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FOR THE UNABRIDGED TEXT
THE
ORIGINAL
—- of
—-
T O
M Q U I C K,
THE
INDIAN SLAYER,
As
Published at
"Hero
of many a wondrous tale,
Full of
his dev'lish cunning!
Tom
never flunked or turned pale,
Following
on the Indian's trail,
Shooting
as he was running."
DEPOSIT,
N. Y. :
THE DEPOSIT JOURNAL.
1894.
CONTENTS.
II. Death of Thomas Quick, Senior
IV. Defence of a Block House
V. Murder of Muskwink
VI. Massacre of an Indian Family
VIII. Killing a Buck with Seven Skins
IX. "The
Biters Bitten"
X. Capture and Escape of Tom
XI. "The Biters Bitten"
again
XII. Murder at
XIII. Tom's Revolutionary Exploits
XIV. Adventure on the Sandburgh
XV. Indian Stratagem
XVI. Capture and Escape of Tom
XVII. Murder of Canope
XVIII. A
XIX. Death of Tom Quick
XX.
XXI. Russ and Van Etten
XXII. The Scouts of Minisink
CHAPTER
I.
BIRTH
NOT far from the year 1733, a
Hollander, named Thomas Quick, emigrated from the Fatherland to the colony of
New York, {NOTE: A man named Thomas Quick, among others, took the "oath of
allegiance in ye county of Vlster, by order of His Excelly: ye Gouernor; ye
ffirst day of September anno qe: domini 1689." From this it may be
inferred that the Quicks came to this country sooner than the family tradition
indicates. See the Documentary History of New York, Vol. 1, page 280.} and not long afterwards located himself in
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
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, 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
Now the prospect was that the
whites would soon occupy the whole country, if some decisive step was not
taken, and that the bones of the braves who had been in the spirit land for
hundreds of years, would be desecrated by the plow of the pale face. It is not
a matter of surprise, therefore, that during the war between
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 scalpwhoop, 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.
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