. But he 
 saw only warlike braves at a distance, and he con- 
 cluded that it was just as well — his mind was made up 
 that he would overtake the runaways on the Onondaga 
 trail, if at all. 
 
 The valley of the Otzinachson was very beautiful, 
 even in its brown, leafless garb of March, and Fausett 
 wished that he was passing down it on a happier er- 
 rand. At the lower end of what is now Wayne 
 Township, Clinton County, where the river coils close 
 to the Bald Eagle Mountains, he ascended the ridge, 
 following a path along the summits until he came to a 
 point opposite the mouth of Loyalsock Creek. 
 
 He had "kept himself going" by eating sparingly of 
 dried apples and jerked venison from his pack, but that 
 being v/ell-nigh exhausted, he resolved to beg a dinner 
 from the inmates of the thriving Indian village of Os-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 297 
 
 tonwackin, which crowned the river banks at the con- 
 fluence of Loyalsock and the West Branch. 
 
 Descending the mountain, and reaching the shore, he 
 was about to call "over" to the Indians when he espied 
 a neat canoe moored nearby. In an impulsive moment 
 he jumped in it, and soon worked himself across the 
 swift current. A number of Indians were on the beach 
 to receive him. 
 
 An old man among them, bent almost double with 
 age and rheumatism, who seemed to be some kind of 
 soothsayer, called out: "We know what you are here 
 for before you come; your lady was stolen from you, 
 you are seeking her." 
 
 Fausett, not knowing the best policy to deny or 
 affirm, stood abashed before such a display of prevision. 
 
 "Don't you stay here," continued the sage; "follow 
 the path. You can overtake your lady." 
 
 The young man was ravenously hungry, yet the 
 prospect of rescuing Annie conquered hts physical ap- 
 petite. He was about to inquire the way to the north- 
 ern trail when a bright looking young halfbreed 
 stepped up to him, saying in a decided French accent: 
 "I would advise against your following the Onondaga 
 trail just now, as a terrible snow storm is raging up 
 there. You cannot possibly make through." 
 
 Fausett, who did not know if this was a kindly 
 meant hint or a subterfuge, thanked the young fellow, 
 and for a moment stood on the beach undecided. The 
 young halfbreed was none other than Henry Montour, 
 a son of the celebrated Madame Montour, who had
 
 298 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 recently left Ostonwackin to reside on a snug island 
 near Shamokin. He invited Fausett into his lodge 
 house to partake of some refreshment. Montour plied 
 his guest with rum, which loosened his tongue, and he 
 started to tell of the loss of his affianced wife. The 
 halfbreed's face darkened, an inward struggle was go- 
 ing on. He hated to be a talebearer, yet it seemed un- 
 just to allow the stolen girl to be carried away without 
 a protest. Finally, after much hesitation, he spoke. 
 He said that he had seen the girl and her captors go 
 through the outskirts of the village that very morning. 
 Her captor was Toconontie, that terrible Indian known 
 to the settlers as the Black Prince. The impression 
 made on him was that she was a woman of quality, she 
 was being handled so carefully. Probably she was to 
 be sent to Canada, where so many beautiful girls stolen 
 from the white people were transported to be held as 
 hostages. 
 
 A blizzard was raging along the Loyalsock; it would 
 be a foolish act to attack the Black Prince and his 
 band single-handed, but if he wished to rescue the girl, 
 now was the chance. Henry Montour offered to act 
 as guide for the first day's journey, when he could de- 
 cide whether or not he wished to continue in the face 
 of the terrific storms. The Loyalsock Valley through 
 w^hich the path led was heavily timbered, the Indians 
 called the creek the "lost" or "bewildered stream." 
 Yet this stream had to be crossed frequently, which 
 kept them wet up to the waist, and shivering with cold. 
 The blizzard was still raging in the spot where they
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 299 
 
 made their bed of spruce boughs for the night. Though 
 they built this camp fire under some branching hem- 
 locks, it had sunk three feet into the snow by morning. 
 This valley, so Montour said, was ruled over by an evil 
 spirit called Oktoneh, the God of Disaster, who was 
 always represented with a raven on his shoulder. 
 
 After a meagre breakfast of cold cornmeal and cold 
 beans, Fausett was ready to start off alone, but the gen- 
 erous halfbreed offered to accompany him one day fur- 
 ther. That evening they came to the head of the val- 
 ley, where they found two skulls securely fastened on 
 poles. These, Montour said, were all that was left of 
 two Iroquois warriors, who, while returning from a war 
 excursion to the south, encamped there one snowy night 
 with two southern Indians as captives. These prisoners 
 loosened their bonds during the night through the help 
 of the terrible demon Oktoneh, and after killing their 
 captors while they slept, took possession of their arms 
 and returned to their home in Carolina. But despite 
 the dismal memories of the place, Fausett and his guide 
 camped there for the night. By the next morning the 
 storm had abated, but the snow was tracked with the 
 footprints of many panthers and wolves, showing who 
 their neighbors during the night had been. 
 
 Montour now was able to show his friend the correct 
 route to Onondaga. But he advised him to stop at 
 Tioga and inquire of the route taken by the renegades. 
 It was the last day of March, and the warm sun melted 
 the snow very fast. Fausett made excellent progress, 
 as the path was well blazed. On the evening of the
 
 300 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 second day after leaving the guide he came in sight of 
 the Indian village of Tioga Point, at the confluence of 
 the Chemung and Susquehanna Rivers. There he was 
 pleasantly received by the Indians, but he was not able 
 to procure any definite information concerning the lost 
 girl. He was told that the Black Prince was at Onon- 
 daga, he could discuss the matter with him direct. 
 Meeting an Onondaga Indian named Ta-wa-ga-ret, 
 who had once been a guide to Conrad Weiser, he in- 
 vited him to act as companion for the rest of the jour- 
 ney. The redman acquiesced, so they started early the 
 next morning. On the way the Indian told Fausett 
 some of the characteristics of the Black Prince, of his 
 austerity, his haughtiness, his hatred of the white race 
 in general. He would be a hard man to face on such 
 an errand, thought the pioneer, but he was determined 
 to leave no stone unturned. 
 
 After three days of tedious travel they reached the 
 castle of the Onondagas. A guard at the outskirts said 
 that the Black Prince was at home and offered to 
 escort Fausett into his presence. Ta-wa-ga-ret, sus- 
 pecting that there was something unpleasant in the 
 white man's mission, became frightened and, without 
 saying good-bye, disappeared in the forest. 
 
 Accompanied only by the strange Indian guard, 
 Fausett was ushered into the presence of the great To- 
 conontie. Surely the Black Prince looked his name. 
 In the first place he was a very tall, powerful man. 
 His chest was very full and he had brawny limbs. His 
 complexion was very dark, almost as black as that of a
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 301 
 
 West India Negro. He greeted the white man pleas- 
 antly, asking him to state his errand. Fausett replied 
 that he had lost his affianced bride, that he had heard 
 she had been taken by mistake for some one else by the 
 Black Prince and his followers. The Indian asked him 
 to name the locality from where the girl had been 
 stolen, to which he replied that it was from Shaver's 
 Creek, in Central Pennsylvania, where her parents' 
 home was located. On hearing this the Black Prince 
 scowled. Then in concise language he stated that he 
 had not been in Pennsylvania in two years, that if the 
 girl had been stolen it was by some other party, that he 
 was tired of being made the target of white men's fajse 
 accusations. 
 
 Fausett saw that it would be time wasted to discuss 
 the subject further, so he thanked the chief for listening 
 to him and withdrew. As he was re-entering the forest, 
 trying to work out some plan of action, he met Ta-wa- 
 ga-ret, to whom he told the entire story. The Indian, 
 who was not overly fond of the Black Prince, advised 
 him to go at once to Oswego, the populous lake port 
 of the Iroquois, where most of the captives, bound for 
 Canada were transported in boats across Lake Foun- 
 tenac, now called Ontario. He offered to guide Fau- 
 sett to the lake front, and they again journeyed on to- 
 gether. At Oswego, where they found a prosperous 
 Indian trading settlement, they learned that four In- 
 dians with three white prisoners, two men and a girl, 
 had lately embarked for Canada. Ta-wa-ga-ret, not 
 caring to go any further, turned Fausett over to several
 
 302 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 members of the powerful Canadian tribe of Zistage- 
 chroanu, who were returning from a trading expedition. 
 With these tribesmen he crossed the lake in their bateau. 
 
 On the Canadian shore his hardships began in ear- 
 nest. For months he tramped and alternately lost and 
 found his way, he starved and struggled, he climbed, 
 he swam, he searched, he questioned, until at length he 
 got on the track of the missing Annie Reningher. She 
 was far in the north, with a number of other captives, 
 on the banks of a remote lake called Mistassini. To 
 there the intrepid young man, after many trials and 
 perils, forced his way. He lurked about the outskirts 
 of the camp for weeks, like a timber wolf, until he 
 caught sight of her. She seemed happy, she certainly 
 looked well, but had to work very hard. 
 
 He waited a month longer before the chance came 
 to rescue her. On that occasion she was left alone ex- 
 cept for the children and old squaws. Like a wolf he 
 rushed into the campground; with the butt end of his 
 rifle he knocked the old squaws senseless; the frightened 
 children scurried away; he seized his beloved Annie 
 by the hand, and ran back into the trackless gloom. 
 
 At "top speed" they hurried over hill and dale to a 
 swift river, the Gatincan, where the young lover had 
 a canoe in waiting. 
 
 Once safely in it, and on practically the homeward 
 journey, the overjoyed girl calmed down enough to tell 
 the story of her captivity. It was the Black Prince 
 who had led the band which carried her away, evi- 
 dently she was supposed to be some one of note. At
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 303 
 
 Tioga Point he had presented her to a band of chiefs 
 who were in council there, but they shook their heads. 
 She was not the person they wanted. But rather than 
 turn her loose, Toconontie gave her over to some of his 
 followers, who were going to Oswego, where they 
 traded her for six squaws to some Canadian Indians. 
 Her beauty and the garbled story that she was a 
 woman of importance, perhaps the daughter of one of 
 the proprietors of Pennsylvania, caused her to be well 
 treated, and she was presumably held for ransom by her 
 new owners. 
 
 From the mouth of Gatincan River the couple made 
 their way down to Lake Ontario, in the Canadian 
 wilds, crossing over to La Famine at the mouth of Sal- 
 mon River, in New York. Fearing to return over the 
 Onondaga trail, they reappeared in civilization at Al- 
 bany, wending their way from there down the Hudson 
 and back to the Juniata. 
 
 It was in March, 1 746, when Annie Reningher was 
 carried away. It was just four years later when Tom 
 Fausett restored her to her happy parents at their home 
 on Shaver's Creek. The young couple had been mar- 
 ried in New York, and now the next step was to secure 
 a home. Fausett, who was very proud of his "Little 
 Dutch wife," as he called her, first took her on a wed- 
 ding jaunt to the Cumberland Valley, where they spent 
 a month at the cabin of his brother Joe, in sight of 
 Parnall's Knob, the brother Joe whose ill-treatment by 
 General Braddock was the cause of Tom Fausett's 
 slaying the august Britisher five years later.
 
 304 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 It was a happy visit, and at its conclusion Joe Fau- 
 sett accompanied the 3^oung couple across the moun- 
 tains to the Beaver Dams in Canoe Valley, in what is 
 now Blair County, where an uncle of the Fausetts the 
 year previously had abandoned an ample clearing 
 which would make Tom and the little Dutch wife an 
 ideal home. They would be the only residents in the 
 valley — they were trilling with destiny again — but the 
 soil was rich, the water good, the game superlatively 
 abundant, especially beavers, which were profitable to 
 trap. Some well-to-do relatives in the Cumberland 
 Valley had presented the young people with a cow and 
 some pigs and sheep, so they were well equipped to be- 
 gin life on the frontier. 
 
 Joe Fausett accompanied them to help put things to 
 rights, remaining with them for nearly two months. It 
 was the evening after he had departed, again a crisp, 
 cool evening in late September, when the brezes swayed 
 the reddened garlands of the Virginia creeper, and the 
 corners of the clearing were banked with the rich ma- 
 roons of the sumacs, that the joyous couple were driv- 
 ing their sheep out of the field into the log stockade. 
 It was necessary to keep the animals in such a place, as 
 the wolves killed them in open barnyards before the 
 eyes of their owners. Tom Fausett was in the act of 
 taking down the heavy gate — it was sixteen feet high — 
 to allow the sheep to enter, when the crack of a rifle 
 rang out in the afternoon stillness. The little Dutch 
 wife uttered a cry of pain and fell to the ground. The 
 sheep bells tinkled convulsively, then all was silence.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 305 
 
 Tom Fausett dropped the heavy gate and seized his 
 rifle, running in the direction from which he imagined 
 the shot had com.e. How far he ran, in what directions 
 he ran, he was never able to tell. He soon became 
 unable to know what he was doing or where he was go- 
 ing, all was automatic, so terrible was his grief. A 
 party of trappers found him. wandering aimlessy at the 
 mouth of Fox Run. He could not tell his name, or the 
 location of his home. 
 
 All he would say, and he repeated it over and over 
 again, "They have killed my little Dutch wife." 
 
 It was not until he had been led across the moun- 
 tains to Fort Campbell, at the mouth of Licking Creek, 
 where a small settlement existed, that he was recog- 
 nized by a boyhood friend, Michael Castner, and grad- 
 ually his story was drawn from him. A party was sent 
 back to Canoe Valley, and the body of the little Dutch 
 wife found and given decent burial. The Reningher 
 family was notified, and came over the mountains and 
 brought the stricken husband back to their comfortable 
 home on Shaver's Creek. 
 
 But this extraordinary run of misfortune left an in- 
 delible impress on Tom Fausett. He could not under- 
 stand why he should have lost three beloved wives, why 
 all his plans to found a home and be a respected citizen 
 should be thwarted. When he was able, he went back 
 to Cumberland County, where he supported himself as 
 a farmhand, and was looked upon as a man whose 
 heart was broken, whose soul was dead. It was to 
 escape these torturing memories of the past that led to
 
 306 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 his enlisting under General Braddock, hoping to find 
 a new interest for his overtaxed nerves in the stir of a 
 campaign.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 307 
 
 XXL 
 
 AARON HALL. 
 
 THE LION HUNTER OF THE JUNIATA. 
 
 **T"^IGHTEEN miles to Philipsburg," so read the 
 r^ faded signboard on the broad highway at the 
 outskirts of Unionville, that cold, blowy March 
 evening. Out of the cozy village, with the lamplight 
 beginning to glow in the cottage windows, the road led 
 through a region of broad fields, and gradualy ascend- 
 ing toward the gigantic Allegheny Mountains, which 
 seemed to cut the setting sun in twain, off there to the 
 west. Five miles more would have to be traversed be- 
 fore the former home of the lion hunter of the Juniata 
 would be reached, five miles up grade, and the chilly 
 night was falling fast. There was a cheerlessness to 
 the landscape that betokened the last phase of Nature's 
 sleep, before spring's awakening softened the hard lines 
 of hill and dale into a smilmg aspect. Huddled in the 
 corners of frozen barnyards or under the eaves of build- 
 ings were little flocks of sheep, or a few cows, their 
 bells chiming dolefully. 
 
 The bleak farmhouses, surrounded by bare swaying 
 trees showed not a light in their tall dark windows; 
 their occupants were "early to bed" to escape the long 
 evening's dreariness and cold. The horses' hoofs now
 
 308 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 and then sent out sparks when they struck some flinty 
 stone on the frozen road. On some remote, dark hill a 
 dog would bark out of sheer coldness or hunger. A 
 few cabbage heads which had survived the snows and 
 frosts stood stolid and dead in the empty gardens. 
 There was a dreary, long drawn out moaning of the 
 telephone wires along the road, the only sound in the 
 new order of things that savors of the ghostly or the 
 long ago. 
 
 Long as the drive must be, the expectancy of visiting 
 the haunts of the great hunter, who between the years 
 of 1 845 and 1 870 was the slayer of half a hundred 
 Pennsylvania lions or panthers, kept the imagination 
 keyed up to the highest pitch of wild, strange fancies. 
 The whole atmosphere of that glorious past seemed to 
 rise, that forest world of witches, outlaws, lumbermen, 
 sang-diggers, barmaids, traveling preachers, Indians, 
 hunters, that world of virgin pine, of rushing streams, 
 of broad rivers, of rafts, of wild pigeons, of panthers, 
 elks, wolves, wolvennes and fisher foxes, that once was 
 Central Pennsylvania, but now though only half way 
 across the hill, was beyond recall. To stop at the home 
 of the greatest Pennsylvania hunter of recent years, 
 who had lived in the lifetime of men still young, who 
 had hunted and trapped and lumbered just as the 
 heroes of long ago had done, to feel the thrill of his 
 recently vanished presence, he who had so lately gone 
 across the hill, was a privilege and an opportunity to 
 be embraced and appreciated. 
 
 And higher and higher climbed the winding road.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 309 
 
 Colder and colder it became. More weird grew the 
 moaning of the telephone wires. More often did the 
 sparks leap out from the horses' heavy feet. Fiercer 
 blew the winds across the upland pastures, bending al- 
 most double the lone umbrella-like trees. As the sky 
 became more silvery, the outline of the high camel- 
 backs of the Allegheny massif became bolder and 
 clearer, with every dead shivery tree silhouetted against 
 the lofty horizon. Behind those elevated ridges it 
 seemed as if the sun would have to sink so deep that it 
 would take long weary days to rise again! 
 
 Back on a broad, high knoll stood a lonely farm- 
 house, its windows red with flame, the red fire of the 
 setting sun. Yet against the sky line to the west the 
 red disc had long since vanished. All this while not a 
 human soul was met with, the last belated traveler had 
 put his team away, and casting off his woolen mitts had 
 found sanctuary by some ruddy stove. But now the 
 very top of the hill is reached. At one time it looked 
 as if it would run level with the towering Allegheny 
 beyond the ravine, but from the hilltop the giant moun- 
 tain loomed into the argent sky, belittling alike the hills 
 and plains. Then came another sharp bend in the road 
 beyond which rose a wooded knoll, a grove of dense 
 hemlock trees. A dog's raucous barking hinted of 
 some one's living nigh, the formal iron fence about the 
 grove showed that it hid a house from view. 
 
 And as the horses, their nostrils sending out white 
 breaths like hoar frost, stopped, a single light glim- 
 mered through a window and out through the dense
 
 310 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 hemlock grove to the windy highway. Then came the 
 slamming of a heavy door, the patter of feet on stone 
 pavements, betokening the approach of some one. The 
 trail of a lantern's glow filtered out through the trees 
 in uncertain rays; soon a great stalwart figure, bearded 
 and old-fashioned looking, stood by the roadside hold- 
 ing aloft his light. 
 
 A genial greeting was given, a cordial invitation to 
 "come in," words like these are sweet to half-chilled 
 travelers, and are never declined or underestimated. 
 The gate is opened, the travelers are bade to enter, 
 while another huge figure emerges from out the shadows 
 and leads away the team to the spacious barns. Half 
 way up the path more figures emerge from the shadows, 
 men, women, children, it is a house of life, of youth, 
 all hidden in there behind the evergreens. 
 
 The night wind blows, "woo, woo, woo," around 
 the chimneys and eaves, gale chasing gale in endless 
 sport. A.nd then a good view of the house is disclosed 
 by just one angle of the light, a great, high, gaunt 
 manse, built of bricks mildewed green at points and 
 gables, high windowed, high doored, high roofed, high 
 chimneyed, as if in keeping with the lofty castellated 
 mountains beyond. A bleak house, an old house, a 
 ghostly house, a house built as if to last and treasure 
 memories. Few such houses exist on this continent, and 
 those that do should only be approached on cold windy 
 nights. 
 
 "Woo, woo, woo," swept the racing winds about 
 chimney pots and gables, the last sound as the great
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 311 
 
 door closed upon us, and we were within the ancient 
 mansion. In keeping with the exterior was the 
 interior of this very unusual house. The ceilings 
 were abnormally high, none higher in a castle in 
 Spain or a chateau in the south of France. The 
 woodwork, made from trees which once grew on 
 the estate, was of walnut, dark, mysterious wal- 
 nut, wainscoting, doors, closets, staircases. Room 
 entered into room, gallery into gallery, there seemed no 
 end to this vast house on the desolate hill top. Lights 
 were dim and not a-plenty, just as should be in such a 
 house. The presence of an unseen world took posses- 
 sion on entering there, it seemed one of the last strong- 
 holds of the empire of romance, that empire which has 
 been almost battered to pieces by the heavy artillery 
 of the modern world of white lights and confusion. 
 But here the lights were dim and soft, and nourishing 
 to the eyes. 
 
 All the denizens of this old-time citadel were kindly 
 and solicitous, yet dignified and sedate as befitted dwell- 
 ers amid walnut wainscoting and dark colonial furni- 
 ture. As supper was being prepared logs were thrown 
 on a dying fire in a sitting room, a cheery yellow flame 
 rose up, while the shadows pirouetted on the tall chairs 
 of this imposing home. 
 
 Two sons of the mighty hunter, who had been the 
 master of this estate, regaled the guests with snatches of 
 their father's prowess during the moments while waiting 
 for supper, and confirmed many incidents previously 
 heard concerning his career. Every word was well
 
 312 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 worth hearing, well worth remembering. Soon the 
 meal was announced, and the party adjourned to the 
 lamp-lit dining-room. It was a pleasant genial meal in 
 every way, restful and invigorating from the travels of 
 the day. After supper the youngest son. Miles Hall, 
 he of the full beard, and the classic features like Seneca 
 the Roman poet, smilingly proclaimed that he had a 
 surprise to show. Taking a lantern, he disappeared 
 up a dark staircase. 
 
 "He's going to the attic," whispered his pretty little 
 baby niece, and anything might be expected to come 
 from an attic in such a house. But soon came the re- 
 turning footsteps of the kindly host, slow, careful and 
 steady steps, on the dark stairs, as if he was carrying 
 som.ething weighty. And sure enough he was. Sud- 
 denly pushing open the door at the foot of the stairs, he 
 stood before the party bearing three magnificent hides 
 of Pennsylvania lions. 
 
 Spreading them out on the floor he stated that these 
 were the only ones left in the house. "We did have 
 a dozen or more a few years ago," he went on, "but 
 every time any one stopped with us and asked for one 
 we hated to refuse, and so they went, one by one, until 
 these three are all that are left, and one is only the hide 
 of a cub." 
 
 But they were splendid relics of the mighty Nimrod, 
 and while Miles Hall held a lantern aloft, some of the 
 party got down on their knees and closely examined 
 the trophies of the game that is no more, thanks to the 
 foolish laxity of Pennsylvania lawmakers. Nowadays
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 313 
 
 sport lovers must travel to British East Africa, thou- 
 sands of miles across seas to find sport which once was 
 to be had at their doors, in beautiful Pennsylvania. 
 
 The coloring of the panther hides was curiously 
 lovely. The blending of rich orange and lemon tints, 
 its shading into fulvous and fawn, and from these to 
 greys and drabs, the hue of most of the body, would 
 make it a task for the best artists to follow. The hide 
 of the cub had long hair, a dark chestnut background 
 with yellowish grey spots. It must have been a pretty 
 little beast. 
 
 "What a pity father killed the last litter of cubs," 
 said one of the great hunter's sons, "he might have kept 
 them as well as not, thus saving the species from ex- 
 tinction." 
 
 By the rich lamplight the hides were studied again 
 and yet again. The long sleek tails, silvery grey in 
 color, with tips of brown longish hair at the ends, the 
 patch of white at the throatlatches,. the inquisitive 
 sharpness of the long ears with their golden tufts, the 
 hollow sockets which once had sheltered eyes that were 
 the terror of the wilderness, the muscular limbs, the 
 great circular paws concealing claws that left their in- 
 effaceable marks on the flanks of many a stag, claws 
 that could rip bark from off trees as if it was fragile 
 paper, claws that in death agony defied even man. 
 Those hides, dried, dead and stiff, lying there on that 
 ancient floor in themselves were the epic of the Penn- 
 sylvania wilderness : until they have been seen that epic 
 cannot be attempted.
 
 314 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 Oh the proud, free, great days of scope, of track- 
 lessness, of Nature's grandeur, of Nature's triumph, 
 that those dead pelts told! Oh the thoughts that ran 
 like cold chills which they evoked! Oh, for the gift 
 to turn those thrilling images into words! Oh, to live 
 a life as grand, as carefree as was the lot of the bold 
 hunters who trailed the Pennsylvania lion ! 
 
 When Aaron Hall was a boy in the Tuckahoe Val- 
 ley on the Little Juniata, he was born as late as 1 828, 
 the panthers and wolves came down from Riggle's, 
 Bell's, Homer's, Tipton's and Juniata Gaps, and men- 
 aced the flocks in the back pastures. It was in that 
 wonderfully scenic vale, with the Juniata flowing 
 through it, with the Bald Eagle range to the east, and 
 the main chain of the Alleghenies to the west, that val- 
 ley where the great Cayuga chieftain. Captain Logan, 
 the son of Shikellemus, lived and hunted, that the fu- 
 ture Nimrod's earliest impressions of life were formed. 
 Flis ideal was the outdoor man, the man of action, the 
 slayer of ferocious beasts, the man who made the 
 trackless forest "blossom like the rose." 
 
 Aaron Hall's father was a noted hunter, as were all 
 his ancestors on his paternal and maternal sides. It 
 was blood as well as emulation that made him the 
 premier panther slayer of his generation. He was 
 barely seventeen years of age when he notched his rifle 
 for the first time for the scalp of a Pennsylvania lion 
 {Felis couguar). He had gone to fetch the cattle, 
 which pastured in Riggle's Gap, when his dog, which 
 was running on ahead of him, set up a terrific barking.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 315 
 
 Hurrying forward he saw a half-grown panther lying 
 on the limb of a rock oak which hung over the cow 
 path. Before the animal could see him he had raised 
 his rifle, and a well-directed shot sent it sprawling 
 among the dead leaves at his feet. It was by the body 
 of this brute, which measured nearly six feet in length, 
 that Aaron Hall resolved to search the Central Penn- 
 sylvania mountains until he had slain a half a hundred 
 panthers. In his huntmg he would trail them in the 
 open, for the sake of good sport, scorning traps, 
 snares and poisons. It would mean man versus brute, 
 and not man plus sirychnine against a defenseless 
 animal. 
 
 That fall he added four more notches to his gun, 
 panthers being slain in Riggle's, Bell's, Tipton's and 
 Homer's Gaps, respectively. From that year on 
 (1845) until the end of 1869 he continued his cease- 
 less but honorable warfare with the Pennsylvania lion. 
 Meanwhile he had assumed man's estate, married, took 
 up lumbering, and, having prospered, purchased five 
 hundred acres of land on a high plateau facing the 
 Allegheny Mountains back of Julian, Centre County. 
 It was the ideal abiding place for an intrepid spirit, a 
 lover of the wilderness. The main chain of the Alle- 
 ghenies, which he had looked upon since birth, rose less 
 than a mile back of the spot on which he erected his 
 mansion. A vast flat stretched out from the summit of 
 the range, a forest of virgin pine for miles and miles to 
 the north and west, where those splendid streams, the 
 Little Moshannon and Beech Creek rise, and where
 
 316 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 amid the fantastic rocks of "Baretown," a city of far 
 antiquity, Rock Run has its source. 
 
 When Aaron Hall first moved into that region it was 
 said that he lived below the best trout stream and the 
 best big game section in Pennsylvania. The trout of 
 Little Moshannon had an especially delicious flavor, 
 and were gamey to catch. The rock caverns along 
 Rock Run were the hiding places of countless panthers 
 and black bears. Deer were as common as cattle. 
 The hunters never deigned to shoot wolves, wild cats or 
 foxes, calling them "small game." Where there is a 
 gorge in the Allegheny Mountains, which lets out 
 Laurel Run, a tributary of the Bald Eagle, Aaron 
 Hall had his favorite deer lick. It was under a mile 
 from his house, much more convenient to go there than 
 to the butcher's at Unionville, when there was need of 
 fresh meat. Where the mountain dipped down, in full 
 sight of the house, stood a giant original white pine. It 
 seemed to tower a hundred feet above the other trees 
 on the mountain, and on it the great hunter constructed 
 his "blind." From it he shot scores of deer, also many 
 were the wild turkeys slaughtered while concealed high 
 among the branches. 
 
 In order to make a special success of panther hunting 
 he evolved a breed of dog that was invincible against 
 the Pennsylvania lion. When he first moved to his 
 mountain home the panthers would sometimes roar at 
 night from the summit of the Alleghenies back of the 
 house. It seemed as if they were mocking him, as he 
 could not well trail them until the daylight, when the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 317 
 
 tracks were often lost. With the panther dogs it was 
 different. At the first fiendish shriek from the mountain 
 top Hall would get out of his bed, dress hastily, go to 
 the kennel, and accompanied by his faithful canine 
 friends, trail the panthers and often bring them to bay. 
 \Si^en a panther was overtaken one dog would seize it 
 by each ear, holding on until the hunter came up to 
 end its life with a bullet. These dogs were a cross be- 
 tween the bloodhound, the bulldog, the mastiff and the 
 Newfoundland, in such proportions as to produce the 
 desired qualities of scent, courage, fidelity and "stickat- 
 itiveness." They were large beasts, light brown in color, 
 with great substance and power, so huge in fact that 
 they could carry a full grown man on their backs. 
 They must have resembled the fabulous Irish wolf- 
 hounds described by Oliver Goldsmith, who told of 
 dining at an Irish country house where these dogs were 
 £o large that their heads rested on the backs of the tall 
 dining-room chairs. 
 
 Aaron Hall bred his panther hounds for twenty 
 years. He had gotten them to a point of perfection 
 when the supply of Pennsylvania lions became ex- 
 hausted or moved to other localities. During his earlier 
 years as a hunter, he killed his game along the foot of 
 the Alleghenies, or in the gorges or "gaps" which 
 opened into the valleys, but his last years of sport were 
 in the very heart of the mountains. The game de- 
 creased in numbers, or became more shy; it had to be 
 hunted. Accordingly he built a cabin of logs at the 
 head of Rock Run, about ten miles from his mansion.
 
 318 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 Aaron Hall, who was a huge man, six feet four 
 inches in height, built like a Hercules, and resemblng 
 one, when he wore a curling blonde beard, thought 
 nothing of walking to his cabin and back in a day, al- 
 though to get there it was an up-hill tramp most of the 
 way, and on one occasion he carried a wounded hunter 
 the entire ten miles to his home on his back. In the 
 early sixties his cabin was a sight well worthy of pil- 
 grimage. In front of it he usually kept the frozen car- 
 casses of a dozen panthers, and a like number of bears 
 and stags. The bears, the biggest ones he could find, 
 were always set up on their hind feet, with sticks in 
 front to prevent them from toppling over, with their 
 jaws propped open with skewers. It would frighten a 
 tenderfoot, this array of the terrible monsters of Rock 
 Run. 
 
 Aaron Hall had countless adventures hunting the 
 Pennsylvania lion. On one occasion he was seated 
 against a grassy bank eating his lunch. He heard a 
 tap, tap, tap, tap, back of him; it seemed louder than 
 leaves striking the grass in the breeze. He reached for 
 his rifle, he never moved without it, and turning around 
 shot a ten-foot panther between the eyes, which was 
 poising itself to spring at him. Another time he was 
 watching for deer at a "crossing"; being seated on a 
 rotten log with his rifle across his lap. Somethmg 
 caused him to put his hand at his side, and he placed it 
 in the fur of a giant panther, which was resting literally 
 at his feet. Jumping up he shot the panther through 
 the top of the head. Another time he was watching at
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 319 
 
 a deer lick when a huge stag came into the open. He 
 was getting ready to take aim when a panther, which 
 had been crouching unknown to him on a nearby rock, 
 sprang on the deer, killing it with a single blow from 
 one of its paws on the jugular vein. But Aaron Hall 
 had shot the panther dead before it had time to feast 
 off its victim. Once he found a panther cub in a hollow 
 log. Picking it up he started to carry it home. He 
 had not gone far when the mother came out of the 
 forest and began to follow, crying like a sheep for her 
 little one. The mighty hunter allowed her to trail him 
 to the edge of his fields, when he shot her, fearing that 
 she would frighten his wife and daughters. The cub 
 became quite a pet around the house until it was acci- 
 dentally killed by one of the panther dogs. 
 
 But most of Aaron Hall's panther hunting was done 
 in the winter time in the "tracking snow." He would 
 go out with his dogs, reconnoitering, and when they 
 found panther tracks they would follow them for hours, 
 sometimes for days, until they located the quarry. 
 When the snow was deep Hall traveled on snowshoes, 
 sleeping under a lean-to of hemlock boughs, if over- 
 taken by night in the forest. One evening when he was 
 returning after an unsuccessful chase he saw where four 
 panthers had crossed his path. He sent his dogs after 
 the brutes, and by daybreak rounded up and killed the 
 entire four. That was his biggest day's kill of mature 
 panthers. He once saw where nine panthers had 
 crossed a trail, but as his dogs were tired, having 
 hunted down two panthers that day, he did not send
 
 320 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 them to break up this feline convention. He always 
 aimed to kill his panthers at the first shot, as they 
 charged when wounded, and many were the hair- 
 breadth escapes of his fellow-hunters whose aim was 
 not so accurate. In the late sixties panthers became 
 very scarce in the AUeghenies, so Hall turned his atten- 
 tion to bear hunting. In a few years he had killed over 
 a hundred of these animals, some of them of enormous 
 size. 
 
 The biggest bear he killed was "Old Lame Legs," 
 so called because of his limping gait. He had prob- 
 ably once been in a steel trap, and weighed close to six 
 hundred pounds. It is related that he trailed this bear 
 on snowshoes for three days and nights. He had a 
 frontiersman's disgust for the tenderfoot. 
 
 When the Hon. Coleman Sober, of Lewisburg, the 
 world famous rifle shot, went to see him for the first 
 time and asked him to take him on one of his hunts. 
 Hall said that he would first "try him out." After a 
 twenty-three-mile tramp over rocks and snow Sober 
 was indefatigable, and was ever afterward a welcome 
 guest and companion at the hunting cabin on Rock 
 Run. 
 
 Until probably thirty years ago, when the remnant of 
 panthers in Pennsylvania retired to the Seven Moun- 
 tains, after the cutting of the last original pine at the 
 headwaters of Little Moshannon and Beech Creek, the 
 Allegheny backbone in Blair and Centre Counties was 
 the last stronghold of the lion of Pennsylvania. The 
 last two killed in that region were shot in 1885 and
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 321 
 
 1 886 by John Lucas and Charles Stewart, respectively. 
 They were slain near Beecher's Camp, in the Gum 
 Stump section, in one of the last large tracts of original 
 timber thereabouts. The panthers, like the wolves, 
 loved the virgin forests. They dropped out of sight as 
 their cover and food were destroyed. And when the 
 panthers and wolves disappeared the deer deteriorated 
 in size and swiftness, for Nature to be perfect must 
 maintain its balance. 
 
 Once, after Aaron Hall had ceased hunting pan- 
 thers his sons told him of some tracks they had seen in 
 the Laurel Run glen. 
 
 "It's too near home," said the old man, "but I'll go 
 out and see." 
 
 He tramped up to where the tracks crossed the hol- 
 lov/, but when he saw them he shook his head sadly. 
 "It might be a big wolf, but it's no panther." 
 
 Perhaps the last bit of wildness that happened at the 
 great house on the hill occurred a fev/ years before the 
 death of Aaron Hall. It was a cold winter's night, 
 nearly thirty years ago, and the dogs set up a terrific 
 barking. The old hunter went to the back door, 
 which he opened, looking out into the frigid night, with 
 the tiny light of the stars above glittering on the snow. 
 At the edge of the field, nearest to the mountain he 
 noted som.ething like gleaming yellow lamps mov- 
 ing to and fro. On closer scrutiny, he perceived 
 the dark outlines of a dozen wolves. The animals, 
 hungry from the scarcity of ailing deer, had come off 
 the mountain to make a foray on Hall's sheepfold, but
 
 322 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 the alertness of the dogs had made them afraid to ven- 
 ture any further than the far edge of the clearing. 
 Aaron Hall watched them for fully half an hour; many 
 were the thoughts that were coursing through his brain, 
 for he felt that he would likely never see such a sight 
 again, unless it be that beyond the mountains, where the 
 good and the brave go after death, the chase exists as 
 the supreme reward. After despairing of success in 
 the fold, with a final yelp, the wolves turned away and 
 the dogs ceased their barking, the mighty hunter went 
 inside and shut the door. And the cold night reigned 
 supreme. 
 
 Forest fires raging on the summits year after year 
 chased away the deer that the hunters did not get. 
 There were no weakly harts or hinds for the wolfish 
 tribe. Many wolves died from eating poisoned meat; 
 they came no more. The few survivors vanished 
 with the other picturesque elements of the wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 In the fall of 1892, just before the hunting season, 
 Aaron Hall, slayer of fifty Pennsylvania lions, of in- 
 numerable bears, lynxes, wolves and stags, crossed the 
 borderland into that unknown land where it is hoped 
 that the brave are rewarded with the glorious chase. 
 But his memory will live in Central Pennsylvania, all 
 along the Juniata and the Bald Eagle, and serve as an 
 inspiration to those who would be bold and fearless if 
 born in a less empty day, or if the emergency presented. 
 And around the great, gaunt, tall-chimneyed house, 
 which faces the main massif of the Alleghenies, the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 323 
 
 winter winds howl woo, woo, woo, the hemlocks in 
 the yard sway and sweep in the icy blasts, the night 
 settles down bleaker and more profound, and in the 
 very heart of all lives the spirit of the olden days.
 
 324 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 XXII. 
 HALLOWE'EN. 
 
 A TALE OF THE EARLY IRONMASTERS. 
 
 **T HEARD the owl hooting back of the big house 
 I to-night as I was coming past," said the old iron- 
 moulder as he seated himself in a group of half a 
 dozen elderly men at the Hallowe'en party in the larg- 
 est stone cottage in "workingmen's row." "And it's a 
 bad sign," he continued, "especially on this night, for 
 it cannot fail but bring disaster." 
 
 A hush fell on the party as they looked about them; 
 to talk of disaster when all the young people were hav- 
 ing such a good time and Indian Joe was fiddling his 
 liveliest tunes seemed irrelevant, out of place. Yet it 
 was Hallowe'en, when there should be such a sub- 
 stratum to all conversations. Removing themselves 
 mentally from the glowing candle lights and gaieties, 
 and huddling closer to the open charcoal grate, the 
 old men cogitated as to the exact nature of the coming 
 holocaust. For everyone of them firmly believed in the 
 family "token" of the Hasted family, the masters of 
 "Creekglade Forge" at the source of Stone Creek. 
 Unlike the Irish banshee, which generally reserved its 
 appearances only before death in a family this token 
 of English origin presented itself on the eve of grave
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 325 
 
 illnesses, financial disasters, disappointments, dangers, 
 as well as foretelling the coming of the dark angel. 
 
 The third generation of the Hasted family to own 
 the forge was now in control, the first of the name Abra- 
 ham having settled in Pennsylvania in 1 798. He had 
 capital, as well as brains and energy, soon making him- 
 self a leading figure financially and socially in Central 
 Pennsylvania. But the family had been followed by 
 domestic tragedies of every conceivable kind ; it seemed 
 that as the money flowed into their cornucopia of life, 
 happiness slipped out at the other end. But as proof of 
 their inherent excellence, their employes at the forge 
 remained from generation to generation, being like the 
 retainers of feudal days in their conspicuous loyalty. 
 The Hasted family was literally "born to command," 
 yet their methods were such that they maintained both 
 love and order. 
 
 "I don't like that owl hooting again," said another 
 of the old workmen, the chief forgeman* "I was bom 
 here nearly sixty years ago, and I've heard of it call- 
 ing from that old walnut tree back of the manse at 
 least twenty times — every time something went 
 wrong. 
 
 "I was a small boy when the first of the Hasteds 
 went on that business trip to Philadelphia, from which 
 he never returned. He had heard the owl hooting 
 himself, and his wife urged him not to go, but he went. 
 It hooted the night before the youngest son 'Sam,' a 
 major of dragoons, was killed in the Mexican War. 
 It hooted before that great forest fire in 1835, when
 
 326 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 all the buildings except the stack and the big house 
 were destroyed. It hooted when the second son's wife 
 was killed in that runaway accident. It hooted so 
 many times that I could keep on giving instances until 
 daybreak. It isn't the cry of a Pennsylvania screech 
 owl or a hoot owl ; it is an English owl, that speaks a 
 gloomier, more blood-curdling language than any of its 
 kind native to these parts. I know it, and all the old- 
 timers here know it. I don't think that any one would 
 ever be mistaken that heard it once. Most of the old 
 families — the quality folks, I mean — have a banshee or 
 token. They could not escape them when they moved 
 from the north of Ireland or from England. It is one 
 thing that we with less 'family tree' don't envy them 
 for. We all have to meet our sorrows in this life, but 
 they have the foreknowledge which makes the agony 
 more long drawn out. Not many of the Dutch have 
 the tokens, but those that do generally had pretty good 
 stock back of them. The token is a great follower of 
 class. 
 
 All the old men listened attentively to this exposi- 
 tion of something that they had heard over and over 
 again, and knew by heart, but they dearly loved to dis- 
 cuss anything pertaining to the "big house" above all 
 else. 
 
 The old gutterman, who had been the first speaker, 
 then took up the narrative. "You are right about all 
 the old families having the tokens, but there are some 
 hereabouts that have the Irish token or banshee. The 
 Clawaghters up in the Seven Mountains have a queer
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 327 
 
 one, a one-armed man in a canoe goes down the Ka- 
 roondinha the night before there is a death in the fam- 
 ily. The MacGifferts on the Lewistown Pike have a 
 coal black fox; it crosses the road in front of the person 
 who is to die. The McQueenys, of Rock Pine Forge, 
 have a big black dog; it barks in the yard the night be- 
 fore there's a death in the family. With the Muchol- 
 lans, at Black Diamond Furnace, it's a goose with a 
 black head that is hatched the season when one of the 
 household is to die. The McHales, at Indianville 
 Forges, have a pure white calf with a black head bom 
 on their farm when there is to be death in the family. 
 When one of the McClanys at Swatragh Forge is to 
 die, a bird flies in the house, circles around the room, 
 and goes out again into the night. V/hen there is to be 
 death among the McGlawns at McConnellstown som.e 
 member of the family dreams of losing a tooth; if an 
 old yellow tooth, an aged person; if a white, bleeding 
 tooth, a young person. And the families that have 
 tokens which merely foretell bad luck — they are too 
 numerous to mention." 
 
 The old men smoked their pipes in silence for a mo- 
 ment or two, then the charger spoke again. "I am 
 glad that the hoot owl of the Hasteds does not always 
 mean death." 
 
 There was another pause, broken by the old gutter- 
 man saying, "There are some things worse than death." 
 
 Then another old man, a visitor at one of the work- 
 men's houses, who had been silent during the entire con- 
 versation, spoke up: 'T wonder who up at the big
 
 328 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 house is to have trouble ; they are a healthy looking lot, 
 more chance that one of us would fall by the wayside 
 than any of them." 
 
 The old gutterman who had started the talk, leaned 
 over and putting his mouth close to the elderly 
 stranger's ear, whispered, but in tones loud enough for 
 the other old men to hear: "Young Abe, the master's 
 oldest son, isn't doing the right thing. He's running 
 with Mary Metzger, the daughter of a collier, and no 
 good will come of it, mark my word." 
 
 "Why, hasn't he a perfect right to go with whoever 
 he pleases?" spoke up the stranger, with a small show 
 of indignation. "I believe in the rich marrying the 
 poor, it evens up things." 
 
 The old gutterman shook his head. "You don't 
 know much of human nature, partner," he said, "or you 
 wouldn't talk that way. There is as much difference 
 in people as there is between fishes and birds. They 
 cannot mix; it's harder than putting oil and water to- 
 gether. The quality folks must stay by themselves, the 
 working people by ourselves ; only misery comes of mix- 
 ing the breeds." 
 
 "I don't agree with you," said the stranger, pulling 
 his long white beard angrily. "Over in the Dutch belt 
 where I come from we have no classes, all mix to- 
 gether, everybody is happy." 
 
 "I guess you are right there," replied the gutterman. 
 "All can be happy together where no distinctions exist, 
 but where they do exist, they can never come together. 
 I have heard new workmen come here and say, 'I'm as
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 329 
 
 good as they are, I'll mix with them, they'll mix with 
 me,' but a five minutes' talk satisfied them that their 
 point of view was so different from the folks at the big 
 house, that it was as if they spoke a different lan- 
 guage." 
 
 "I don't agree with you; it's all imagination, this 
 'difference.' People are the same, they all die the same 
 way, and have to face the same Maker. I don't see 
 what harm could come to that young Abe Hasted be- 
 cause he runs about with a coal-burner's daughter." 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you," said the moulder calmly, "at 
 these old forge communities we live by ourselves, away 
 from the rest of the world. We have time to watch 
 things more closely than folks in the busy centers. 
 While the people at the big house are the kindest and 
 best in the world, they are different from workmen. 
 We know it, and we are content to remain privates in 
 the regiment." 
 
 "That's all right," broke in the old Lehigh County 
 man, "but I demand you tell me what is going to 
 happen to young Abe Hasted because he keeps com- 
 pany with a collier's daughter." 
 
 "That I don't know exactly, but I'll tell you what 
 happened to his grandfather, the first Abraham 
 Hasted, for whom he was named. It will take you 
 back nearly a hundred years, to old England. Some- 
 where over there the original Hasteds owned a fine 
 estate called 'Ramhurst.' The story goes that they 
 possessed one hundred thousand acres of land, part 
 farming country, and the rest underlaid with minerals.
 
 330 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 principally iron. About a mile from the stone castle 
 where they lived — it was said to be a thousand years 
 old — was a thriving town, a 'cathedral town' they 
 called it. The Hasteds, of course, never mixed with 
 the business people of the town; they had their own 
 society made up of wealthy landowners like them- 
 selves, and nobility and military officers. The first 
 Abraham Hasted to come to this valley was the oldest 
 son of the owner of that one hundred thousand acres of 
 land and the stone castle. He was a shy backward 
 boy, having been petted too much at home. He never 
 cared for the opposite sex, although his relatives tried 
 hard to interest him in some of the wealthy girls in his 
 own social circle. He was nearly thirty years old, 
 and showed no signs of becoming a benedict. One 
 afternoon he was sitting with his mother in her private 
 apartments when a knock came on the door. A serv- 
 ant announced that the milliner from the town had 
 sent a representative with a few of the latest style hats 
 for her ladyship's inspection. The proud woman told 
 the servant to send the milliner in. The door was 
 pushed open, and a very pretty girl of fifteen, blush- 
 ingly entered. She was carrying six large boxes of 
 hats, was almost hidden behind them. The young 
 gentleman got up when he saw her enter, was about to 
 leave the room, when something about the girl fasci- 
 nated him and made him tarry. Whether it was her 
 blush, or her artless, shy demeanor, or her pretty 
 brown hair, oval face, good nose, clear white skin, and 
 deep-set blue eyes, he could not tell, but he felt a some-
 
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 JUNIATA MEMORIES 331 
 
 thing for her that he had never experienced for any 
 other member of her sex. 
 
 "She almost tripped over the boxes as she sat them 
 down blushing again, and the youth had a further 
 good look at her. She was of medium height, well 
 filled out for her age, with pretty hands and feet. She 
 wore a small dark hat, a red worsted coat, a dark blue 
 skirt of homespun; there was nothing stylish in her 
 attire. Yet despite her awkwardness and plainness 
 of apparel he was madly in love with her. Usually so 
 diffident, he assisted the girl in taking the hats out of 
 the boxes and displaying them before his mother. Evi- 
 dently he would have made a good salesman, for the 
 lady decided to take four of them. The girl was al- 
 most overcome with her good fortune, curtsying as best 
 she could, and thanking her profusely. It meant that 
 henceforth her employer would think more of her. 
 
 "Instead of ringing for the footman to open the 
 door, young Abraham helped the girl with the boxes, 
 and at the back door of the castle insisted that he carry 
 some of them as far as the shop. It was the first work 
 that he had ever done; he was perspiring freely when 
 he reached the town, as it was a hot August day. 
 
 "The milliner, who was usually very severe with her 
 pretty apprentice, was amazed to find that she had sold 
 four hats, and had been assisted back to the shop by 
 the great lady's son. 
 
 "As the lad was putting down the last box he asked 
 the girl her name. 'Betsey Gisborne,* she faltered, 
 looking down and blushing again.
 
 332 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 " *Vm Abraham Hasted,* said the youth as he hur- 
 ried away. 
 
 "As he was a noted horseman he always managed 
 to drive his favorite hackney through the town during 
 the hours when the fair Betsey would be on the streets 
 on errands for her mistress. He gave her many a 'lift' 
 into the country, becoming well acquainted with her. 
 He told her of his love, to which she replied that she 
 had felt a similar emotion the first time she saw him. 
 He spoke of marriage, to which she said that she 
 would love to be his wife, only she feared that their 
 vastly different stations in life might be an insuperable 
 bar, besides six months before she had promised her- 
 self to the milliner's nephew, a butcher in the town, 
 when her apprenticeship would be over. She had been 
 young, he was her first admirer, but she had never 
 loved him, yet it would be hard to disentangle herself 
 from him on account of his connection with her em- 
 ployer. Her romance with the young gentleman had 
 been so rapid that the butcher had not learned he had 
 a rival, yet he must soon find it out, as the town was 
 small, and he would be furious. Then Abraham con- 
 fessed that if his parents knew of his infatuation, or his 
 intentions with a milliner's apprentice they would shut 
 him up in a dungeon; it would be impossible ever to 
 marry with their permission. Insomuch as both Betsey 
 and he had complications to the calm consummation of 
 their romance, if she loved him enough to go with him 
 to America, he would fly with her that very night. 
 "It was late in the afternoon, they were in the young
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 333 
 
 man's hackney cart, driving over a vast, open heath in 
 the direction of the west. The declining sun, mellow 
 and golden, spoke of a world of hope beyond the 
 seas. Taking his arm in hers, the lovely girl pressed 
 herself against him, declaring her unselfish love in im- 
 passioned tones, and swearing that she would go to the 
 ends of the earth for him. He kissed her, telling her 
 that he had enough money and drafts on his person to 
 enable him to take her to America; so he wheeled his 
 horse about, and the high cart flew faster than ever, 
 now headed toward the east coast. He knew of a post 
 town twenty miles away; if they could reach it in an 
 hour, a stage left that night for Hull, a seaport where 
 many ships embarked for America. And it was to the 
 post town they sped out of the track of the setting sun 
 into the gathering night, two hearts at peace with the 
 world. 
 
 "It was an easy drive for a swift horse on a cool 
 September evening, the post town was reached within 
 the hour. The horse and cart were left at the stable 
 of an inn, the happy couple were soon speeding toward 
 the seacoast in the stage coach. All night long they 
 rode, in happy expectancy, for the post boy told them 
 that he was sure a clipper would be sailing in the morn- 
 ing. There was a heavy fog when they arrived at the 
 port of Hull. They sought out the captain of the ship, 
 which bore the prophetic name of the 'Indian Queen.' 
 Yes, he was sailing for America, for the port of Phil- 
 adelphia, as soon as the fog lifted; he was a day late 
 already, but hoped soon to be underway.
 
 334 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 "Despite the fact that there were no telegraphs or 
 telephones or railway trains, Abraham and Betsey 
 were extremely nervous all day, fearing that they 
 might be apprehended or recognized. They remained 
 in the cabin until evening, when a fine wind arose, and 
 the ship weighed anchor, heading for the golden west. 
 The trip was not a honeymoon — that was its only 
 drawback — four weeks was a long voyage for two 
 who were not married but longed to be. 
 
 "At length the Delaware was reached, and then the 
 long-looked-for city of Philadelphia. As soon as the^' 
 were safely on shore a German clergyman living near 
 the docks was located and the nuptial knot tied. The 
 young couple decided to go to Lancaster, then almost 
 on the edge of the wilderness, and there select a per- 
 manent place of abode. In Lancaster they learned of 
 the magnificent timber and mineral wealth of the val- 
 leys contiguous to the Juniata, with a result that the 
 bridegroom made a payment on ten thousand acres of 
 land in what is now Huntingdon County. He knew 
 something about furnaces and forges; he would follow 
 the dignified occupation of ironmaster. 
 
 "Betsey Hasted, as she was now called, was a 
 woman of uncommon intelligence and force of char- 
 acter. She was what might be termed a 'business 
 woman,' and was an able aid to her husband in their 
 mountain home. On shipboard he had drafted a letter 
 to his parents which was mailed in Philadelphia. The 
 proud couple was shocked, but not surprised when 
 they received it, as the disappearance of Betsey Gis-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 335 
 
 borne had uncovered the whole story. Needless to 
 say they sent emissaries to the young man, begging him 
 to give up his bride and return. These faihng, they 
 sent out word that if he would come home with his 
 bride all would be forgiven. But his answer to all was 
 that he was well pleased with his Pennsylvania resi- 
 dence, that he loved his wife, and wanted to be let 
 alone. He further asked that his younger brother be- 
 come heir to the estate, but he wished some money sent 
 him to aid in developing his enterprise as an ironmas- 
 ter. This was done, but years passed before he had 
 closed all the negotiations with his conservative parents. 
 
 "Six children were bom to Abraham and Betsey 
 Hasted; the furnace was a financial success, they 
 named it 'Creekglade,' after the tiny village in Eng- 
 land near which they were driving when they had de- 
 clared their mutual love. All seemed to augur a long 
 and happy life for the couple who had taken destiny 
 in their own hands, had broken down the bonds of 
 caste. 
 
 "One day a letter was received by Hasted to the 
 effect that his father had died, that in order to secure 
 his share of the inheritance he should proceed at once 
 to Philadelphia. The night before an owl had been 
 heard hooting in a large walnut tree back of the re- 
 cently finished manse; the ironmaster had remarked 
 that it was an old legend in his family that such a hoot- 
 ing always foretold misfortune or death. But the 
 cheerful, matter-of-fact little wife laughed his fears 
 away. The arrival of the letter next morning inform-
 
 336 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 ing him of his father's demise seemed to bear out the 
 old tradition. 
 
 "He was overcome by the sad news, as despite his 
 parents' opposition to his 'lowly' marriage, father and 
 son had always been congenial in the past. Though 
 he tried hard to conceal his feelings, the young iron- 
 master was in a depressed frame of mind when he 
 started away on his horse, accompanied by his Negro 
 servant. The bride, noting his gloominess, urged him 
 to wait awhile, but he was obdurate. He would find 
 a stage coach at Lewistown that would carry him the 
 balance of the journey. His devoted wife would have 
 accompanied him, but for the fact that she did not 
 wish to leave her small children. The Negro servant 
 said that his master was feeling in better spirits when 
 he got on the coach, and waved to several friends on 
 the hotel porch. That was the last Abraham Hasted's 
 friends saw him alive. Late in the afternoon the stage 
 was held up in the Narrows by a lone masked man. 
 All the passengers threw up their hands except one, 
 the master of Creekglade Forge, who seemed to recog- 
 nize the 'robber' and made resistance. The bandit 
 shot the ironmaster and split his skull with the handle 
 of his heavy pistol, TThen he dismounted from the 
 coach, letting it go its way without further molestation ; 
 not a single passenger was robbed. From the remarks 
 that passed in the thrilling moment between when 
 Hasted recognized his murderer and received the death 
 shot, the Hasted family inferred that the slayer was 
 none other than the English butcher to whom his wife
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 337 
 
 had once been betrothed. And when the body was 
 picked up by the roadside the next morning all the 
 money and papers were found intact. The only article 
 missing was a miniature of the ironmaster's wife that 
 had been painted in Lancaster by Jacob Eichholtz, 
 and which he always carried in an inside pocket over 
 his heart. 
 
 "Letters from England received by the widow 
 showed that the elder Hasted was not dead; the un- 
 fortunate man had been lured to his death by a false 
 message. But the murderer was never apprehended, 
 so officially the mystery remains unsolved to this day. 
 All that trouble came from an ill-judged union, a 
 grand man was sacrificed. Let us hope that the hoot- 
 ing owl does not foretell a similar alliance." 
 
 The merry party was breaking up to go home when 
 the old man finished his story. Gusts of frigid air 
 were sweeping in every time the door was opened. 
 The fire had burned low in the Franklin stove.
 
 338 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 XXIII. 
 ALL SOULS' NIGHT. 
 
 ANOTHER TALE OF THE EARLY IRONMASTERS. 
 
 HEN young Abraham Hasted passed through 
 the park which led to the rear door of the old 
 manse at Creekglade Forge after a tryst with 
 his beloved, Mary Metzger, in the Panther Gorge, he 
 heard the ominous hooting of an owl in the big walnut 
 tree. It was Hallowe'en, a night when almost any- 
 thing uncanny might be expected to occur, but apart 
 from that, the owl's melancholy cries had a special 
 meaning to the young man. 
 
 Instantly he recollected the family tradition, of how 
 an owl hooting in the old walnut always presaged some 
 disaster to the house. He especially hated to hear it 
 on Hallowe'en; it gave reality to the doleful forebod- 
 ings. Used to the woods as he was, he had never 
 heard an owl hoot quite as this one did. At his hunt- 
 ing cabin in the Lechethal in the Seven Mountains the 
 tiny screech owls often gave vent to their weird outcries 
 from the acacias about the camp, and deeper in the 
 forests at dead of night he often listened to the funereal 
 croaking of the great homed owls. 
 
 But this was a vastly different sound — it seemed to 
 come from the grave. Hurrying up the stone steps.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 339 
 
 with nervous fingers he plied his key to the old-fash- 
 ioned lock of the heavy walnut door. Somehow the 
 key was slow in slipping into its place, and while he 
 fumbled about, he was forced to listen to the owl's 
 lamenting, which seemed to grow louder and more 
 terrifying with every reverberation. Finally the dis- 
 traught youth was able to get the key to working, and 
 rushed inside, slamming the door after him. 
 
 But massive as was the door and closely built, the 
 dreary cries of the owl, at fifteen-second intervals, fil- 
 tered into the old hall. It was a peculiar hall, more like 
 a huge room in which he found himself. No staircase to 
 the upper floor was visible ; the stairs were in a smaller 
 passage concealed behind a door on the west side of 
 the hall. By this door stood a tall clock, ticking 
 heavily away, tick, tock, tick, tock, a clock brought 
 from Lancaster County that had once belonged to his 
 grandmother's family, the old McGarretts, of Donegal 
 Springs. 
 
 In the darkness he strove to listen to the clock, but 
 it was drowned out by the hooting of the owl. Surely 
 a pleasanter evening than he had spent could not be 
 imagined, yet this was a disagreeable ending to it. 
 Mary Metzger, to oblige him, had remained away 
 from the merry Hallowe'en party which took place at 
 one of the workmen's houses, and wrapped up as 
 warmly as she could had walked with him up and down 
 the path by the creek in the Panther Gorge, now and 
 then stopping to listen to the musical roar of a water- 
 fall.
 
 340 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 The Panther fork of Stone Creek rose on a bench 
 of the Scrub Ridge, and after falHng over a cataract 
 of considerable height ran through the deep gorge to 
 join the main stream a mile beyond. At this time, the 
 year before the outbreak of the Civil War, the tall 
 original hemlocks grew in a dense tangle in the gorge, 
 so tall that they seemed to be reaching up to catch the 
 rays of the sun, which rays were not distributed over 
 lavishly in this mountainous region. 
 
 It was a gloomy place for two lovers to wander at 
 midnight on Hallowe'en, but if there was sunshine in 
 their hearts, nature's blackness mattered little. As the 
 lovers wandered up and down the dismal vale the 
 young man recounted to his sweetheart the legend 
 which gave the gorge its name. Panther Gorge had 
 an ominous sound, enough to make one shudder when 
 hearing it, but the tradition was very much more sin- 
 ister. An old Indian, possibly Shaney John, told it 
 to the young man's grandfather shortly after his arrival 
 at the forge from England. It had made a deep im- 
 pression, it was always repeated in the family circle on 
 Hallowe'en, or on nights when the winds howled down 
 the gorge, as if to sweep the house and stack away. 
 The glade was as dark by day as by night, and many 
 had suggested to the ironmasters that they cut the 
 trees, and let in the blessed sunshine. 
 
 But the Hasted family loved traditions, loved things 
 kept as they were, they were not iconoclasts in any sense 
 of the word. The original hemlocks of Panther Gorge 
 survived several ownerships, not coming down until the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 341 
 
 last year of the nineteenth century, when a portable 
 sawmill, that arch-foe of all that is beautiful, razed 
 them, every one. Several forest fires have swept down 
 the gorge since then, and to-day little else grows there 
 but quaking-asp and fire cherry, and those folks living 
 near at hand have more sunlight than they want. 
 
 As young Hasted began the story of the gorge the 
 fair Mary held tighter to his arm, shuddering partly 
 from cold and from the awesome tale. Many years 
 before, about the beginning of the eighteenth century, 
 there was a certain great king of the Tuscaroras, thai 
 warlike tribe which came to the Juniata country from 
 the South. He had lost his wife, and being still a man 
 in middle life, decided to take unto himself a second 
 helpmate. Hs choice fell upon a beautiful maiden of 
 the tribe, a girl only half his age, but of singular in- 
 telligence and charm. It seemed a suitable match, for 
 though the king was thirty-eight and his bride eighteen 
 the difference in years was apparently compensated by 
 the girl's uncommon mental gifts. All seemed happy 
 for a time. The bride appeared to adore her famous 
 husband and there was no doubt but that the king was 
 wildly in love with his beautiful young mate. But 
 some of his royal household, bolder than the outsiders, 
 whispered to him that when he was away on hunting 
 trips the bride was in the habit of strolling in the dark 
 gorge above the regal encampment. One of the house- 
 hold, fearing to have her wander there alone, lest she 
 be devoured by the wild beasts which frequented the 
 spot, followed her by stealth, to act as a secret pro-
 
 342 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 lector. To the faithful henchman's surprise he saw 
 the supposedly devoted bride meeting a young Indian 
 of the tribe, and falling in his arms with a rapture of 
 love. Though he could scarcely believe his eyes the 
 watcher followed her on every occasion when she went 
 for a "solitary" stroll to the gorge. On the last three 
 trips before the king's return he brought two fellow- 
 guards with him to corroborate the information which 
 he proposed to lay before the august monarch. There 
 was no doubt of the truth of the intrigue, but the unso- 
 phisticated Indians almost swooned at the thought that 
 such duplicity could exist in one so beautiful. 
 
 On the king's homecoming, after a most affectionate 
 greeting from his bride, the devoted guard took him 
 aside and imparted the awful story. The king was so 
 affected that he reeled and fell over on the huge pile of 
 dead moose which had been sledded to the royal camp 
 from the wilds of the Seven Mountains. He had 
 planned a celebration for that night to commemorate 
 his slaughter of wild beasts, but instead he ordered 
 that the queen and her paramour be brought before 
 him. Confronted with overwhelming proofs of their 
 guilt, they broke down and confessed, begging for 
 mercy. But the king's pride had been wounded, he 
 had an example to set, so he decreed an awful punish- 
 ment. The royal artificer in metals was sent for and 
 ordered to forge chains for the hands of the queen and 
 her lover, and to weld their legs together by an iron 
 band. Thus manacled together they were led into the 
 depths of the gorge, to wander about in the gloom or
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 343 
 
 starve to death. With their hands chained behind 
 their backs, and with a heavy iron band between the 
 left leg of the queen and the right leg of her lover, they 
 were utterly helpless. Weeping and wailing, they 
 toddled along, until night added more terrible black- 
 ness to the scene. Then the forests resounded with 
 the cries of panthers and wildcats, the howling of hun- 
 gry wolves, the croaking of ravens and the hooting of 
 owls. 
 
 The manacled couple knew that if they sat down 
 they could not get up again, so as a measure of protec- 
 tion they kept on the move. But one of the panthers 
 had not been able to satisfy his hunger that day, the 
 supply of aged or sickly deer was slack, and scenting 
 the human captives, smacked his grey chops in antici- 
 pation. Crawling by stealthy tread from his ledge high 
 up on the side of the gorge, he approached the helpless 
 things uttering yells of mingled hunger and joy. When 
 the couple heard his cries growing louder they knew 
 that their doom was sealed. . 
 
 Standing against an ancient hemlock they awaited 
 their end stoically. With a ferocious bound of twenty 
 feet, the Pennsylvania lion was upon his selected vic- 
 tim, the Indian youth. The force of the savage impact 
 hurled both man and woman to the ground, and the 
 mammoth cat crouched on his prey like a vampire, 
 literally sucking the blood from the wounds made by 
 his heavy paws. After draining the youth of blood, 
 he ate out his heart, then left the remainder of the 
 mutilated corpse still fastened to the guilty queen.
 
 344 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 The horror of her lover's death, her proximity to his 
 mangled remains, were too much for her to bear; she 
 lost her reason completely. Three days later emissa- 
 ries of the king found her lying in the woods, muttering 
 and shrieking, a raving maniac. This was reported to 
 the ruler, who ordered that the dead man be cut loose 
 from her, and that she be brought back to the camp. 
 When the queen was placed before him she could not 
 recognize him, nor talk coherently. She was given her 
 freedom, and remained about the castle for a dozen 
 years, a helpless imbecile, until finally a copperhead 
 snake bit her and she died. From this tragedy the 
 dark glen was ever afterward known as the Panther 
 Gorge, although the first Abraham Hasted had killed 
 an eleven-foot panther there, which sprang at the horse 
 he was riding, further clinching the unsavory title. 
 
 According to the Tuscaroras, Indians dying in guilt 
 become evil spirits, which corrupt and render miserable 
 all living beings falling under their influence. The 
 ghosts of the wicked queen and her lover were said to 
 still haunt the Panther Gorge, and any person feeling 
 their breaths upon them would have an uncontrollable 
 desire to commit crime, to be at enmity with society. 
 Perhaps these unclean spirits, ever seeking to transfer 
 their malevolence to others, were the real cause of 
 the many misfortunes at Creekglade Forge. 
 
 It was an uncanny story, and as young Hasted fin- 
 ished it he noticed that his sweetheart shook like an 
 aspen leaf. She drew herself further away from him, 
 as if to conceal her trembling, and asked him to take
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 345 
 
 her to her home, that she felt as if she were catching 
 cold. As it was past the midnight hour, the young 
 man hurried her to her humble dweUing, which was at 
 the extreme end of the working-men's row. 
 
 As he saw her to the door the shivering girl cast a 
 longing glance down the line of houses to the largest 
 one, from which the guests of the Hallowe'en party 
 were emerging into the night air, wrapped in their 
 cloaks. 
 
 And the young lover remembered as he walked 
 away that she had not thanked him for a pleasant even- 
 ing, she was too pre-occupied watching the light which 
 streamed from the festive door further down the row. 
 He felt that he, the son of proud ironmasters, had 
 honored the girl, the daughter of a stocker, by asso- 
 ciating with her — the very least she could do in return 
 would be to express some word of appreciation. But 
 as he walked on he reasoned that she was young, and 
 in every very youthful breast is a desire for that form 
 of gaiety which expresses itself in bright lights. But 
 his pride was piqued, though he strove to forget it in 
 recollections of the kisses and embraces earlier in the 
 evening. 
 
 Then came the melancholy hooting of the mysteri- 
 ous owl, which evoked memories of family tragedies, 
 of old sorrows. He left the big hall and the old clock, 
 and opening the hall door was at the foot of the wind- 
 ing stairs which led to the upper story. He ascended 
 as quietly as he could, pushing open the door of his 
 own room, which was in utter darkness. One window
 
 346 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 was open and through it came the mournful cries of the 
 owl out there in the park. Would it never stop, was 
 ever an owl so persistent or terrifying? He shut the 
 window and, undressing hastily in the dark, climbed 
 into bed, hiding his head under the counterpanes. 
 
 But though the owl soon became silent, he could not 
 sleep. He recalled other times when he had heard 
 the owl, before grave illnesses to those he loved, before 
 financial and political backsets of his relatives. He 
 had never heard it except previous to unhappy or hu- 
 miliating episodes. What could the owl be after now 
 — perhaps he was to be the sufferer. 
 
 He had one thought uppermost in his mind, his love 
 for Mary Metzger. She rose before his bewildered 
 vision, an image of loveliness. Tall and very slight, 
 with very round blue eyes and a mass of red-gold hair, 
 no woman like her existed in the world; she must be 
 his, and soon. Yet he had never discussed marriage 
 with her, though often expressing the extent of his great 
 love. He had felt that he could not mention a wed- 
 ding until some plans were devised to gain his parents* 
 consent. Though his grandfather, the founder of the 
 family in Pennsylvania, had married a milliner's 
 helper, his father had the strictest ideas about caste, as 
 had his mother, who sprang from one of the proudest 
 Scotch-Irish families in Lancaster County. 
 
 If his grandfather had done it why not he? Mary 
 Metzger would make him as good a wife as his milliner 
 grandmother had been to the first Abraham Hasted. 
 But had that marriage turned out so well? Betsey
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 347 
 
 Gisborne had made a good wife and mother, but the 
 earlier attachment in her Hfe had resulted in her hus- 
 band's foul murder in Lewistown Narrows. As a 
 small boy he had looked with awe at the printed 
 dodger offering a reward of five hundred dollars in 
 gold for information leading to the arrest and convic- 
 tion of the murderer, a copy of which still hung on the 
 wall in one of the warehouses back of the company 
 store. 
 
 But there was no such entanglement in Mary Metz- 
 ger's life, not that he knew of; he was her only lover, 
 therefore history could not repeat itself. He fell asleep 
 just at daybreak, but before he did he was full of cour- 
 age to face his parents and tell them of his love, and 
 demand their consent to his early marriage. He was 
 of the same mind when he awoke. His father had 
 already gone to the office when he got down stairs, so 
 he decided to break the news to his parents in the din- 
 ing-room after supper, while they indulged their fond- 
 ness for rich cofFee. All day long he was moody and 
 uncommunicative; his parents wondered what ailed 
 him, he was usually so bright and amiable. He was 
 silent all through the supper, which was served in the 
 colonial fashion, with tall silver candlesticks on the 
 table. 
 
 The dining-room, with its high ceiling, walnut 
 wainscoting, its huge black marble fireplace in which 
 a cheerful beechwood fire was blazing, with a Louis 
 XIV clock of inlaid tortoise shell on the mantel, the 
 massive sideboard covered with silver, as well as lustre.
 
 348 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 spode and Wedgewood ware, the grim ancestral por- 
 traits on the walls, made it a picturesque setting for the 
 scene that was about to occur. 
 
 After the meal, when the younger members of the 
 family withdrew, young Abraham asked to have a few 
 words with his parents. They eyed him sharply, his 
 conduct during the day had been so peculiar that they 
 suspected something was brewing. The young man 
 arose, and standing with one hand on an antique glass 
 fire screen, told of his love for the workman's daughter 
 and his determination to marry her. The surprised 
 parents listened attentively until he had finished, when 
 the father arose, and shaking his finger at the son, de- 
 clared that such a marriage could never take place, he 
 would send the boy to Europe as soon as a satisfactory 
 compainon could be found; one mesalliance in the 
 family was enough for all time. Then he con- 
 cluded by saying that if any child of his ever con- 
 tracted such a union he would disown him, turn him 
 out of doors. 
 
 The boy's temper was under poor control, and pick- 
 ing up the glass screen, which his mother prized as her 
 favorite antique, he hurled it at his father and strode 
 from the room. The screen crashed into a dozen 
 pieces, and the mother screamed with terror and grief. 
 Even before reaching his room young Abraham re- 
 pented of his rash act, but it was too late, he was an 
 outlaw with his parents, his chances of marrying Mary 
 Metzger seemed remoter than ever. He remained in 
 his apartment all evening, wishing that he could undo
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 349 
 
 his unseemly act, angry at himself; he sometimes felt 
 that the owl's curse was already upon him. 
 
 The next day he wandered about the house sheep- 
 ishly; he neither spoke to his parents, nor did they to 
 him. He tried to formulate some plan for the future, 
 but his mind was a blank. Late in the afternoon he 
 slipped into the dining-room and stood before the ele- 
 gant portrait of his grandmother — she who had been 
 a milliner's apprentice — that portrait which was con- 
 sidered Eichholtz's masterpiece. He compared it fea- 
 ture by feature with his mental conception of his own 
 lowly sweetheart. The former Betsey Gisborne had a 
 broader face, a bigger, stronger nose, more soul to the 
 lips, more firmness to the chin, there was a fine pallor to 
 the complexion, in truth it was a remarkable counte- 
 nance, one woman in a hundred thousand. Though 
 he had to admit to himself that his grandmother, at al- 
 most the same age as his beloved, had the stronger fea- 
 tures and none of the insipid pink and white beauty of 
 his own love, yet he swore to himself that he liked 
 Mary's type by far the best. Looking at that portrait 
 aroused in him a fresh desire to see his Mary again, 
 and tell her what had happened. Perhaps she could 
 help him with a plan, bring some ray of hope into the 
 question. He had made no effort to see her all day, 
 but it might be that she would be looking for him at 
 their favorite trysting place in Panther Gorge. He 
 had made no appointment, yet some instinct told him 
 that she would be there. 
 
 It was All Souls' night, when ghosts were abroad,
 
 350 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 and he hated to think of her wandering by herself in 
 that glen tenanted by the evil spirit of the Tuscarora 
 king's false wife. After supper he went to his room, 
 and then down stairs by a back way, and crept out into 
 the gloom. It was a weirdsome night, with winds 
 rattling the leafless boughs of the trees, and not a star 
 or light visible. 
 
 The path to the glen was so familiar that he lost no 
 time in getting there. To his surprise he saw a female 
 figure walking there, carrying a lantern. Coming 
 nearer he recognized the tall reed-like form of Mary 
 Metzger. He rushed up to her with outstretched arms, 
 "Oh, what a joyful surprise," he said. 
 
 The girl stopped and looked at him in a confused, 
 nervous sort of way. Her lips moved as if she wanted 
 to say something, but she remained silent. 
 
 "Why you don't seem glad to see me, even though 
 you were out here waiting for me." 
 
 To this the girl replied that she was only out for a 
 little fresh air, that she must be flying home. Though 
 this was the first time that she had ever seemed in a 
 hurry to leave him, he offered to accompany her back to 
 her parents' cottage. They walked along in silence, 
 down the glen. Never had the roar of the cataract 
 seemed so loud to Abraham Hasted. Near the edge 
 of the forest footsteps were heard on the frozen earth. 
 
 "V/ho can that be at this hour?" said the young 
 man. Before he could say another word he was seized 
 by the throat by a short, thick-set youth of about his 
 own age, whom he recognized as Simon Wagner, a
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 351 
 
 clerk in the company store. Instinctively he had never 
 liked this youth, who was surly and sullen, and whose 
 flat face was scarred by many pock marks. 
 
 "Damn you," said the clerk, choking him tighter, 
 "can't a fellow meet his girl without a fice like you 
 coming on the scene." 
 
 And he shook the young gentleman as a terrier 
 would a rat. Holding on with a viselike grip, he 
 rambled on, cursing between every sentence. "You 
 had a foolish notion that this girl cared for you. 
 Shucks, she hated you; she merely wanted to see how 
 far you would go, you with all your money and aristo- 
 cratic blood, you are no better than me or her, not half 
 so good I think. Stick to your own kind, and I'll stick 
 to mine." 
 
 These insults were too much for young Hasted to 
 bear. Long and slim, he was yet sinewy and brave. 
 Swinging with his right, he caught the low-browed fel- 
 low under the jaw, and sent him sprawling. As he 
 fell Mary, who had remained silent thus far, uttered a 
 piercing scream, wild and terrible as a panther's, mak- 
 ing the whole glen resound with her anguish. As he 
 fell, Wagner's head struck a sharp rock and he lay 
 motionless. Not knowing whether he had killed the 
 wretch, and caring less. Hasted strode away down the 
 path toward the now sleeping community. He had 
 gone about a hundred yards when he heard the patter 
 of small feet back of him. Mary, out of breath cuid 
 gasping, was at his side. 
 
 "Oh, Abraham, are you going to leave me alone
 
 352 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 here in the woods with that dying man?" she cried. 
 The young gentleman angrily brushed her aside, 
 continuing his way. The girl followed a few paces 
 in the rear, like a starving wolf. At the door of the 
 cottage where she resided Hasted stopped and rapped, 
 until he had aroused her parents. Then he continued 
 along the cinder path to the front gate of the park. As 
 he entered bravely he saw a light shining from his 
 mother's window. He thought of a quotation which 
 had impressed him, "No one can injure him who has 
 not first injured himself." We make by our mistakes 
 and misdeeds the monsters which torture us through 
 life.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 353 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 MERITHEW. 
 
 THE OLD stonemason's STORY. 
 
 THERE was an apple butter frolic at the old log 
 house at the mouth of Detwiler. The few neigh- 
 bors in that lonely mountain vale had all collected 
 at "Singing" Shaffer's to put the work through with a 
 rush. Shaffer, whose real Christian name was 
 Sephares, was called "Singing" because he had a 
 cousin of the same name in Stone Valley, whose vocal 
 gifts and religious inclinations were not so pronounced. 
 Likewise in adjacent valleys were to be found Bill 
 Smith and "Lying Bill" Smith, Sam Kline and "Red 
 Headed" Sam Kline, Jake Stouffer and "Mason 
 John" Stouffer. 
 
 On this night of the apple butter frolic, by the un- 
 steady light of tallow dips and lamps, Farmer Shaffer 
 was assisted by his good wife, his three girls and two 
 boys, Simon Freedley, an old trapper, his wife and 
 daughter, Simeon Plankenhorn, a retired timber 
 cruiser, and wife, and last, but not least, an old stone- 
 mason who was visiting at the Freedley home. 
 
 In the mountains a stranger's name was not the first 
 thing sought for; his other characteristics were studied 
 and commented upon, then if he passed muster his 
 name was asked. For that reason the relator of what
 
 354 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 happened at the frolic had not thought to inquire the 
 old man's name. "The Old Stonemason" was a good 
 enough name! 
 
 One of "Singing" Shaffer's boys, a lad of twenty- 
 one, inherited his father's musical taste, being some- 
 what of a violinist. And he was a poor "pealer," con- 
 sequently his share of the evening's activities was fur- 
 nishing snatches of old-fashioned melodies, like "Biddy 
 Martin," "The Camptown Races" and the "Arkansas 
 Traveler," on his weather-beaten Stradivarius — an in- 
 strument by the way of probable authenticity. At any 
 rate it had been in the Shaffer family over one hun- 
 dred years; burned in the wood inside of the case was 
 "Antonius Stradivarius, Cremona, 1 739." 
 
 Simon Freedley was a man about seventy years of 
 age. In his youth he had worked in Clearfield County 
 and in the Snow Shoe region making square timber. 
 In the camps he had met the stonemason; they had 
 worked together as "buddies," had listened to the 
 Askey boys tell panther stories until their hair stood on 
 end. They themselves had heard the blood curdling 
 growls of the Pennsylvania lion on more than one oc- 
 casion about the licks and sugar camps. Once when 
 Freedley had been watching a lick near Black Moshan- 
 non he had fallen asleep. During his slumbers a pan- 
 ther had crept up to him and sizing him up as a likely 
 meal for his mate and little ones, had covered him with 
 leaves so stealthily as not to awaken him. Then the giant 
 cat had slipped away into the forest to bring his family 
 circle to the royal feast. Some good angel was watch-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 355 
 
 ing over the young Nimrod, for he awakened, finding 
 himself lying in a gully by the log on which he had 
 been watching, and all covered with leaves. Though 
 it was in the fall of the year he could not see why the . 
 leaves should fall so fast. He was not long in grasping 
 the situation; he was to be a panther family's "mid- 
 night lunch." He scrambled to his feet, shook off the 
 leaves, and none too soon. In the darkness he saw a 
 pair of gleaming eyes, not fifty feet away. He aimed 
 his rifle and fired. Probably he missed a vital spot, 
 but the panther uttered a piercing yell, which was an- 
 swered by another still further back in the gloom — 
 then all was still. He had made a lucky escape and 
 became the hero of the square timber camp. 
 
 Then the story was told how two boys from Stone 
 Valley, Joe Emig and Ben Long, when on a rabbit 
 hunt had seen a panther stretched out on a fallen tree 
 right there in Detwiler in the fall of 1911. Hunting 
 stories led to more personal narratives. The old stone- 
 mason told the story of his life, from the day of his 
 birth at the foot of Thick Head, how his mother had 
 run away and his father, marrying again, had "put 
 him out" with first one backwoods family, then an- 
 other. He had been abused and starved, made to do 
 two grown men's work, had run away, been recap- 
 tured, endured all the hardships that could befall a 
 friendless boy. Gradually he drifted out of the 
 Juniata country, into Clinton and Clearfield Counties, 
 where he worked for John Rhone, whose mysterious 
 disappearance in the fall of 1898 was the wonder of
 
 356 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 all of Central Pennsylvania, then to Potter and Tioga 
 Counties, finding life no easier among the shrewd Yan- 
 kees in the "Northern Tier." 
 
 . When he was about thirteen years of age he was 
 placed with a farmer in one of the northern counties to 
 be "general utility" on a two-hundred acre dairy farm. 
 It was a remote spot, several miles from a village, in a 
 country made up of hilly fields interspersed with 
 patches of virgin hemlock and sugar trees. It was a 
 typical farm of that day and locality. The house, a 
 long, low structure, painted white, stood in a yard 
 about two hundred feet from the public road, sur- 
 rounded by giant maples. A double path of flag stones 
 led from it to a double gate. Across the road was the 
 barn, a long structure, with the gable end facing the 
 road. Below the barn the hill sloped off abruptly; it 
 always looked dark down where the public road led, 
 there were many maple trees and beyond a dismal 
 swamp. 
 
 In the springtime when the boy arrived the nights 
 reverberated with the pipings of the h^lodes, the cries 
 of the screech owls. The most cheerful night sound 
 came from the whippoorwills. 
 
 The family consisted of the farmer and his wife, a 
 sour, crusty old couple — Dutch people in a Yankee 
 community — two sons, one of them a helpless cripple 
 since the battle of Antietam, it was a year or two after 
 the close of the Civil War, a daughter about seventeen 
 years of age and a hired girl. The last named was a 
 pretty girl, an orphan like the hired boy, a girl with
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 357 
 
 brown wavy hair, blue eyes and refined features, who 
 might have shared the ill-treatment so generally meted 
 out were it not that she was a prime favorite with the 
 churlish old farmer's daughter. 
 
 The hired girl was kind to the unfortunate boy; it 
 was the only bright spot in his otherwise dreary exist- 
 ence. There were as many cows to milk as he was 
 years old, mares and colts to care for, wood to cut, 
 water to draw, to say nothing of other and arduous 
 tasks too numerous to mention. As the dreary days 
 went by he hoped that he might die to escape the awful 
 drudgery. At first he planned to run away, but it was 
 more difficult than in a wilder country; all the farmers 
 were friends and aided one another as in a freemasonry 
 restoring lost "chattels." As this seemed out of the 
 question hope died out of his comf)osition ; he was in 
 a hopeless treadmill. Occasionally when he went to 
 the village to help unload a wagon of buckwheat or a 
 dray of cheese, he met other farm boys like himself and 
 exchanged impressions with them. Several of them, 
 when they learned where he worked, advised him to be 
 cautious about going out at night, to beware of the 
 ghost. But the boy was too tired and dispirited to be 
 afraid, he usually forgot all about the gruesome hints 
 by the time he was back at the gloomy old place. He 
 worked hard all spring, he worked harder all summer, 
 the fall work promised to be the most severe of all. 
 And the winter would come around with logs to be 
 gotten in, the most gruelling work of the category. 
 
 One evening the farmer lost a big work horse from
 
 358 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 colic; to him it was almost a tragedy. The animal 
 was especially needed in one of the teams for the 
 winter's lumbering operations. A few nights after this 
 misfortune the old man and his sons had driven in the 
 spring wagon to an adjoining hamlet to look at an- 
 other horse. The hired boy, as usual, was left to do 
 the night's work, it looked before him a monumental 
 trial, especially the milking of the baker's dozen of 
 cows, the feeding of a score of pigs, the feeding and 
 bedding of mares and colts, sheep and poultry, wood 
 cutting and endless other duties. For a moment he 
 stood in the gathering twilight in the open barn door, 
 then set to work with a will. 
 
 It was long after dark when he finished, and with 
 weary tread he started across the road and opened the 
 front gate. As he did so he glanced up, being sur- 
 prised to see a tall slim figure dressed in black coming 
 down one of the paths from the old house. Too sur- 
 prised to speak, he stood motionless, with one hand on 
 the gate latch. As the figure drew near he could just 
 make out that he was very tall and wore a suit of even- 
 ing clothes, with white cuffs and shirt; the long tails of 
 the coat flapped about the thin legs in the night wind. 
 As the figure passed out of the other side of the double 
 gate it glanced at him. He was too frightened to 
 scrutinize the features, all he noticed was that the face 
 was very white. Silently it passed through the gate, 
 stepped boldly into the middle of the road, and with 
 rapid strides disappeared below the hill among the 
 dark, soughing maple trees. The frightened boy
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 359 
 
 passed in the gate, the cold perspiration was standing 
 out on his forehead, his legs trembled as he walked 
 along the flags toward the side door of the house. He 
 had a strong feeling that he had seen a ghost, especially 
 as it was the night of the second of October, the be- 
 ginning of the ghost month, which lasts until All Souls' 
 night, when all the spirits of the dead can return from 
 the realms be^^ond space and time. All the family 
 were in bed when he got to the house. Sorrowfully 
 he picked up his old tin lantern and climbed the ladder 
 to his bed in the stuffy little cubbyhole of a room above 
 the summer kitchen. He was too tired to think further 
 of ghosts and was soon asleep. 
 
 In the morning he thought it best not to broach the 
 subject to the family — it might be a sore subject — he 
 had heard that it was in most "haunted" families, and 
 for a boy of thirteen he was steeped in worldly wisdom. 
 Three weeks passed, during which time he saw no 
 more of the ghost. All he saw was work, a mountain 
 of work. 
 
 One evening when he was alone at the barn, the 
 farmer and his second son had driven to the village to 
 visit the crippled boy, who now clerked in the general 
 store — they always contrived to get away at work 
 time — he stood for a moment at the barn door gazing 
 out into the fast-gathering dusk. Suddenly at his side 
 he noticed the tall slim form of a young man a lad of 
 about eighteen, dressed in a black broadcloth suit, a 
 size or two too big for him, with long white cuffs, a 
 high white collar and a ruffled shirt front. The autumn
 
 360 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 wind was blowing his long curly dark hair, his face 
 was ghastly pale the deep-set eyes were very large and 
 black. He was sure it was the same figure that had 
 passed him at the gate. The young man spoke in such 
 a pleasant tone of voice to the bewildered farm boy 
 that he lost all his sense of fear. He began the con- 
 versation by inquiring if there was any chance to ob- 
 tain work on the farm. The boy replied that he 
 doubted if there was any, but he could not answer for 
 certain until the farmer returned from the village. 
 Then the stranger asked if he could help the boy with 
 his evening work which offer, needless to say, was 
 gladly accepted. The black-garbed youth was a 
 nimble workman, belying his frail, consumptive ap- 
 pearance. He assisted with everything, even to milk- 
 ing the "lion's share" of the baker's dozen of cows. 
 Then he helped the boy carry the milk pails across the 
 road to the spring house. 
 
 After the work was over the lad invited the stranger 
 into the house, intending to share his bowl of bread 
 and milk with him. The old lady had retired, but in 
 the sitting room adjoining the kitchen there was a light, 
 which disclosed the farmer's daughter and the hired 
 girl before a mirror combing their dark tresses prepara- 
 tory to going to bed. By the feeble rays of the tin 
 lantern the farm boy endeavored to find the bread, but 
 before doing so he asked the unknown his name, so 
 that he might introduce him to the girls. The gaunt 
 youth said that his name was Merithew. It seemed 
 an odd name, but the boy took him to the door of the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 361 
 
 sitting room and presented him to the young women, 
 asking him to make himself comfortable while he got 
 together a little supper. The stranger barely nodded 
 to the girls, and passing through the long, low-ceilinged 
 room, seated himself on an old horsehair sofa. He 
 was sitting there with his head hanging and his long 
 white-cuffed hands folded across his breast when the 
 farm boy last saw him. The girls, rather timid, turned 
 their backs on him and resumed combing their wavy 
 dark hair. Barely two minutes had passed when the 
 hired boy heard the girls scream out in terror. Rest- 
 ing his crock of milk on the water bench, he hurried to 
 the sitting room. The girls were white with terror. 
 Hastily they explained to him that the young man to 
 whom they had been introduced had vanished when 
 they turned their backs for a minute to comb their 
 hair. 
 
 Who was the strange creature, why had he acted so 
 oddly, they excitedly demanded. The boy tried to 
 calm their fears, saying that he supposed the stranger, 
 feeling bashful, had slipped out through the kitchen, 
 while he had been busy finding the bread. The girls 
 accepted the explanation, and to the boy's relief did 
 not mention the incident to the family next morning. 
 Perhaps they dreaded a drubbing if they told of hav- 
 ing had a strange male caller after night. But the boy 
 could not shake off the memory of the hard-working 
 but illusive Merithew. He did not see him again until 
 about three weeks later, on a cold wintry night, when 
 all the family had driven to the village to attend some
 
 362 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 special semce at the church. On that occasion Meri- 
 thew appeared at the bam door, asked if he might 
 help With the evening's work, which offer was again 
 accepted. But after working splendidly he declined 
 the invitation to go to the house to get a bite of supper. 
 He left the boy at the double gate and vanished in the 
 gloom below the hill. 
 
 One night about Christmas time the boy was alone 
 again; the family of course at church. Merithew ap- 
 peared, helped with the work and vanished. About 
 three weeks after that, in mid-winter, the hired boy and 
 the farmer's son were milking in the cow barn. It was 
 almost dark and bitterly cold. Suddenly the form of 
 Merithew appeared out of the floor back of the cows. 
 The animals became visibly agitated, shaking their 
 stanchioned heads, and switching their long tails. Some 
 of them bellowed mournfully. Merithew seemed 
 utterly unconcerned, and began conversing with the 
 boy in his low musical voice. At the far end of 
 the stalls, on the other side of the double mangers, 
 the farmer's son noted the unseem.ly racket and 
 heard a stranger's voice. In his usual surly tones he 
 demanded to know with whom the hired boy was 
 speaking. 
 
 "I'm talking with Merithew," said the lad inno- 
 cently. The farmer's son rose up from his milking, 
 shaking like a reed, then he stooped down, picked up 
 the milking stool and ran down the entry, hurling the 
 stool in the direction from which the strange voice 
 emanated.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 363 
 
 "My God," cried the excited rustic, "don't you 
 know you're talking with a ghost?" 
 
 As he said these words the tall, grim form of Meri- 
 thew disappeared down through the barn floor. 
 Barely had it vanished when the nervous farmer ran 
 down the entry and out of the bam leaving the little 
 boy to finish the milking alone. The boy, though 
 badly frightened, held his post, but in his heart came 
 a new courage, a new determination, a desire put there 
 by the ghost of Merithew to make his escape from the 
 hateful surroundings. Like a flash of divination he 
 saw that Merithew had come to help him, perhaps was 
 the shade of some former farm boy worked to death or 
 into consumption there or in the neighborhood ; he must 
 get away before too late. All, even the hired girl, had 
 gone to bed when he got to the gloomy old house. 
 The next morning was Sunday, and they all were off 
 to church while he Was about his usual tasks. But 
 when the carry-all v,"as lost to sight up the hilly road 
 the boy dropped his pitchfork and struck out manfully 
 across the fields. Soon he was in the shelter of a grove 
 of dense hemlocks and maples. He made good time, 
 and when night fell he was on the Susquehanna water- 
 shed, determined never to return. 
 
 But he was apprehended, nevertheless, and might 
 have been returned to the odious surroundings had it 
 not been for a friendly Irish farmer who fought his 
 battle for him, and with whom he remained for several 
 years. But though lastingly grateful to his staunch 
 friend, in his heart of hearts he always cherished the
 
 364 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 memory of his real deliverer, Merithew. The pale 
 wraith had awakened in him a real desire to escape, 
 had put hope back in his breast when it had almost 
 flickered out in the darkness of wretched drudgery. 
 He had sent him out into a bigger and better world, 
 where work had its advantages, where justice, kindli- 
 ness and right prevailed, all elements of that spiritual 
 realm from whence Merithew had come.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 365 
 
 XXV. 
 
 GREEN GAP. 
 
 THE LAST MASSACRE OF THE JUNIATA. 
 
 "^LEM" HERLACHER is fond of saying that 
 I if the last Indian massacre in Pennsylvania did 
 
 not occur in the Juniata Valley, the victims 
 were at least residents of its w^atershed. History fails 
 to record the story of this final bloodthirsty act of the 
 rapacious redmen. Jones makes no mention of it, nor 
 does Rupp, or Sherman Day or Meginness. Yet the 
 great number of reliable persons who have heard the 
 story from their parents and grandparents amply attest 
 to its correctness. 
 
 The concensus of opinion places the date of the 
 last massacre as late as the second month of the year 
 1601, or long after peace was declared between 
 Great Britain and the Colonies, and over a year after 
 the death of General George Washington. At that 
 time Thomas McKean was Governor of the Com- 
 monwealth, Edward Shippen was chief justice of 
 the Supreme Court, John P. G. Muhlenberg and 
 William Bingham were the United States senators, 
 all able, energetic men, well capable of coping with 
 such a situation. But the massacre evidently es- 
 caped their immediate attention, and thereby missed
 
 366 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 its chance of finding a place in recorded history. 
 
 TTie scene of the massacre of the Juniata citizens. 
 Green Gap, in the east end of Sugar Valley, in Clin- 
 ton County, is remarkable in several ways. The larg- 
 est tree in the valley, a white pine, which when cut 
 some forty years ago was measured by the venerable 
 Daniel Mark at seven feet across the stump, stood at 
 the mouth of the gap, in height it was the same as the 
 pine cut on the campus of Dartmouth College — 270 
 feet; the last native elks in Sugar Valley were slain 
 there by Major Philip Wohlfart and Jacob Franck in 
 1835, some of the last wolves native to the valley had 
 their dens there, until slain by David Zimmerman 
 about 1847. 
 
 Though wolves made incursions into the valley at 
 much later dates, in fact in the hard winter of 1857, ac- 
 cording to Henry Wise, they held a battle royal cunong 
 themselves near Eastville, devouring one of their num- 
 ber, the brutes wiped out by Nimrod Zimmerman were 
 the last "resident" wolves in the "East End." The 
 story of the destruction of these "last wolves" is of 
 more than passing interest. Shortly after David Zim- 
 merman's arrival in the valley, he took unto himself a 
 charming bride, and leaving the parental log castle, at 
 Tea Springs, where four counties. Union, Lycoming, 
 Clinton and Centre corner, he moved to a more se- 
 cluded nook in the vast wilderness. Shortly after his 
 arrival at the new home his bride showed him the tracks 
 of two wolves in the snow near the sheep-fold. This 
 augured ill for his stock-raising intentions, so he deter-
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 367 
 
 mined to rid the neighborhood of these "long-tailed 
 hunters," as the old settlers termed the tribe of canis 
 lupus. With the aid of his faithful dogs he tracked 
 the wolves, a male and a female, to a rocky den in the 
 depths of Green Gap, several miles from his place of 
 residence. Indications pointed to the presence of pups 
 in the cavern, so the intrepid hunter placed himself on 
 the watch, eventually shooting the she-wolf. Then 
 he dug out the cave, finding ten new-born pups. It 
 was in the month of April. Snow was still on the 
 ground, as is often the case in high altitudes at this 
 period of the year. 
 
 After killing the pups the hunter resumed his vigil 
 for the dog-wolf, but the wily beast apparently de- 
 serted the country. Though a trifle disappointed at 
 not having wiped out this entire wolfish family, Zim- 
 merman returned to his cabin, presenting his bride with 
 the rich brown-black pelt of the dead she-wolf. Peace 
 reigned about the secluded cabin for several days and 
 nights. At length an extremely cold night set in, 
 coupled with a black frost. 
 
 The Zimmerman cabin, built of yellow pine logs, 
 was a one-story structure, and the bedroom window, 
 always kept open at night, was but a couple of feet 
 above the level of the ground. The young couple had 
 retired after a hard day's work, and were about falling 
 into a doze when they heard the yelping of their dogs 
 in the yard, which usually betokened the presence of 
 some skulking animal. After a few minutes a louder 
 and fiercer howl came from the giant pines at the edge
 
 368 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 of the clearing. Louder and louder it grew, until the 
 dogs abashed by the comparison lapsed into silence. 
 
 Zimmerman rose up in bed, and looked out into the 
 clearing, which was clearly visible in the frigid star- 
 light. In the open lot stood the burly form of a giant 
 dog-wolf, with mane and tail erect and bristling. It 
 seemed to be barking an open defiance to the dwellers 
 in the lonely cabin. The hunter calm and collected, 
 reached for his gun, his favorite "swivel breech," which 
 lay on the deal floor by the four-poster. The bride 
 caught him by the other arm, imploring him not to get 
 up and do battle with the wolf. The bridegroom whis- 
 pered that he had no such intention, but he wanted to 
 be able to protect his bride and self in case the wolf at- 
 tempted to spring through the open window. But the 
 wolf showed no desire to come closer. His howl, at 
 first loud and defiant, struck off into a melancholy key, 
 a sobbing song of loneliness and misery. From defiance 
 his song had become a paean of sorrow over the inevi- 
 table. 
 
 All the while Zimmerman was adjusting his weapon 
 so as to be able to fire it through the open sash, to hit 
 his quarry despite the uncertainties of the dim light. 
 But soon he was ready, there was a click, click, fol- 
 lowed by a loud report, and with a horrible yelp of 
 pain the last "resident" wolf of Sugar Valley rolled 
 over on the frozen ground, a lifeless mass. 
 
 But to return to the most important happening in 
 Green Gap, the massacre of the brave boys from the 
 Juniata country. It appeared that in the last months
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 369 
 
 of 1 800 and the first month of the year following a 
 number of mysterious robberies of stock were com- 
 mitted on the farms of the settlers residing at the head- 
 waters of Cocalamus Creek in the Juniata Valley. 
 The animals stolen included horses, milk cows, beeves, 
 hogs and sheep. A number of farm buildings, spring 
 houses, and straw stacks were burned, a virtual reign 
 of terror ensued. No trace of the culprits could be 
 found. The victims applied to the local authorities 
 and then to the State executives, but apart from re- 
 wards being offered no definite effort was made to un- 
 ravel the strange happenings. But it was hinted on 
 high authority that the crimes were those of persons 
 living close at hand, it was wasting time to ask that the 
 State Government take a hand. 
 
 "Mend your owti bridges," was the gist of the final 
 answer. 
 
 Angered by the misconception and apathy among 
 those in the "high places," a meeting of the chief suf- 
 ferers was held at the farmstead of one of their num- 
 ber, a brave, high-spirited stock raiser named Captain 
 Harry Green, formerly of Milton, a veteran of the 
 Revolution, whose property was located near the head- 
 ing of Little Cocalamus. Half a hundred head of 
 stock had been stolen, four barns, six spring houses and 
 six straw stacks burned and yet not a single definite 
 clew to the marauders. At the meeting Green sur- 
 prised his fellow-sufferers by stating that the robbers 
 were Indians. Some few were disposed to question 
 this statement, declaring that all the roving bands were
 
 370 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 now safely corralled on the northern reservations, but 
 the intrepid pioneer drew from the pocket of his buck- 
 skin coat a moccasin which he had found near the 
 ashes of his largest straw stack. He went on to relate 
 that only five years before Indians had made a raid in 
 Black Wolf Valley now called Treaster Valley, in 
 Mifflin County, driving off a couple of dozen head of 
 beeves, that they had been tracked up to the fastnesses 
 of High Valley where they had slaughtered the ani- 
 mals and made good their escape to the north, that the 
 Indians had been threatening reprisals for the white 
 men's recent extermination of the buffaloes. 
 
 He believed that the redskins were camping some- 
 where in the mountains south of the Susquehanna, and 
 if some of those present would volunteer he would 
 head a posse of regulators to secure summary redress, 
 they would bother the State no longer. Every man 
 present signified a desire to join in the Indian hunt, but 
 Green decided to accept only the seven unmarried men, 
 who unanimously elected him "captain." Their first 
 intention was to proceed to Black Wolf Valley, but 
 before they had started a farmer returning from Swine- 
 fordstown informed them that there was a rumor of 
 Indians camping in a wild gap that had its outlet in the 
 valley of Fishing Creek, in the east end of Sugar Val- 
 ley, a valley so named for the number of sugar maples 
 growing in it. 
 
 The party started, well armed and in high spirits. 
 They got no trace of the Indians until after they had 
 left the Gap, and came out in the above-named valley.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 371 
 
 Then they noticed the smoke of a campfire in the gap 
 back of the present village of Carroll. They might 
 have surprised and annihilated the savage band had it 
 not been for the alertness of the Indian dogs. The 
 fleet-footed redmen abandoned their campfire in the 
 "nick of time," at which a haunch of venison was roast- 
 ing, and scurried back into the impenetrable forests. 
 The pursuers were quite a little surprised not to find 
 any traces of the missing farm animals. Not a hoof- 
 print or sign of any kind was to be found. But they 
 decided to pursue the marauders. They were fleet- 
 footed like the redmen and several times were close at 
 their heels. They chased them over the rocky coun- 
 try to the Bald Eagle Ridge, and along that mountain 
 to Mill Hall, where they crossed the valley to the 
 Allegheny range, following those mountains to the 
 mouth of Lick Run, where Farrcuidsville now stands. 
 There the Indians crossed the river, and as the ice was 
 going out and the northern country little known and 
 treacherous, the pursuit was there abandoned. The 
 party then retraced their way down the West Branch 
 Valley. 
 
 At the mouth of Bald Eagle Creek they met a 
 friendly Indian, Joe Sunfish, who was going to Mc- 
 Elhattan Run to trap beavers. He said that he be- 
 lieved he could tell of the mysterious raids in Coca- 
 lamus Valley, who the marauders were and what was 
 done with the plunder. The band was most probably 
 led by a "bad Indian" named Stiffarmed George, a 
 Seneca, and their last camp had been in one of the
 
 372 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 gaps opening into Sugar Valley. From his description 
 of the locality, the pioneers had clearly gotten into the 
 wrong gap; they had been in Chadwick's Gap, 
 whereas the thieving Indians had camped and con- 
 cealed their booty in the glen now known as Green 
 Gap. That gap could easily be located. At its mouth 
 stood the "Sentinel Pine," a tree of such noticeable 
 girth and height that it far outstripped its fellows. 
 
 Stiffarmed George was at the head of about a dozen 
 savages, he said, all with unsavory reputations, and 
 liable to arrest for abandoning the reservations without 
 permission. That Stiffarmed George was a "bad In- 
 dian" is borne out by the fact that he died on the gal- 
 lows at Buffalo, New York, in 1803, for the murder of 
 a white man. Captain Green had known Joe Sunfish 
 for a long while, he had been a frequent visitor to the 
 Juniata country in the days when beavers were plenti- 
 ful. Consequently his surmises concerning the move- 
 ments and identity of the outlaws was apt to be rea- 
 sonably correct. The regulators therefore continued 
 their way down the valley until they came to the In- 
 dian path, once the favorite highway of the eloquent 
 but intemperate James Logan, which led through Mc- 
 Elhattan Gap in the direction of Sugar Valley. 
 
 Before reaching the sulphur spring where Logan 
 often camped while imbibing the medicinal waters after 
 a debauch, the path diverged, one leading in an east- 
 erly direction through Hopple Hollow. This path 
 Green and his party followed. It led into the Carroll 
 Gap by way of the present Bixel Church, and at the
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 373 
 
 mouth of the gap a splendid view across the valley was 
 obtained. There were many gaps in the long range 
 of mountains, on the "winter side" of the valley, Green 
 Burr, Bull Run, Schwenk's, Chadwick's, Green's, but 
 the gap which they wished to reach was the furthest 
 east. Even at that distance, four or five miles, they 
 made out the black towering, matted head of the 
 "sentinel pine." They could see where they had made 
 a mistake, Chadwick's Gap was further west than the 
 gorge where the redmen had their rendezvous. Fol- 
 lowing the Indicm path across the valley, they found a 
 new and well-marked trail leading to the gap in 
 question. 
 
 They saw the "sentinel pine." What a noble tree 
 it was, the hardy frontiersmen bowed their heads in 
 reverence as they passed it. Such a tree must be, as 
 the Indians claimed, possessed of consciousness, of soul. 
 The gap was a veritable jungle of giant pines, and 
 hemlocks, also the tallest rhododendrons they had ever 
 seen. Windfalls had made travel still more difficult. 
 Snow and ice further impeded progress. But the path 
 was distinct, it had been recently used. However 
 there were no hoofprints of cattle discernible. The 
 animals were either still in the gap or had been 
 butchered. 
 
 It was a half day's work to travel the four miles to 
 the head of the gap beyond which lay the waters of 
 the South Branch of White Deer Creek. Near the 
 summit the pioneers reached a large open space; wind- 
 falls had downed most of the timber, what was left
 
 374 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 was girdled and dying. In the center of the clearing 
 were the remains of Indian campfires, some of them 
 with the embers smouldering. Lying about were the 
 skulls and bones of oxen, hogs and sheep. Evidently 
 the red marauders had killed as much of their booty 
 as possible, selling the rest perhaps to some white rene- 
 gades. But at the same time there must have been 
 regal feasting among the aborigines. In the newly 
 fallen skiff of snow was the spoor of many panthers, 
 wolves, wildcats and foxes, crossing and recrossing the 
 campsite. These scavengers had descended on the 
 camp, gorging themselves on what was left, after the 
 departure of the Indians. 
 
 It made the regulators angry to look upon such a 
 scene, especially as they had to cook a frugal supper 
 of the small amount of jerked venison they had brought 
 with them. It was getting late, too dark to find any 
 tracks of the horses and cattle which possibly survived. 
 It was bitterly cold, so they decided to utilize the In- 
 dian camp for the night. It was as safe as any place, 
 the wolves might howl from the mountain sides, 
 but such animals never molested armed men. It might 
 have been well to leave some one on watch, but all 
 were tired after their long pursuit of Stiffarmed George 
 and his band. After supper the ruddy glow of the 
 ebbing campfire further induced sleep. One by one 
 the hardy band wrapped themselves in their blankets 
 and passed into slumberland. Captain Green was the 
 last to fall asleep, quiet reigned over the camp, even 
 the wolves were quiet that frigid February night.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 375 
 
 The tired regulators had slept possibly an hour 
 when in single file a dozen fierce-looking Indians 
 ascended the gorge, and, reaching the clearing, sur- 
 rounded the sleeping band. Silently, as only Indians 
 can, they closed in on the sleepers, and with their 
 tomahawks they brained and scalped the unhappy 
 men. Not a single sleeper knew what had happened 
 until he found himself awake in the land of shades. 
 Then the Indians stripped the bleeding corpses, gath- 
 ered up the rifles and ammunition and as silently as 
 they had come departed out of the gap toward the 
 vast wildernesses of the north. 
 
 The dead men were not left alone for long, the 
 bloodthirsty wolves were soon aware of conditions, and 
 descending off the mountain slopes in files, like hideous 
 caricatures of Indians, proceeded to ramp and fighl 
 over the mutilated bodies. It was a wolfish orgy to be 
 sure, participated in by all the wolves in Sugar Valley 
 and in the adjoining regions. Hundreds of the savage 
 creatures fought all night and all the next day, and all 
 the next night, until hardly a recognizable human 
 vestige remained. 
 
 It was not until the second morning after the 
 massacre that some hunters from an improvement in the 
 west of the valley, two hardy men named John Colby 
 and Samuel Jones, bound for a red bear hunt at 
 Buffalo Path, heard the unseemly racket of the wolves 
 in the lonely gap. Finding an Indian path they fol- 
 lowed it to the head of the wild glen. There the sight 
 which greeted their eyes was sickening to the extremity.
 
 376 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 Human skulls and bones were everywhere on rocks, in 
 the spring, wedged between logs, side by side with 
 beeves' skulls, showing the extent of the wolfish frolic. 
 
 At first they thought that the wolves had been the 
 aggressors, but when they picked up the skulls to gather 
 them together for decent burial, they saw on every one 
 the telltale mark of the cruel tomahawks. These same 
 hunters had seen Captain Green and his band on their 
 way to the north and the number of his party corre- 
 sponded with the number of skulls found. 
 
 What was left was given a decent burial that frosty 
 morning under a pile of heavy rocks, where they would 
 be inviolate from wolves or other desecrators. The 
 word was sent to the authorities, but nothing was ac- 
 complished; the name "Green Gap" alone to-day per- 
 petuates the memory of the foul deed.
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 377 
 
 XXVI. 
 THE ROB ROY. 
 
 A LEGEND OF OLD mVeYTOWN. 
 
 ALONG the old canal bank, below the pictur- 
 esque village of McVeytown, for a full century 
 stood a certain public house, a tavern stand v^ith 
 a history. Long before the buildng of the canal it had 
 been a noted hostelry, a favored stopping place for 
 travelers along the pike, a headquarters for the hardy 
 settlers and hunters of the neighborhood. It had been 
 in the hands of one family for nearly the entire span of 
 the century, a family of more than ordinary refinement 
 and common sense, w^ho had raised inn keeping almost 
 to the level of a profession. For that reason they at- 
 tracted the best class of custom and many were the 
 travelers who journeyed miles further enduring fatigue 
 and cold, so that they could spend the night under this 
 hospitable roof. And many were the travelers who 
 went off their regular roads purposely that they might 
 be entertained there. Even the roughest customers 
 from the Blue Ridge and Jack's Mountain maintained 
 a respectable demeanor within the heavy walls of the 
 old stone tavern; the few Indians who stopped there 
 recalled that it had been built originally as a fort, as 
 was evidenced by the thickness of the walls — the en-
 
 378 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 tire atmosphere was one of genial charm. It reflected 
 the EngHsh inns of romance in this wild mountainous 
 section of the new world. 
 
 The family who kept the stand were of English 
 descent, of exceptionally good stock, being related to 
 the nobility; the head of the family had been a baro- 
 net's younger son who emigrated to Pennsylvania, 
 marrying there a beautiful girl of lesser rank but of 
 solid north of Ireland forbears. The first landlord had 
 married the eldest daughter of this union, an attractive 
 girl, who maintained her dignity, yet left no detail of 
 her hotel business neglected. 
 
 She was a favorite with all travelers especially with 
 gentlemen travelers from a distance, who detected in 
 her qualities of mind and heart of no mean order. 
 Often these fine gentlemen tarried for a number of 
 days, appreciating the home atmosphere, while they 
 questioned the regular patrons from the mountains con- 
 cerning the tracks and trails of the wilderness. The 
 good name of the house was passed from one dignitary 
 to another, for gentlemen always recognize one another 
 at sight, and "go to the stone tavern, 'The Bounding 
 Elk,' " became a password assuring a kindly reception 
 and genuine comforts for the most exacting tourist. 
 
 Among the visitors were many foreigners, princi- 
 pally Scotchmen, Ulster Scots, and a few Englishmen, 
 who made the Juniata Valley the veritable Celtic trail 
 in Pennsylvania. For there they found most of the 
 earliest settlers descended from their own stock, and 
 their clannish natures found greatest happiness among
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 379 
 
 persons of kindred names, customs and religion. Some 
 of these British travelers were scientists, writers, artists 
 or teachers, but there were numerous "younger sons" 
 of distinguished parents abroad, who were hving as 
 "rolling stones" in the new country, traveHng from 
 place to place, yet never finding any spot attractive 
 enough to settle in permanently, no calling suited to 
 their luxurious natures. Some of these gentlemen were 
 young, others middle-aged, a few of them were quite 
 old and proportionately more restless. 
 
 It was in the early spring of 1 791 , the year after the 
 young landlady's marriage, that a stranger of more 
 than usual interest ensconced himself at the stone tav- 
 ern known as the Bounding Elk. At first he had not 
 intended to stop, but struck by the name, paused to 
 inquire its meaning. He was met by the comely young 
 landlady who smilingly informed him that it was 
 named for a famous and probably mythical elk, which 
 pursued by Indians in days gone by, had cleared the 
 Juniata with a single bound near where the tavern 
 stood. 
 
 Evidently the stranger was an antiquary, as he 
 seemed greatly pleased with the information. Dinner 
 hour being near at hand, he turned his horse over to 
 the colored stable boy, Patterson, and entered the tav- 
 ern. He was so well received by the stalwart young 
 landlord, to say nothing of the charming better half's 
 attentions, that he decided to remain over night. Go- 
 ing to the bam, he unstrapped his saddle bags, and 
 proceeded to make himself at home. He gave his
 
 380 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 name as "Mr. Campbell," which caused the landlord 
 to inquire if he were related to persons of that name 
 residing further up the valley. The stranger shook his 
 head, saying that he had no relatives in the Confedera- 
 tion, as far as he knew. 
 
 He seemed to be quite a young man, but it was hard 
 to guess his correct age, as he was of that sandy com- 
 plexion which so often defies the inroads of time. He 
 was of medium height, sturdily built, with a clear-cut 
 aquiline nose, deep-set Celtic blue eyes, and, though 
 his lips were somewhat full, he always kept his mouth 
 tight shut and compressed. He had good color, good 
 teeth, there was a slight curl to his auburn locks. His 
 manner was sprightly, yet underneath it all was a vein 
 of seriousness which expressed itself most noticeably in 
 moments of abstraction and silence. Polite, yet re- 
 served to all classes of people, he hac he gift of mak- 
 ing friends easily. 
 
 Prolonging his stay at the Bounding Elk from day 
 to day, he soon became a fixture about the premises. 
 His chief interest seemed to be in listenmg to the Indian 
 legends of the mountains which the ord pioneers loved 
 to retail in the tap room. Occasionally Indians stopped 
 at the hotel, and the stranger made a point to become 
 acquainted with them. He seemed to possess the 
 power of penetrating their stolidity and reserve, for 
 they talked freely of the grand days when the Juniata 
 and its surrounding regions was their earthly paradise. 
 
 From remarks dropped by one of the old Indians, 
 he was led, late in October, to make a journey on
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 381 
 
 horseback to the headwaters of Moose Run, a tribu- 
 tary of Bald Eagle Creek, although previously hardly 
 a week had passed but he had made some shorter pil- 
 grimage to others of the historic shrines in the Blue 
 Ridge, or Fasick's Ridge, or Jack's Mountain. But 
 the ride across several ranges of mountains and valleys 
 to the Snow Shoe region was his longest excursion ; he 
 was gone nearly two weeks. At times the young land- 
 lord and his wife feared that their visitor might never 
 return; he had come mysteriously, he might depart in 
 the same manner. But when almost given up as lost, 
 he rode up unconcernedly, his face beaming with evi- 
 dent pleasure and satisfaction. He had been in a 
 fierce snowstorm, had almost perished in the impene- 
 trable forest one cold windy night, but when that was 
 passed and gone, he could only say that the trip had 
 been well worth the effort. 
 
 The night of his return the stone tavern bid fair to 
 re-establish its claim to the name of the "Bounding 
 Elk." Just before supper time a loud barking of dogs 
 was heard a short distance down the river. A gigantic 
 bull moose, on his southerly migration, had been driven 
 into the water by a nondescript pack of hounds, which 
 were yelping and leaping about his huge, swart form. 
 With his massive palmated antlers he defended him- 
 self as best he could until, stepping into a deep hole, he 
 was almost swept off his feet by the current. Just at 
 this moment the landlord, a couple of old hunters, and 
 the stable boy arrived on the scene armed with flint- 
 locks. The appearance of the Nimrods spurred the des-
 
 382 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 perate moose to greater efforts, and he managed to 
 reach the south shore at a spot where the bank was 
 level, and with a mighty plunge took harbor in the 
 forest. Dogs and men were after him, they could not 
 allow such a superb quarry to escape. 
 
 Black moose were practically extinct at that time, 
 although the grey moose or elk were still fairly numer- 
 ous in Jack's Mountain and in the Seven Brothers. 
 The disappearance of the hunters on what might be 
 an all-night's chase left the stranger and the young 
 landlady alone in the tavern. Had he not just re- 
 turned from a long horseback journey he might have 
 accompanied them, but as it was he preferred to enjoy 
 a quiet supper with his hostess. 
 
 That night blew up bitterly cold, the winds, "in 
 their weary play," hurled themselves against the gables 
 and roof with a ghostly woo, woo, woo. All Souls' 
 night was past, else the winds might have been mis- 
 taken for the outcries of angry spirits. After supper 
 the young couple sat before the huge open fireplace, 
 watching the sparks from the great back log fly up the 
 chimney, and listening to the unhappy wind. The 
 stranger was stroking a large black cat, his favorite ani- 
 mal, which climbed on his lap and shoulders, arching 
 its back and purring affectionately. After a while, 
 when the man and girl felt in harmony with one an- 
 other, the stranger's reserve vanished, he began talking 
 about his trip, of the legends he had heard while in the 
 high mountains. 
 
 Several weeks before an Indian named Nicodemus
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 383 
 
 had begged a meal at the tavern. He said that he was 
 over a hundred years old, and he certainly looked it. 
 He claimed to have been one of the Pequot Indians 
 converted by the Moravians at Shekomeko, in 
 Dutchess County, New York, who followed the mis- 
 sionaries into Pennsylvania after their persecutions at 
 the hands of the New Yorkers. This Indian told of 
 his accompanying the missionary Ettwein on his jour- 
 ney to the Ohio in 1 772, and how they had camped 
 for several days at Snow Shoe on the backbone of the 
 Alleghenies. While there another Pequot named 
 Nathan, a member of the party, fell in love with Paa- 
 lochquen, a Shawnee maid of rare beauty, the daugh- 
 ter of a hunter of that tribe camped in the neighbor- 
 hood. His ardor was reciprocated, and Ettwein was 
 preparing to baptize the beautiful girl when the Pequot 
 lover fell ill. Though he had everything to live for, the 
 unfortunate Indian died in a few days and was buried 
 at the foot of a giant mountain, the spot ever after be- 
 ing known as Indian Grave Hill. Ettwein had uttered 
 a prayer at the grave and carved the deceased's name 
 on a nearby beech tree. The bereaved maiden was 
 inconsolable, and sat by the grave grieving in silence. 
 Vainly did her father try to make her return to his 
 camp at the head of the stream whose name commemo- 
 rated one of his great kills in the hunting field, Moose 
 Run, but the girl was obdurate. Sorrow drove her out 
 of her mind, she forgot all else except the loss of her 
 lover. Her equally grief-stricken relatives brought her 
 food and drink, but she fasted until the next phase of
 
 384 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 the moon, when she recovered her reason. But she re- 
 fused to return to Moose Run. Life never again could 
 flow in its old channels, she said. 
 
 Her father moved to another hunting ground across 
 the ridge where she consented to go. When the moon 
 took on the demi-lune the girl was out of her mind 
 again. She fasted and went without sleep, claiming 
 that she saw and was with her beloved Nathan. In 
 time she became known as the Half Moon Maid, and 
 the camping ground later was called Half Moon Lick. 
 For over a century afterward it was a famous locality 
 for deer. 
 
 The stranger was seized with a desire to meet the 
 Half Moon Maid and perhaps she could answer a 
 riddle which was tearing at his heart. So he had jour- 
 neyed into the wilderness and met the unhappy woman, 
 now middle-aged and minus her former beauty. But 
 she had promised to put him in touch with some one 
 across the seas, some one whom he had not heard from 
 for several weary years. He had come back from the 
 high mountains jubilant, like one reborn ; he was to re- 
 ceive more than a wireless message can give to-day, a 
 sight of and an interview with his sweetheart. 
 
 But before going on further with his story the 
 stranger revealed his identity. His name, Campbell, 
 had been assumed by his grandfather in Scotland, who 
 was none other than the famous outlaw Rob Roy. His 
 father, James MacGregor Campbell, had escaped 
 from Edinburgh Castle, where he had been imprisoned 
 after the Bfittb pf Prestonpans, to France, c^nd there
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 385 
 
 the younger James Campbell was born. His life had 
 run smoothly enough except for several military experi- 
 ences, until when on a visit to Florence, in northern 
 Italy, he noticed one afternoon, when walking along 
 the Arno, much as Dante had observed the immortal 
 Beatrice, the beautiful Countess Angiere Agnes 
 Garhardini. 
 
 This young noblewoman was an orphan of Italian, 
 English and German blood and heiress to considerable 
 property. Though she spent most of her time with 
 Italian relatives, her guardian was a Bavarian, a Baron 
 Linderum, who had served with her father under Mar- 
 shal Saxe at Fontenoy, both being youthful cavalry 
 officers in their teens at the time of the memorable 
 battle. 
 
 The appearance of the young countess made an im- 
 pression on young Campbell's sensitive soul, a soul like 
 Byron's that was always "wax to receive, marble to 
 retain," that time could not lessen or separation efface. 
 The oval face, with its retrousse nose and full lips, the 
 blue eyes, the pale hair, crispy, like spun sugar, the 
 slender form, all to him made a picture of exquisite 
 loveliness. As it was a case of iove at first sight with 
 the youth, it was equally so with the girl, and she 
 leaned against the parapet gazing after him as he 
 strolled along toward the Cascine Park. So strong 
 was the impression that the young lover could have no 
 peace until presented to his charmer. As acquaint- 
 ances, both found themselves most congenial, the words 
 of love were soon spoken and on both sides. Then
 
 386 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 came the breaking of the news to the guardian, whose 
 rage knew no bounds. He had other plans for the fair 
 girl's future, he made it known. The lover was warned 
 away, to go out into the big world and win a name for 
 himself. If successful, he might come back and again 
 pay his addresses, if by that time the girl had not mar- 
 ried some one else. 
 
 Not having a regular occupation, not even a com- 
 mission at that moment, with his father a penniless 
 exile, beset with enemies, there was nothing to do but 
 to turn away with a heavy heart, to seek surcease in 
 some other part of the world. The social position of 
 Countess Angiere Agnes made her too conspicuous a 
 personage to figure in an elopement ; at any rate she did 
 not enthuse over such a proposition, though he made 
 it to her. Therefore alone and sunk deep in hopeless- 
 ness, the young man made his way to America. There 
 he saw many opportunities to prosper, but his soul was 
 filled with such a great unrest and emptiness that he 
 could not concentrate his mind on any given task. He 
 had been a wanderer, filled with many vague hopes 
 and wild fancies until he found his ultimate islands in 
 the hospitable walls of the Bounding Elk. 
 
 The beautiful Angiere Agnes had promised to write 
 to him regularly in America and he gave her the ad- 
 dresses of family friends in Philadelphia who would 
 forward his mail to wherever he might be. He wrote 
 her every day until he reached the ship, every day on 
 shipboard, and daily for weeks after his arrival in the 
 Quaker City. When the time eagerly watched for
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 387 
 
 had rolled around and he might expect letters from his 
 beloved he was cast into the depths of despondency by 
 the non-arrival of a single line, directly or indirectly. 
 Though he kept on writing letters at intervals of every 
 week or two for a period of over four years, silence 
 was profound as far as Angiere Agnes was concerned. 
 Though he could not understand the girl's instability 
 after so many protestations of love, he kept his faith 
 through it all — he never even looked at any other 
 woman. 
 
 His first ray of real hope came when old Paaloch- 
 quen, the erstwhile "Half Moon Maid," told him to 
 return to the Bounding Elk and learn the true state of 
 affairs. He hoped that this glimpse into the world of 
 his dreams would set his soul's house in order, so that 
 he might find his place in the world and cease the fool- 
 ish career of "rolling stone" or dilettante. He felt 
 firmly convinced that Ajigiere Agnes loved him, that 
 there was some cause for her silence, but it would have 
 been useless to return to Europe before she came of 
 age, which event had happened in the previous De- 
 cember. 
 
 As he was speaking these final words of faith the 
 great clock in the corner of the room began striking 
 twelve, the sleeping black cat on his lap raised its head 
 and curved its back, as such grimalkins always do at 
 the signal of the witching hour. When the last stroke 
 had sounded, the young man put the cat down gently, 
 and rising from the settle, bade his hostess good-night. 
 Lighting his rushlight, he passed out into the dark cold
 
 388 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 hall, to ascend the broad staircase to his room, a sad 
 and solitary figure. 
 
 After he had gone the landlady, the fair Dorcas, sat 
 by the fire meditating. Surely this youth, whom she 
 ever afterwards called "The Rob Roy," was different 
 from any man she had ever met before; his love story 
 above all others had its pathos, his hopes for the future 
 she prayed might be realized. There was something 
 heroic about him that won her admiration. And as the 
 fire burned low she fell asleep with the cat on her lap. 
 
 When she awoke she saw her husband, the two old 
 hunters and Patterson, the stable boy, standing by her. 
 1 he fire was low, the room frigid. A few rays of pink 
 dawn were coming through the shuttered windows. 
 The men were exultant. They had killed the moose, 
 its mammoth antlers lay on the floor, the dogs were 
 licking the blood off the section of skull to which they 
 were affixed. It took the sleepy woman several min- 
 utes to fully grip her consciousness, but when she did 
 she congratulated the Nimrods on bringing down the 
 monarch of the forest. Then she asked after young 
 Campbell the Rob Roy. Patterson, the stable boy, 
 spoke up saying that he had met him going out of the 
 house as they were coming in. He had asked him to 
 go back to the stable and saddle his horse for him — 
 he must hurry there now. 
 
 Anxiously Dorcas inquired where Campbell was 
 going. The boy could not tell, except that he was 
 carrying the saddle-bags with him, which seemed to 
 indicate a long journey. Suddenly losing interest in
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 389 
 
 the hunters grouped about the remains of the bull 
 moose, the young womem ran out to the stable yard. 
 No horse was to be seen. In the bam the Rob Roy's 
 mount was not in its box. The young man had de- 
 parted without revealing if he had had his peep across 
 the seas, and if his faith had proved true. And the 
 fair Dorcas hung her head, as if slighted. 
 
 At that moment the Rob Roy was riding to the 
 East as fast as his horse could travel over the frosty 
 roads. With blind purpose he urged the faithful ani- 
 mal on until he reached Philadelphia, where he put up 
 at an inn on the water front. While in the city he met 
 several friends to whom he imparted the information 
 of his intended return to France. To all of these 
 friends he said he was rejoining the army, that war was 
 brewing, but in a letter posted to Dorcas on the eve of 
 departure at sea he confided his real reason for the 
 journey, a strange happening past midnight in his room 
 at the Bounding Elk. 
 
 The letter recited that after he left his landlady at 
 the inglenook, he repaired to his room, lighting the way 
 with the single rushlight. As he opened the door, by 
 the rich, flickering light, he saw his beloved Angiere 
 Agnes standing in the middle of the room. Her face 
 was ghastly pale, of a greenish hue; she held her left 
 hand, the long fingers greenish white, over her heart, 
 and spread beneath her hand was a sheet of letter 
 paper. As the surprised lover advanced toward her 
 she extended her hand to him, giving him the scrap of 
 paper. As she moved her arm away from her breast
 
 390 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 he could see a gaping hole in the black silk bodice, and 
 something that looked like black clotted blood. And 
 as he took the paper in his hand, which was in the form 
 of an old-time letter with cracked red seals, there was 
 a ragged hole in the center of it, the edges of which 
 were much powder marked. 
 
 The young man's lips moved as if to speak, but he 
 checked himself, knowing that it was dangerous to ad- 
 dress a ghost — the phantom was certain to fade away 
 — so he waited for the shadow of what was once the 
 fair Angiere Agnes to speak. He could see her full 
 lips twitch and curve, with the movement of cold clay, 
 before the familiar tones were heard. The story which 
 she related chilled his heart and made him bite his lips 
 in rage. 
 
 It seemed that when he had gone away to seek his 
 fortune in the New World she had resolved to be true 
 to him, she had written him every day and expected to 
 hear from him in return. But no answers came to her 
 letters. The long silence almost broke her heart. She 
 questioned her guardian, but he could tell her nothing. 
 In her desperation she wrote to a man of prominence 
 in Philadelphia, one of her guardian's friends, asking 
 about the absent lover, whether he was alive or dead. 
 
 Meanwhile the old baron approached her with a 
 proposal of marriage, which she indignantly refused. 
 The elderly guardian did not seem rebuffed, but passed 
 the episode over, apparently continuing to be as polite 
 and considerate as if nothing of a serious nature had 
 happened. One evening, she was at the baron's castle
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 391 
 
 in Munich at the time, the old man asked her to accom- 
 pany him to a reception at the royal armory or "Rust 
 Kammer," where some distinguished savants from Eng- 
 land and Spain, including a noble writer on armor, 
 were to be entertained. 
 
 While dressing for the occasion a letter covered with 
 seals and postmarks was handed to her. Breaking it 
 open she saw that it was headed "Philadelphia, April 
 27, 1 791 ." But, alas, it was not in her lover's hand- 
 writing, but from the prominent Quaker whom her 
 guardian knew. Breathlessly she read it; it contained 
 bad news. James Campbell, it said, had been married 
 over two years to an estimable young lady of Phila- 
 delphia, giving her name, and was living with her in 
 excellent style within a few squares of the residence of 
 the writer of the letter. In her grief Angiere Agnes 
 almost fell to the floor. As it was she reeled, and had 
 to be supported by her maidservants. But though full 
 of tenderness and sentiment, she was of proud nature 
 and resolved to conceal the tragedy from all, especially 
 from her guardian. So she finished her simple toilette, 
 dined with the old nobleman in his state dining-hall, 
 laughing gaily as though nothing had happened, yet 
 when she looked in the long mirror opposite to where 
 she sat she could see that she was deadly pale. 
 
 After the repast she drove with the baron to the 
 armory, and was soon in the midst of the large assem- 
 blage, which embraced all the nobility, as well as the 
 intellectuals of the city and vicinity. The armory was 
 a quaint old place, with stone floor and stone gothic
 
 392 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 arches, and after paying their respects to the distin- 
 guished guests the old soldier desired to show his fair 
 ward the wonders of the collection. 
 
 In the "saals" of this armory were contained many 
 antique treasures, such as figures of men-at-arms in 
 harness of plate or mail, and weaponed with swords, 
 partizans or iron-studded clubs, and shields emblazoned 
 with armorial bearings. Around these were ranged, 
 in various trophies, banners, lances, pikes, halberds, 
 morning-stars, and iron-mounted flails, herald's batons, 
 gilt tournament lances and every species of firearm, 
 match-locks, wheel-locks, snap-huhns, dogs, pistolettes, 
 and hagbuts with their rests. On the walls were dis- 
 played morions, skulls, swords, battle-axes, back- 
 plates and breast-plates, touch-boxes and bullet moulds, 
 cross-bows, kettle-drums, pitch-rings, and chevaux-de- 
 frize; and on the floor were ranged small pieces of 
 artillery with their balls, including demi-falcons or long 
 long slender cannon, one with the date 1 608 on it. 
 
 All of this was highly edifying to a lover of military 
 science, and the old veteran feasted his eyes on these 
 relics of his art of war as if they were so many beau- 
 tiful women. At the sides of the vast central chamber 
 were numerous chapels or alcoves, faintly lit by tapers. 
 
 While the old soldier stopped to converse with a 
 fellow-veteran of Saxe's Wars, Angiere Agnes slipped 
 unnoticed into one of these shadowy recesses. On a 
 table, uncovered, lay a number of pistols of cumber- 
 some and antique design. Picking up one after an- 
 other she primed them until she found one that was
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 393 
 
 loaded: some armorer must have been experimenting 
 with it. It would be a risky thing to do, as the old 
 weapon might explode, but she determined to end her 
 sorrow then and there. 
 
 Laying the letter from Philadelphia, the death knell 
 of all her hopes, over her heart, she placed the pistol 
 against it and pulled the clumsy rusty trigger. There 
 was a sickening report, a lot of foul smoke, a crash on 
 the stone floor, and all was over. Baron Linderum 
 heard the shot, and with his aged friend, ran forward. 
 When they reached the dim chapel Angiere Agnes, 
 Countess Garliardini, was beyond all mortal aid. 
 
 The armorers swept away the collection of ancient 
 pistols, and gently placed the body on the antique 
 table, where it made an admirable bier for the lovely 
 corpse. When the baron had first rushed to the spot 
 he had seen the shot-torn letter lying over the girl's 
 heart; he had divined the meaning. It is well that his 
 thoughts are unrecorded. When he viewed the body 
 lying on the table, with the long white hands folded 
 across the lacerated breast, the letter was gone. He 
 charged the armorers with concealing it, but could get 
 no satisfaction from them. 
 
 All that was mortal of his still-bom romance was 
 laid to rest in the family vault of his schloss, and he re- 
 tired to a life of solitude until he might be placed in 
 death by her side, amid ancestors reaching back in un- 
 broken line almost a thousand years. 
 
 Wbere the soul goes after release Angiere Agnes 
 could not tell, where the damning letter was wafted to
 
 394 JUNIATA MEMORIES 
 
 she was still less able to know, but at any rate she held 
 it over her broken heart when she greeted her lover in 
 his desolate room at the Bounding Elk by the beautiful 
 Juniata. And to prove that he was not dreaming, but 
 that he really saw her, she handed it to him, her white 
 finger marks brushing away some of the powder stains. 
 
 And then she was gone — to the unknown land that 
 she, nor no other dweller in it, can ever describe, that 
 nether world which is not spiritual, not material, the 
 no man's land which is all we know of the universe we 
 cannot see, that universe that is material enough to 
 retain a scrap of paper for four or five sad years. Yet 
 we know that is a land far from Nirvana or Valhalla. 
 
 How long after she had vanished Campbell kept 
 standing there clutching the bullet-rent paper he did not 
 know, except that when he heard the voices of the re- 
 turning moose hunters and the barking of the dogs be- 
 low he folded the letter and put it in his pocket above 
 his heart, and slipping quietly down the stairs — he 
 wanted to see nobody, speak to nobody, be alone with 
 his soul — he hurried outdoors to the stable. 
 
 And a few days after he wrote the story to Dorcas, 
 as if she were his one real friend, "The Rob Roy" was 
 sailing down the Delaware toward the East, where his 
 hopes had risen like the sun, away from the West, 
 where they had gone down in a sunset of exquisite 
 beauty and profound sadness,
 
 JUNIATA MEMORIES 395 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 OF HENRY W. SHOEMAKER. 
 
 Immaterial Verses, 1898 (Verse). 
 
 Random Thoughts, 1899 (Verse). 
 
 Wild Life in Central Pennsylvania, 1903. 
 
 Pennsylvania Mountain Stories, 1907. 
 
 Pennsylvania Mountain Verses, 1907. 
 
 More Pennsylvania Mountain Stories, 1912. 
 
 Story of the Sulphur Spring, 1912. 
 
 The Indian Steps, 1912. 
 
 Tales of the Bald Eagle Mountains, 1912. 
 
 Elizabethan Days, 1912 (Verse). 
 
 Susquehanna Legends, 1913. 
 
 Stories of Pennsylvania Animals, 1913. 
 
 Stories of Great Pennsylvania Hunters, 1913. 
 
 In the Seven Mountains, 1914. 
 
 The Pennsylvania Lion, 1914. 
 
 Wolf Days in Pennsylvania, 1914. 
 
 Black Forest Souvenirs, 1914. 
 
 A Week in the Blue Mountains, 1914. 
 
 Penns Grandest Cavern, 1915. 
 
 Pennsylvania Deer and Their Horns, 1915. 
 
 A Pennsylvania Bison Hunt, 1915. 
 
 Captain Logan, 1915. 
 
 The Last of the War Governors, 1916. 
 
 Juniata Memories, 1916. 
 
 Pennsylvania Wildcats, 1916. 
 
 Eldorado Found, 1916. 
 
 Extinct Pennsylvania Animals, Part I, 1916. 
 
 Early Potters of Clinton County, 1916. 
 
 Philosophy of Jake Haiden, 1911 (Editor).
 
 5^ 
 
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