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The Indian Slayer
and the pioneers of Minisink and Wawarsink
by James E. Quinlan
"Hero of many a
wond'rous tale,
Full
of his dev'lish cunning!
Tom never flunked or turned pale,
Following on the Indian's trail,
Shooting as he was
running."
– Waddell.
De Voe & Quinlan, Publishers
1851
Entered according to
Act of Congress, A.D. 1851,
By James E. Quinlan,
In the Clerk's Office of the
Southern District of New-York.
CONTENTS.
To the Reader
Chapter II Death of Thomas Quick, Senior
Chapter
Chapter IV Defence of a Block House
Chapter V Murder of Muskwink
Chapter VI Massacre of an Indian Family
Chapter
Chapter VIII Killing a Buck with Seven Skins
Chapter IX "The Biters Bitten"
Chapter X Capture and Escape of Tom
Chapter XI "The Biters Bitten"
Again
Chapter XII Murder at
Chapter XIII Anderson and Osterhout
Chapter XIV Death of Graeme
Chapter XV Tragedy on the Shawangunk
Chapter XVI Attack near the Fantinekill
Chapter XVII Burning of Wawarsink
Chapter XVIII Tom's Revolutionary Exploits
Chapter XIX The Scouts
of Minisink
Chapter XX Bryant Kaine
Chapter XXI "John Land, the Tory"
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII Adventure on the Sandburgh
Chapter XXIV Indian Stratagem
Chapter XXV Capture and Escape of Tom
Chapter XXVI Murder of Canope
Chapter XXVII Russ and Van Etten
Chapter XXVIII A
Chapter XXIX Death of Tom Quick
Chapter XXX Captain John, the Tuscarora
Appendix [A – Funeral Eulogium & B – Tom Quick poem]
To
the Reader
Many of
the following chapters were written for the columns of a newspaper entitled the
"Republican Watchman," of which the writer is the junior editor.
Notwithstanding their many imperfections, they were received with much favor by
the public, and a very general desire was expressed for copies of the work in a
form convenient for preservation. To gratify this desire, our little volume is
published.
Before the reader begins to peruse what follows, the writer wishes to say distinctly and emphatically, that he is not actuated by the hope of entering the ranks of the literati. He knows that this work is no fit model for those who would win the world's applause with the "gray goose quill;" and he does not hope that it will be made a closet companion by the student, or a book of references by the historian. Its aim is humble. It is written for the amusement of a class of people who take an extraordinary interest in the narrations of the "olden time," when their ancestors followed the plough with their rifles slung to their backs, and on retiring to rest at night, first thanked God for preserving them from harm during the day, and then put fresh powder in the pans of their guns to be ready to meet the dangers of the night.
The author's business engagements have not permitted him to devote sufficient time in collecting materials for his undertaking to render it complete, and the circumstances under which he has written have been unfavorable to literary excellence or even respectability. To make our work what it ought to be would require as many days as we have devoted hours to it.
The critic will readily discover that our little book, though not a fiction, is novel in its character. It is neither a biography, history or legend; but a combination of all three in a series of sketches which possess more or less coherence, and which the author hopes present a tolerably fair picture of border life.
While
collecting materials for our port folio, we visited many old people, and heard
their narrations of the early history of the
CHAPTER I.
BIRTH
NOT far from the year 1733, a Hollander, named
Thomas Quick, emigrated from the Fatherland to the colony of
At this time, except at Peenpack, on the
Neversink, the Indians held undisputed possession of the banks of the
As soon as Quick had erected a temporary log cabin, he commenced a war of extermination upon the old forests which covered his domain, and in a short time the air was perfumed with the smoke of the fallow fire, and nothing remained on many a goodly acre, except the blackened and charred stumps of the pine, oak, hemlock and their giant compeers. Luxuriant fields of wheat and maize, and rye succeeded, in due time; the log barn of the pioneer was filled to its utmost capacity with the fruits of his industry.
All things seemed to conspire to render him contented with his lot in the wilderness. His labor and enterprise were bountifully rewarded, and his new home was made more pleasant by an occurrence which forms an important event in this narrative. His wife, who had abandoned the comforts of civilization, and left father and mother, brother and sister, to accompany him to the wilds of the new world, and share with him its hardships and its perils, presented him (A. D. 1734,) with a male child—their first born. If we may be permitted to make a draft upon our imagination, it will not be too much to say, that nothing more was necessary to make his happiness complete; that the wilderness appeared to blossom with a thousand beauties which had never before been observed by him; that his life became one of tender sympathies and kindly actions; that in his joy he did not forget that he owed all to the Bountiful Giver of "every good and perfect thing;" and that his heart was replete with thanksgiving and praise, and gratitude.
The child was named Thomas, the name of its father. Of course, it was the pet of the household, and was tenderly watched by its parents, who, to use a stereotyped phrase, "had the proud satisfaction of seeing it daily develop some new faculty—daily become more beautiful and interesting."
The Indians, who frequented the house of Quick, and found a shelter under its roof whenever they desired it, seemed to admire the fine, healthy boy, and often made him presents of plumes of feathers and other articles.
As young Tom grew up, he became an associate and playfellow of the juvenile natives, and learned to speak the Indian tongue with as much ease and fluency as the aborigines themselves. He was taught by the Indians how to take the otter, the beaver, the muskrat, the mink, etc., and by the time he had become of suitable age, he was a skilful and expert hunter. He imbibed, at an early period of his existence, a liking for savage life, and became attached to the woods and the pleasures of the chase to such a degree that he could never in after life be induced to follow, except temporarily, any calling beside that of the hunter and trapper.
Young Tom had two brothers and the same number of sisters. The names of the brothers were Cornelius and James. Of the sisters little beyond the fact that one of them became the wife of a man named Solomon Decker, and that the other married a Francis Magee is known. One of the daughters was married previous to the tragedy which will be detailed in the next chapter.
Thomas Quick, Sr., continued to prosper. In a few
years he had quite a number of white neighbors, and other settlements were
formed in the valley of the
A Dutch school was established in the neighborhood, and James and Cornelius, as well as the daughters, were sent to it; but Thomas had become so much of an Indian in his habits and disposition, that he could not be induced to attend the school, and if he did go to it, he made no progress in learning. His brothers and sisters were more successful, and advanced so far in the "rudiments" that they could read the bible in the Dutch language without skipping many of the hard words. They were also taught the art of writing, so that they could trace, without much difficulty, the mystic characters which formed their signatures; and were given a very slight knowledge of arithmetic, which was sufficient for them, as people of their lineage generally possess a spirit of prudence and thrift which makes them the very best practical "calculators" of their sphere of life. While the younger children were poring over the alphabet, Tom was engaged in the athletic amusements of the Indians. In trapping, wrestling, jumping, shooting, etc., he excelled a majority of the lads of his own age and thus excited the envy of not a few embryo braves.
Previous to the French war, Tom had traced to their sources most of the streams which empty into the Delaware above Milford, and had become acquainted with nearly all the Indian paths and hunting grounds in the neighborhood of Minisink, Mamecotink, the Shavungunk, the Wawasink, the Mahackamack or Neversink, the Mangawping or Mingwing, the Maskopes, the Cushuentunk, Cashiegtonch, Papotunk, the Astraguntera, the Tewheack, the Ustayantha, Pakatagkan, Shamokin,3 etc. This was of essential service to him afterwards, as it enabled him to waylay and murder the Indians with great facility.
Cornelius and James were of an industrious, plodding disposition. They assisted their father in managing and tilling his farm, and in keeping his mills in operation; and if they occasionally participated in the sports of Thomas, they managed to do so when they could not be more profitably employed. While they assisted in furnishing the family with bread and obtaining clothing and adding to its wealth, he supplied his father's larder bountifully with venison and bear's meat. He would occasionally invade the crystal retreats of the finny tribes, and thus add much to the luxuries of his father's table. The venerable biographer of Donne, and Hooker, and Herbert (who impaled a worm with tenderness, and guarded the scaly brood from all save man) was not more proficient with the angle than Tom.
Many of the Indians almost lived in the family of the Quicks, by whom they were clothed when naked; and fed when hungry. The most pacific relations subsisted between them apparently, and the red man had received so much kindness at the hands of their friends that the latter imagined that they could rely upon their good will under almost any circumstances. Subsequent events, however, proved that they were mistaken.
The increasing numbers of the whites and the
encroachments made upon what the natives regarded as their own territory
alarmed the Indians. The
The Quicks had been kind to them; but, on the
other hand, the fact could not be concealed that they were the first who had
encroached upon them at
CHAPTER II.
DEATH OF THOMAS QUICK, SENIOR.
AT the breaking out of the French war, young Tom was probably as much an Indian in habit and disposition as any of his old associates. The wild, irregular life he had led, and his early and constant companionship with the natives, had contributed much more to the formation of his character than the teaching and example of his father and mother. Even his affection for his parents resembled that of the American savage. While he was turbulent and not easily controlled by them, his love for them was unbounded—a master passion. Anyone who injured them incurred his undying displeasure, and were in danger of his insatiable revenge. He was a "good hater," and those whose admiration is Johnsonian, will find enough to please them in the legends of Tom.
When hostilities commenced, and it was suspected
that the Indians of the
The
The pioneers at first took what precautions they thought necessary to guard against danger, at the same time being very careful to do nothing which would tend to bring upon them directly the vengeance of the savages. Block houses were erected or repaired; arms were provided, and ammunition procured; and the inhabitants felt confident that, unless taken by surprise, they could defend themselves successfully.
The whites not being molested for some time, began to think that, possibly, they had misjudged in
the matter, and that there was little if any danger. Consequently, they became
careless and unguarded, and some of the ardent and gallant spirits of the
Tom, from the beginning of the war, had been induced by the urgent and affectionate entreaties of his mother, and the advice of his father, to forego his excursions in the woods. He no longer had the congenial company of the Indians, and became almost, if not altogether, domesticated in the family of his father. He now assisted the old man in his work and business, with his brothers and a brother‑in‑law.
While he was thus situated, the event occurred which forms a leading feature in his life. This event was the death of his father, who was killed in a cruel manner by the Indians. It rendered Tom an implacable enemy of the red men to the day of his death. He never forgave them for it, and the principal object of his existence seemed ever afterwards, in peace or war, to destroy them. The young and the old, the weak and the strong of the hated race, appeared to be equally the objects of his vengeance; for he was known to destroy the defenseless women and children of the Indians. He was literally no respecter of persons, while waging his personal warfare, as our narrative will prove, and was successful to an astonishing degree in his efforts to revenge his father's death.
The Quicks, as well as their neighbors, had become almost culpably careless as far as the Indian were concerned. Not infrequently they were in dangerous localities in the woods, and unarmed, thus giving the savages opportunities to surprise and kill them. It is possible that they presumed much upon the supposed friendship of the Indians for Tom, and upon their gratitude for the many acts of kindness the family had done them.
While the Quicks were thus thrown off their
guard, the Indians were plotting their destruction. In the hope of regaining
their lost possessions, and with the desire to plunder and punish the pale
faces, the savages determined to fall upon and destroy the outpost at
The old man found it necessary to proceed to the river side to procure hoop poles. Tom and his brother‑in‑law accompanied him. As they were in the habit of doing at this time, they took with them no fire‑arms. They proceeded leisurely around a point or ridge near the river, not dreaming of the tragedy which was impending. The outposts of the Indians yaw them approach, and watched them with eager eyes. Two of the men whom they most desired to kill, were unwittingly delivering themselves into their power. The opportunity to slay them was not to be lust, even if the main object of the expedition, (the destruction of the settlement) was defeated by a premature alarm, which would enable the inhabitants to defend themselves successfully.
When the Quicks had approached sufficiently near,
they were fired upon, and the father fell mortally wounded, a ball having
passed through a vital part of his body. The young men, who were unhurt,
instantly took hold of him, and endeavored to drag him after them as they
fled. From some cause the savages did not immediately pursue the fugitives to
complete their bloody work with the tomahawk. They probably hesitated until the
main body came up. In the mean‑time, the wounded man and his sons had got
beyond the reach of the rifles of the Indians. The savages, however, soon
followed, like hounds upon the track of a deer. The young men were at first
determined to bear their father to a place of safety, or die with him; but,
becoming too weak to go any further, even with their assistance, and finding,
as the Indians gained on them, that all three would fall victims if he was not
abandoned, he exclaimed that he was dying, and told them to leave him, and run
for their lives. After much urging, they finally left him to the mercy of the
Indians. It was well for them that they did so, for the savages were close upon
them; and even without their "sacred burden," they were not equal to
their enemies in speed. To escape they were obliged to cross the
Tom had the honor of being aimed at by a majority
of the Indians. A dozen rifles gave
their echoes to the frosty air, and he fell, his pursuers shouting with savage
exultation, "there lies Tom Quick!" He was
soon on his feet, again, however, and running as rapidly as ever. A ball had
struck the heel of his shoe; and thus tripped his heels from under him. He and
his companion were soon beyond the reach of the Indians.
The
savages did not attempt to cross the river, and attack the settlement, knowing
that the whites would be prepared to give them a warm reception. They returned,
and after scalping the wounded man and exercising various other cruelties,
dispatched him and held a "pow‑wow" over his dead body.
As soon
as Tom and his brother‑in‑law found that they were no longer
pursued, they cautiously crept back near enough to the Indians to ascertain
what was going on. They heard the scalp-whoop, and the rejoicings of the
Indians, and it is said that Tom, rendered frantic by their fiendish conduct,
aware that he would never be at peace with them, as long as an Indian could be
found upon the banks of the
What
rendered the murder particularly aggravating was the fact that the Indians who
committed it were among those who had been frequently at the house of Quick,
and had always been treated kindly there. According to the ideas of the whites,
he, above all others, should have been spared by them. He was killed,
however, in accordance with the rules of savage, if not civilized warfare. But,
regardless of the bloody codes of both the christian and the heathen, Tom
thought that his father merited other treatment at the hands of those who had
been fed at his table, and who had found an asylum under his roof whenever they
desired it, and he imagined that the blood of the whole race was not sufficient
to atone for the blood of his father.
CHAPTER
FATE OF THE CARTER FAMILY.
The
Indians held undisputed possession of Cochecton when Carter located himself
there, and there was probably no other white settler there, except an
Englishman named Moses Thomas, who had established himself at the mouth of the
Cushetunk as an Indian trader. Carter, being industrious and prudent, was soon
enabled to live comfortably, and add to his worldly possessions. What was not
required for the support of his family was carefully hoarded, and when the war
broke out, it was known that his purse contained not a few hard‑earned
dollars. This did not render his situation more secure; for the savages, as
well as their civilized neighbors, loved plunder quite as much as they did
blood.
Soon after hostilities commenced the Indians, to get where they could not
he easily reached by the whites, retired from Cochecton. This did not alarm the Carters, who supposed
their old neighbors would not injure them. Nothing more was seen of the Indians
until they began to scatter firebrands and death along the frontier. The
Carters were among the first victims of savage barbarity. When their farm was
prepared for it, they resolved to keep two or three cows as well as a yoke of
oxen, and the head of the family went to Minisink to purchase them. While he
was absent, Mrs. Carter had occasion to visit the garden, when she was suddenly
confronted by a number of savages, who bore upon their bodies the pigment which
they considered an appropriate mark of a brave who was bent upon the
destruction of his enemies. It is said she turned pale as she saw them
approach, but did not attempt to avoid them. She knew, probably, that if she
attempted to escape, death was certain; and hoped that, if she quietly
submitted, the Indians would spare her life. She was mistaken, however. The
only salutation she received from her visitors was a blow from a tomahawk,
which laid her prostrate and lifeless at their feet. Her scalp was torn from
her head, and her dead body left on the spot where she was murdered.
They next
entered the cabin, where they found the children, (three in number), whose
lives were spared, because the eldest, a noble boy of some seven or eight
summers, was so fortunate as to excite the admiration of his captors. The house
was first plundered and then burnt, after which the Indians left the
neighborhood, with the captive children.
When
Carter returned, instead of witnessing the joy of his family at the acquisition
he had made, he found a dreary—a heart‑rending scene—a scene which could
not fail to make the fountain of grief overflow, and to fill his soul with an
unconquerable desire for retribution and revenge. His wife, the uncomplaining
sharer of what he had endured in the almost trackless forest, was a bleeding,
mutilated corpse before him; his house, which had been made comfortable and
pleasant by their joint labors, which was endeared to him by a thousand tender
recollections, and where he had hoped Providence would permit him to spend many
happy days, was a mass of smoking ruins; and his children—the children of his
murdered wife—were in the power of her merciless destroyers—perhaps the war
path had already been stained with their blood—perhaps they could yet be
rescued—and perhaps a moment's delay would render an attempt to recover them
too late, as the savages were in the habit of beating out the brains of captive
children when they proved troublesome.
As soon
as possible, the bereaved and grief‑stricken pioneer rallied a few of his
nearest neighbors, with whom he pursued the Indians. The
letter, encumbered as they were with booty, travelled slowly, while Carter and
his friend, with nothing but their rifles and a limited supply of provisions,
threaded the forest with rapidity. After a fatiguing march, during
which Carter was always ahead, and continually urging his followers to greater
speed, the retreating enemy were overtaken and attacked. In the battle which
ensued, Carter fought with the most obstinate and determined bravery. Far in
advance of all others, he sent death and destruction among the sons of the
forest.
The
whites soon found that the enemy were too numerous for them, and were compelled
to fall back. Carter, however, refused to retreat. If he could not wrest his
children from the savages, he would die for them, and sell his life as dearly
as possible. When the heroic and desperate father was last seen by his friends,
he was surrounded by the foe. He had just shot one of his assailants, and
prostrated another with the butt of his gun, (the breech of which was broken
off by the blow,) and was standing with his back against a tree, defending
himself with his gun barrel against the blows of some half a dozen Indians.
They seemed to be determined to take him alive, and reserve him for the
torture; but it is probable that he had beat them off
until they became so exasperated that they killed him. He was never heard of
afterwards.
The
children were subsequently recovered by some means to us unknown, and placed
under the guardianship of their relatives in
CHAPTER IV.
DEFENCE OF A BLOCK HOUSE.
In 1762,
the Indians had become, apparently, so well disposed towards the English that a
number of pioneers settled on the Susquehanna, in the neighborhood of the
natives, while another company settled in the valley of the
We will
now describe the immediate cause of the last outbreak of the Indians.
The name
of the principal chief of the
According
to tradition, the Six Nations, who claimed the
To reach
the settlements between the Lackawaxen and Callicoon, it was necessary, at that
time, to follow the paths made by the Indians, or ascend the river in boats.
Above the
mouth of the Callicoon was an unbroken wilderness, which had been traversed by
the Indian and the hunter only. On the
There was
a settlement at the mouth of the Ten Mile River which was a promising one. The
brave but imprudent neighborhood was reposing in imaginary security, when it
was laid waste by fire and the tomahawk. Not a human being escaped to tell the
tale of blood; and every vestige of civilization, except the bare fields, was
destroyed. All the settlers below the block house in Cochecton shared the same
fate.
There
were but three men left in the neighborhood of the block house, while the women
and children seem to have been quite numerous. The names of the men were Moses
Thomas, 1st, —— Witters, and —— Willis. The block house was situated a short
distance from the banks of the river on land then owned by Mr. Thomas, and now
in possession of Moses Thomas, 3d, a descendant of the former. It was well
supplied with arms and ammunition, and if it had been well garrisoned, the
inmates might have bid defiance to an army of Indians.
On the
morning of the attack, Willis, who had a clearing and a log house at Big Eddy,
and who had taken his family to the neighborhood of the block house for safety,
directed his two sons to go to his farm to winnow some buckwheat, which had
been threshed. They did not wish to go, and made many excuses for staying, all
which seemed insufficient to the father, who finally compelled them to go.
They had
not been gone long, when they returned, and reported that a
large party of Indians were coming up the river. The lads, to the vice
of laziness, too often added the sin of lying; and but little if any confidence
was put in their report. It was supposed that they had concocted the story they
told for the purpose of getting permission to stay at home. They persisted so
earnestly, however, in saying that the Indians were coming, and seemed so
anxious, that preparations should be made for the coming onslaught, that
finally Thomas, Witters, and Willis concluded to reconnoiter, the father, of
course, informing his hopeful sons that they would be "flogged
somewhat" in case no Indians were discovered.
While the
men were absent, the women and children proceeded to the block house, or
prepared to flee thither at a moment's warning.
Thomas
and his two companions proceeded somewhat incautiously down the river about
half a mile, when they discovered the Indians. The latter had halted in a field
of turnips, which they were appropriating to their own use so far as their
immediate wants prompted. This field was on a knoll or promontory, and was so
situated that the enemy could not be seen by the white men until the latter
were within gunshot. The moment Thomas and the others appeared, they were fired
upon with deadly certainty. Thomas was killed instantly. Willis was badly
wounded and while running towards the block house, was
overtaken and slain. Witters was so fortunate as to
escape. The women and children who had not entered the block house, fled to it
when they heard the firing. Witters, too, was soon within its walls.
This man possessed
every characteristic of a border warrior. But few of those who have been
immortalized for their daring exploits would not have abandoned the terror‑stricken
women and children to their fate, and fled to the mountains for safety; or
would have yielded to the enemy without striking a blow in defence. With no one
to assist him in defending the helpless and dependent mortals who expected
nothing but death or captivity from the yelling demons who were approaching, he
determined to die with them or repel the assailants. His mind was equal to the
emergency, great and appalling as was the danger which impended over him. And
yet his feats have not been sung by the poet, or recorded by the historian; and
tradition, although it still recounts his deeds, has failed to retain more than
a part of his name. He at once dispatched a messenger to a neighborhood above
to warn the inhabitants of the approach of the Indians, and to procure aid, if
possible. His messenger was a little lad named Moses Thomas, 2d, who was
subsequently killed and scalped by a tory at the battle of Minisink. The people
who lived above the block house, when the news reached them, and they heard the
reports of the guns of the Indians, after a brief consultation, fled to the
woods, and made the best of their way to Esopus.
Witters
also directed two boys to go to Minisink to notify the inhabitants of his
situation. One of the boys was named Elias Thomas—the other Jacob Denny, and
neither was eleven years of age.
The
Indians did not at once rush to the block house in pursuit of the fugitive;
but, fearing that it contained several men, they paused a few moments for the
purpose of agreeing upon a plan of attacking it. This gave Witters an
opportunity to prepare for resistance. He soon succeeded in inspiring the women
with courage to such a degree that they were ready to render him all the
assistance in their power. Each one was prepared for battle when the Indians
came up, and a musket or rifle protruded from every port‑hole,
threatening destruction, apparently, to all Indians who had sufficient temerity
to approach within shooting distance.
The
savages, seeing the formidable array, at once concluded that the block house
was filled with white men, and that the three whom they had encountered were scouts
from the main body. They consequently approached cautiously under cover of the
bank of the river, which was high enough to screen them from not only the guns
wielded by the women, but from the more keen and accurate aim of Witters.
In the
meantime, Witters, in a loud military tone, gave orders to his men to
shoot every Indian who showed himself above the bank. He was a capital mimic,
and by changing the sound of his voice, he actually made the savages think that
there were plenty of officers and soldiers in the block house, who were
determined to defend it to the last extremity.
The
Indians were so much awed by this show of strength, that they did not deem it
prudent to attack him in his stronghold; but challenged the besieged to come
out and have a fight on the open ground. With a scornful laugh he called them
"foxes and ground hogs, burrowed in the earth to escape danger, not daring
to expose even the tips of their noses to the Yankee rifles," and dared
them to come on, at the same time intimating that they would soon have an
opportunity to fight others who were coming up from Minisink. This reply so
enraged them that Witters fancied for a few moments that he had brought upon
himself and his proteges the calamity he most feared—that is, an assault, by
which the paucity and character of his warriors would be discovered. The
Indians, however, remained behind the natural breastwork afforded by the bank,
and contented themselves with firing occasionally at the port‑holes; but
without effect.
Witters
began to fear that he would be subjected to a regular siege, and he knew that
unless he was reinforced soon, the Indians would detect his ruse and gain an
entrance. Assistance could not possibly reach him from Minisink in less
than two or three days; but the whites
who lived farther up the river might relieve him. He looked for them in vain,
however. They were already far in the wilderness, and, under
A war of
words was kept up by the parties until near night, the Indians, with all their
acuteness of ear, supposing that they were answered from the fort by large
numbers.
As night
approached, a new source of uneasiness presented itself to Witters. A
considerable quantity of hay had been imprudently stacked beside the block
house, and it occurred to him that if the Indians remained until evening, they
would set fire to it, and thus burn his stronghold. Nor was
he mistaken in conjecturing their intention. They were waiting for that
purpose.
Witters
instructed the women to fire their guns [on] a given signal, and anxiously
awaited the coming of night. His determination was to watch the hay closely,
and shoot every Indian who approached it, well knowing that as long as the
enemy supposed that the block house was defended by a respectable force, they
would not detail more than one of their number at a
time to fire the stack.
As the
shades of evening began to thicken, Witters saw an Indian crawling cautiously
towards the hay, and making the signal, a broadside was giving from the fort,
Witters himself firing. With a yell, the Indian sprang upon his feet, and then
fell dead. His companions soon recovered his body.
This
event, it seems, effectually intimidated the Indians. They came to the
conclusion that it was impossible to take the block house as long as it was
defended by such a formidable force. Carrying the body of the dead savage a
short distance, they buried it hastily, fearing, probably, that if the whites
were reinforced, as Witters intimated they would be, they might themselves be
placed in the defensive. They then returned toward the Susquehanna by the way
of the Cushetunk or Calkins Creek, which runs through Judge Thomas' farm.
Before they retreated, they set fire to the buildings of the neighborhood,
nearly all of which were consumed.2
The
inhabitants who lived above, and who had started for Esopus, endeavored to
strike the Indian path which led from the settlements of the valley of the
Shawangunk through what is now known as Grahamsville, Brown Settlement, etc.;
but they became bewildered in the woods and wandered they knew not whither.
Their situation was a painful one. Lost—fearing they were followed by the
dreadful savages—apprehensive that they would fall into an ambuscade at every
moment, or unconsciously return to the place from whence they had come and be
shot and tomahawked—weary and worn—hunger was soon added to their other
calamities, and they were compelled to feed upon their dogs, upon reptiles or
any other foul thing which would satisfy the cravings of appetite. The men had
not forgotten to take with them their rifles and could have furnished a scanty
supply of food to the panic‑stricken and starving party by shooting a
deer or bear occasionally, but they did not dare to do so, knowing that the
reports of their guns might bring upon them the horrors of an Indian massacre.
At last
they descried in the dim distance the Shandaken mountains,
and knowing that the path they were seeking was not far from the mountains,
they turned their weary feet in that direction and happily found the trail.
They were not long in reaching a settlement, where they were received by kind
and sympathising friends.
The lads who were sent to Minisink, after remaining in the woods
for a night or two, reached their intended destination. They followed no path,
but when sent off by Witters at once proceeded to the mountains back from the
Delaware, which they followed, exhibiting much judgment and discretion in doing
so, as they avoided the possibility of coming in contact with the savages.
When the
whites of Minisink were informed of the situation of the settlers of Cochecton
a party of soldiers were at once sent in canoes to the rescue. Without any
extraordinary incident the detachment reached the block house, where it was
joyfully received. Witters and the women concluded they had gained glory
enough, and that they might not fare so well if again attacked. Consequently
they made preparations for leaving, while the soldiers engaged in the
melancholy duty of interring the bodies of the unfortunate men who had been
surprised and killed.
When all
was ready they proceeded to the canoes and commenced seating themselves; but it
was found that the boats were not of sufficient capacity for the whole
party—that one must be left behind. Amongst those rescued was an idiot girl and
her mother and the soldiers soon decided that the girl must be abandoned. This
of course was a heart‑rending alternative to the poor mother who wished
to remain with her child and share its fate, but she was not permitted this
poor consolation. She was forced into the boat, and was soon gliding over the
rippling waters of the
Many
years after her remains and those of Thomas, 1st, were uncovered by the washing
away of the earth in which they had been buried. Judge Thomas had them gathered
and again committed to the bosom of the common mother.
CHAPTER V.
MURDER OF MUSKWINK.
LITTLE or
nothing more can be learned of Tom's conduct during the French war. He did not
enlist in the army, as has already been intimated; for the tradition of his
relatives clearly indicates that he never could be persuaded to place himself
in a situation in which he would be obliged to submit to military discipline.
He chose rather, when he felt a disposition to engage in the shedding of blood,
to do so, in the language of the present day, "on his own hook." It
is said, however, that he rendered important services to the English in their
excursions against this Indians, by acting as a guide, whenever his services
were required.
Notwithstanding
tradition does not say that he signalized himself by any extraordinary deed,
it is probable that he was not idle from the period of his father's death until
the event occurred which we shall soon describe.
After the war, such of the former inhabitants of the
The
Indians, too, began to revisit their old haunts, probably supposing that, as
the hatchet was now buried, they would be as well received by the whites as
they had been before the war. But their former friends no longer regarded them
with "favor or affection." The fire and the scalping knife yet
retained a vivid place in the recollection of the settlers, who had become
merely nominal friends of the Indians. In the hearts of many of the whites
ranked a deep and undying hatred, which needed but a safe and favorable
opportunity to slake itself in blood. They had suffered so much during the war,
and the Indians were so barbarous and cruel—so unlike soldiers of the old world
in waging hostilities—that the whites could not readily forget the past, and
treat their late enemies as friends.
On coming
in contact with the red men again, they felt very much as a person who has
submitted to a painful surgical operation does when he sees the instruments
that had tortured him. They knew that there was no immediate prospect of
suffering again; yet they experienced an unconquerable aversion and disgust at
seeing the dread objects again.
It is
said that some of the wives and daughters of those who had lost relatives by
the hands of the Indians, would faint if they encountered the savages after the
war.
Notwithstanding
this hatred and aversion, nearly all the settlers were careful to avoid all
cause of offence. The dreaded a renewal of the bloody strife which had just
closed, and if they consented to live as friends with their old neighbors, it
was because their own safety and interest prompted them to do so.
Among the
Indians who came back was a drunken vagabond named Muskwink or Modeline, who
had assisted in murdering Tom's father. The fact, however, that he had been
engaged in this sanguinary transaction was not known at first. If it had been,
probably he would have disappeared without any one being wiser except Tom.
About two
years after the war, Tom had occasion to go to the house of a man named Decker,
who kept a tavern on the Neversink. Decker was one of the early settlers on
that river, and had thus far escaped the tomahawk and scalping knife.
When Tom
reached the tavern, he found Muskwink there, somewhat intoxicated and very bold
and talkative. He at once claimed Tom as an acquaintance, and wished to drink
with him; but Tom refused to do so, and bestowed a contemptuous epithet upon
the Indian, which caused the snake‑like eyes of the latter to glitter
with rage. A conversation of an irritating character passed between them,
during which the savage, for no apparent purpose except to exasperate Tom,
boasted of his exploits in the warpath, and among other things gave a detailed
account of the killing of Thomas Quick, senior, and the part he himself had
taken in the affair. He asserted that he had scalped the old man with his own
hand—mimicked the grimaces of the dying man—showed how he appeared while in the
agony of death, and to corroborate his assertions, exhibited the silver sleeve
buttons worn by his victim at the time.
This
brutality had a greater effect than the drunken Indian had anticipated. It most
effectually aroused the devil in Tom's heart. He at once determined to kill the
savage. He was unarmed; but there was a French musket in the bar room, in the
place where the early settlers kept such implements, that is to say, on spikes
or pegs driven into a beam directly over the hearth stone, where they were not
apt to rust, and could be got at handily in any sudden emergency which might
arise.
Almost
with the quickness of thought, Tom took down the musket, ascertained that it
was loaded and primed, and cocked it. The Indian saw this movement of Tom, and
a vague notion of what was impending seemed to force itself upon his stupefied
senses; but before he could make an attempt to resist or escape, the muzzle of
the musket was within a few feet of his breast, and Tom ordered him to leave
the house. The Indian at once resigned himself to his fate, or at least to the
guidance of Tom. He arose slowly and sullenly from his seat, and proceeded to
the door, Tom following after him. No one who was present seemed to think that
murder would grow out of the affair; for no one appeared to have curiosity
sufficient to make him attempt to witness its termination, which would not have
been the case, if it had been supposed that Tom intended to do more than compel
the Indian to leave the neighborhood.
Tom drove
the savage into the main road leading from Wurtsboro to Carpenter's Point.
After proceeding about a mile toward the latter place, he exclaimed:
"Indian dog; you'll kill no more white men!" and aiming the musket,
which was loaded with a heavy charge of slugs, shot the savage in the back
between the shoulders.
Muskwink
jumped two or three feet from the ground, and fell upon his face dead. Tom took
from him the buttons which had belonged to his father, drew the dead body to a
tree that the wind had torn up by the roots, and kicking some leaves and dirt
over it, left it there.
Some say
that he cut the head from the body, and hoisted it on a pole at the corner of
the road leading to Decker's, and that it remained there several days.
After
killing the Indian, Tom returned to Decker's, put his musket in its proper
place, drank a glass of rum, and left the neighborhood.
Several
years subsequent, the land upon which Muskwink was killed was cleared and
ploughed by a man named Philip Decker, when the bones of the Indian were
"turned up."
The
murder of Muskwink created considerable excitement in the exposed
neighborhoods. Some thought that such transactions should be properly
investigated, and that Tom should be arrested and sent to prison; while others
contended that he had performed a very meritorious act. It does not appear that
an attempt was made to punish him for what he had done; for he continued to
fish and hunt unmolested, although he was in some danger from the savages.
That Tom
was permitted to kill the Indian with impunity is extraordinary, because the
authorities were not always careless as to what was done by the frontiersmen in
their intercourse with the natives, as will appear by what follows.
On
The
Skinners ransacked Cochecton and Minisink for testimonials in their favor, and
the matter became a serious one for them, although it does not appear that the
charge against them was sustained. The complaint was probably made more for the
purpose of getting the accused into trouble than to promote the peace and
welfare of the province.
Why a
matter so trifling should have been considered of so grave a nature, while Tom
was enabled to escape without being questioned, is something which cannot be explained
at this late day.
CHAPTER VI.
MASSACRE OF AN INDIAN
FAMILY.
WE have
elsewhere remarked that Tom, from associating with the Indians a greater part
of time when he was young, had become a savage in thought and sentiment. Yet he
considered red men so barbarous, that a white man was justified in making their
destruction his whole business; and although he denounced their cruelty, he
could be equally savage himself. Not only this; but he
would use the Indian argument in favor of destroying the helpless and
defenceless. We do not know that he ever was guilty of killing, on more than
one occasion, the children of his enemies; and his excuse for doing that was, that they would, if their lives were spared, become as
bad as their parents. He then thought it good policy to destroy the serpent
while it was in embryo.
Not long
after Tom shot Muskwink, he was hunting in the vicinity of
One day he stationed himself at the foot of the Rift; but whether to watch for savages or wild beasts is not known. However this may be, he found the former. He watched several hours without seeing anything of importance; but finally was rewarded, with the sight of five savages coming up the river in a canoe. The party consisted of a man, a squaw and three children. The Indian seemed to be unarmed, and he and the others were evidently not apprehensive of danger. They were on the same side of the river as Tom, and were proceeding leisurely along—the children enjoying the journey and seeming very happy.
As soon as Tom saw them, he concealed himself in the long reed grass which grew on the shore, and awaiting their approach, with the determination to destroy them. As they came near he recognized the Indian as one of those who had visited his father's house before the war, and who had been engaged in several outrages on the frontier.
When the Indian family—for the squaw was evidently the wife of the man, and the children his own—had got near enough to be within gun‑shot, Tom raised up from his recumbent posture, and ordered them in the Indian tongue to come ashore, and threatened to fire if they did not. As soon as the man saw Tom he turned very pale. He had heard while below of the murder of Muskwink, and that Tom had threatened to kill others of his race. He dared not disobey, however, and reluctantly came to the shore. Tom then inquired where they held been, and where they were going; to which answers were given. He then told them that they had got to their journey's end; that the tribe to which they belonged had murdered his father and several of his relatives during the war, and that he had lifted up his hand in vengeance against their whole race. The Indian answered that it was "peace time," that "the hatchet was buried," &c. But Tom replied that there could be no peace between the red skins and him, and that he would wage eternal war with them. He then shot the man, who jumped out of the canoe into the river, where, after a few convulsive throes, he died. Tom, after killing the Indian, tomahawked the squaw and her children. As the hatchet sunk into the brain of the squaw, she sprang instinctively towards her youngest child, and fell on the bottom of the canoe, and was soon beyond the pale of mortal life. The two oldest children, as Tom afterwards declared, "squauked like young crows" as he killed them. He had proceeded thus far without any compunctions of conscience, or feeling that he was committing a most horrible massacre, which ranked him with incarnate demons. But when he came to the youngest, his murderous propensities were for a moment checked. As he raised the tomahawk to give the fatal blow, the babe—for it was nothing more—looked up wonderingly into his face and smiled. The innocence and unconsciousness of danger beaming from its sunny, childish eyes, caused him to relent. His arm fell to his side. He could not strike it. At the moment, the idea of taking the life of such an innocent, harmless being, seemed horrible to him. It held out its tiny hands to him, and in childish glee, seemed as if it would spring to his arms. Tom's heart was completely softened. He thought he would convey it to some white family, and have it taken care of properly, and fancied that it would be very pleasant to have such a pretty, innocent creature to fondle after he had been hunting, and when he returned to the settlements. But the fact suddenly thrust itself into his mind, that the child would in a few years become an Indian, and this so enraged him that he instantly dashed out its brains.
In consequence of the excitement which grew out of the murder of Muskwink, Tom thought it prudent to conceal the bodies of his victims. Besides this, he was probably conscious that his white friends would not think very favorably of him, if they knew he had murdered helpless women and children.
Having procured some strips of baswood bark from a neighboring tree, he fastened heavy stones to the bodies, and one after the other conveyed them to the deep water of the Rift, where he sank them to the bottom. After all the bodies had been disposed of, he destroyed the canoe, and nothing remained but his own conscience, (which must have been a queer one) to tell of the horrible deed.
Tom did not relate the foregoing facts until it was safe for him to do so. Previous to his death, he repeatedly told them to Jacob Quick, Esq., of Callicoon. When asked why he killed the children, his invariable reply was, "Nits make lice!"
On another occasion, Tom was at Pond Eddy on the
The Indian was soon out of sight. Tom, during the remainder of the day, was very morose, and seemed to be angry at himself, because he had permitted the Indian to escape. It is probable that he killed many of the red men in this way.
CHAPTER
ADVENTURES AT
FOR some time, Tom was very careful to commit no more murders openly. A favorite mode with him was to go the Indian hunting grounds, and remain concealed as much as possible from the Indians. Whenever he heard the report of a gun, he would creep cautiously towards the place where it was fired, and if he succeeded in finding it, he would generally discover a savage skinning a deer or a bear, and when once discovered, it was an easy matter to send a bullet through his head or heart. Tom would then conceal the body of his victim, finish skinning the game, take the skin of the animal, as much of the flesh as he desired, and the rifle of the dead Indian, and depart in search of new adventures.
Generally, he deposited the rifle in a cleft of rocks or hollow tree; but if he took it to the settlements, and was asked how and where he got it, he would say that he had found it beside a dead Indian; and when he brought an unusual number of skins, he would quietly tell them that he had "shot one buck on top of another,"—meaning that he had killed an Indian in the way we have just indicated. This enigmatical manner of describing what he had done, was the only kind of witticism that Tom was known to utter.
When in the settlements, and an Indian came there, he would pretend to be friendly toward him, and do everything in his power to allay suspicion. If he could gain the Indian's confidence he would in the end, invite him to join him in a hunting excursion, and the Indian would generally be among the missing for ever thereafter.
Among the rest, two Indians came to Minisink to sell their skins and procure ammunition, and a few other articles, which they needed. They lingered about the settlement several days and became acquainted with Tom, who finally induced them to join him is a hunt at Hagen Pond, in what is now the town of Lumberland, Tom was thinking of various plans to kill his companions, when one of them proposed to remain at the pond and fish, while Tom and the other agreed to spend the day in hunting. The arrangement was that they should take separate routes, and meet during the day at Rock Cabin. This afforded too good an opportunity to be lost by Tom, who was afraid to attack both at once, as they were equal to him in skill and agility.
According to arrangement, he took the direction he had agreed to go, and after hunting a short time, he proceeded to the Cabin, where he selected a good place to watch for the coming of the Indian he had agreed to meet there. At the time appointed for meeting, the stealthy tread of the savage was heard in the thicket—in a few moments he emerged to sight, and with a shriek fell upon the earth a corpse. Tom's sure rifle had found another victim. Some leaves and mould were soon thrown over the body, and Tom was on his way back to the pond. Here he waylaid the other Indian, and killed him.
At another time, Tom encountered an Indian at
Hagen Pond, but did not succeed in killing him. Tom went to the pond, to hunt,
with a man named Cornelius DeWitt, who, during the Revolutionary war, was
captured by the Indians and taken to
This occurred just before sunset, and when Tom saw the Indian run away, he returned to the place where he and DeWitt intended to stay during the night. DeWitt had gathered but little wood; and it was needless to do so; for prudence taught them that they should dispense with a fire that night, as a light would serve as a beacon to the savage, and enable him to turn the tables against them, if he was disposed to harm them.
The next morning, Tom told DeWitt that he intended to look the redskin up. DeWitt objected; but found it was useless to oppose Tom. Search for the savage he would, whether it was agreeable to the other or not. He soon found the Indian's trail, and followed it in company with DeWitt.
The most sagacious of the redmen could not pursue an enemy through the woods more unerringly than Tom. Through a forest which would be as trackless as the ocean to any of the present inhabitants of Sullivan) if anything short of an ox or a horse should walk in it, Tom continued in pursuit, discovering at every step, undoubted indications of the passage of the hatred red man.
Here a wood plant or weed was crushed; there the dead leaves upon the ground showed that a moccasined foot had pressed them. Here the green mould on some fallen tree had been disturbed—there on the rivulet's margin the foot print was plain. On—on went Tom through the solitary forest, bent upon his bloody mission of expiation and revenge.
Every effort of the wily Indian to baffle Tom was of no avail. The Indian Slayer followed him to the Delaware, and thence to the Brink Pond, in Pennsylvania, where he again came in sight of his intended victim—a feat, probably; which none but an Indian had ever before accomplished.
At the Brink Pond, Tom and the savage saw each other again, but the latter was beyond the reach of the others rifle, and Tom had not the satisfaction of bringing him down.
The red man, finding that his life depended upon his speed, fled like a frightened stag, and Tom, knowing that his pace would not be soon slackened, and that he would have to follow him too far into the Indian country for his own safety, gave up the chase.
From the Brink Pond, the two white men went home, without killing a deer.
CHAPTER VIII.
KILLING A
WE have now reached a period of Tom's life towards which tradition does not point with certainty. There is a gap which we cannot fill except with certain legendary accounts of real or supposed exploits, which our authorities do not assign to any particular time.
Almost innumerable tales are told of Tom's encounters with the savages, and of the tact and cunning he resorted to in order to circumvent them. Many of these stories, we think, have been invented by ambitious tale tellers in their anxiety to outdo their companions in relations of the wonderful; but, on the other hand, some of them are true, or founded on facts—a few little additions having been made from time to time, as they were handed down from father to son.
As often as we have heard conflicting versions of the same story we have adopted the one that seemed the most plausible to us; or we have collected sufficient information to enable us to determine what was worthy of being recorded. This will explain to those who have furnished materials for this little work, why we do not always follow the thread of their narrative very closely.
The story of the "Buck with Seven Skins," which follows, although it has an air of probability, we place it at the head of the apocryphal tales of Tom.
Tom usually wintered at the house of some congenial spirit on the frontier. The family upon which he quartered himself was always well paid for boarding him, for as long as Tom was with them, they lived upon the fat of the land. He as previously stated, invariably supplied them with an abundance of venison and bear meat.
Once he found that winter was near at hand, and that he had not the usual supply of venison for the person whom he intended to stay with. He was about to engage in a hunt at some distance, where he was quite sure he would find deer enough in a few days to supply his friend's cabin as long as he desired, when an Indian came into the neighborhood. Tom made his acquaintance as soon as practicable, and it was not long before they agreed to go on a hunt together—Tom agreeing to take the venison for his share, and the Indians the skins. The first day they were out, they had unusual good luck. Deer was plenty, and indeed the woods seemed full of them. They killed one after another, skinned them, and hung up the "hind quarters" where they would be secure from wolves and other wild beasts until Tom could take them away. In the afternoon they found they had killed seven. The Indian was in fine spirits—and so was his white companion. They had both done a very fine day's work.
The Indian had as many skins as he could carry, and consequently did not wish to hunt any more at that time. So he got them together, and placing them upon his back, started for his cabin. He never reached it, however; for as he started off, Tom fired his rifle and down tumbled the Indian, the ball having gone through the seven skins and into his heart.
When Tom reached the settlement with the skins and venison, his friends who knew the bargain he had made with the Indian, asked him how he came by all the hides; and his reply was, that after they had got through with their hunting, he had "killed a buck with seven skins on his back!" The next winter was spent by Tom with Ben Haines, at Handsome Eddy.
CHAPTER IX.
"THE BITERS BITTEN."
The number of Indians who had disappeared mysteriously, and the fact that some of them were last seen with Tom, and that he had sworn to kill Indians as long as he had an opportunity, caused the natives to suspect he could tell what had become of them; and the whites generally knew that he could, if he pleased, find the rifles of the missing.
The Indians, therefore, were anxious to kill him, and many attempts is were made by them to shoot him. It is said that they had frequent opportunities; but that they missed their mark so often, that they finally believed he had a charmed life and could not be touched by an Indian ball.
The following is a fair sample of the stories told in the neighborhoods where his adventures took place, concerning the way the Indians attempted to catch or kill Tom:
One spring, Tom was splitting rails for a man
named Westbrook, who lived in the
This story has been told of Tom for more than half a century. It is almost too wonderful to be true. We give it as it was related to us by an old man named Page, who died recently, aged more than one hundred years. He assured us that it was well founded; that he had been often at the place where the savages were killed; and that he had more than once seen their bones "on the spot."
An Indian came to the house where Tom had "put up" for the winter, and asked permission to stay all night, which was granted. He professed to be very friendly; but Tom's quick eye soon discovered that all was not right, and that he had an enemy to deal with. During the evening the savage pretended he had seen a great many deer a few miles off, and asked Tom if he would not like to go the next day and kill some of them. Tom pretended that he was pleased with the proposal, and agreed to go.
During the night Tom managed to get the Indian's rifle, which he unloaded, and afterwards substituted ashes in the place of the powder, and put back the ball, and placed the rifle carefully where he had found it.
The next morning the savage slyly inserted the ram‑rod in the chamber of the rifle, examined the priming, &c., and seemed satisfied that all was right. This and some other circumstances confirmed Tom in the belief that mischief was brewing.
There was considerable snow on the ground, and the hunter found it quite inconvenient to tread through it, and apparently to render the walking easier, the Indian proposed that one of them should go ahead to break the path. To this Tom readily agreed, and the Indian was greatly pleased when Tom made no objection to be the first to go in advance.
After they had proceeded in this way a mile or two, and had come to a very lonely place, Tom heard the Indian's gun snap, and the powder flash in the pan. Tom looked back and asked what the Indian had seen.
"A fine buck," was the reply.
The Indian re‑primed his gun, and they went on. Pretty soon Tom heard another snap and flash.
"Well, brother Indian," inquired he, "what did you see this time?"
"An eagle swept over the forest," replied the other as he again primed the gun.
"Brother Indian," said Tom, "the snow is deep. I am tired. You go ahead."
"Brother Yankee speaks well," said the savage gloomily, and took his station in advance.
Tom levelled his rifle.
"Lying Indian dog!" exclaimed he; "what do you see now?"
"The spirit land," was the reply, as the Indian hung his head and drew over it his blanket.
The savage was soon dispatched, and Tom returned without any venison—but with two rifles.
Tom was wandering through the woods, one day, without his rifle, when he encountered a young Indian who was armed. Tom Spoke to him in a friendly manner, and soon found himself on very good terms with the stranger.
"Brother Indian," said Tom, "would you like to see Tom Quick?"
The savage answered in the affirmative, and Tom agreed to show him the Indian Killer. After a long walk, which terminated on a high ledge of rocks, at the foot of which were a few acres of cleared land, Tom told the Indian to wait a few moments and he would show him the person they were looking for. Tom went to the brink of the precipice and peered over it. "I do not see him yet, brother," said he, "but he will soon come along." He continued to watch for several minutes, and at last pretended that he saw the person whom the Indian was so anxious to encounter.
"There he comes," said Tom; "here, you take my place, if you want to get a good sight at him." The Indian cocked his rifle, and hastil