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Hawk’s Nest, or The Last of the Cahoonshees.
[Illustration: James Martin Allerton.]
Hawk’s Nest,
OR
The Last of the Cahoonshees.
A Tale of the Delaware Valley
and Historical Romance
of 1690.
BY
James M. Allerton.
[Illustration]
THE GAZETTE
BOOK & JOB PRINT,
Port Jervis, N. Y.
Entered according to Act of Congress in
the year 1892, by
JAMES M. ALLERTON,
in the office of the Librarian of Congress
at Washington, D. C.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.—A Bird’s Eye View of the Delaware and Neversink
Valleys from Hawk’s Nest Mountains.
CHAPTER II.—The Water Spout.
CHAPTER III.—Tom and Drake at the Lifting Rocks.
CHAPTER IV.—The Bear and Panther.
CHAPTER V.—Parting of Mother and Child.
CHAPTER VI.—Cahoonshee.
CHAPTER VII.—The House of Death.
CHAPTER VIII.—Cahoonshee on the Origin of Man.
CHAPTER IX.—The Teacher and Pupil.
CHAPTER X.—Asleep on her Mother’s Grave—Going Fishing—True
until Death.
CHAPTER XI.—The Second Lesson—Completing his Education—Found
new Friends—The Mutiny—Death of Sambo.
CHAPTER XII.—Moccasin tracks in the sand—Cahoonshee at the
Climbing Tree—The Battle of the Neversink—Drake’s fearful
leap—The virtue of the Grape Vine.
CHAPTER XIII.—The Dead Shot—The Bee Tree—Amy a Prisoner in the
hands of the Indians.
CHAPTER XIV.—Restored to reason—Cora, the Rough Diamond—A
Temperance Lecture—Found two Grand-Fathers.
CHAPTER XV.—Death of Admiral Powers—Five years in a Mad
House—Appointed a Lieutenant—Return to America.
CHAPTER XVI.—The bee hunters—Drake and Rolla on the trail—Call
of the tree toad—Answer of the blue-jay.
CHAPTER XVII.—The storm—Buried in the river—Old Shell to the
rescue—Which is which and what is what?
CHAPTER XVIII.—The hunt—The fatal shot.
CHAPTER XIX.—Mutual mistakes—The lost child found—Cahoonshee’s
last will.
CHAPTER XX.—Farewell to earth—Cahoonshee on the future—Death of
Cahoonshee—Married on her mother’s grave.
CHAPTER XXI.—Cora receives her reward.
CHAPTER XXII.—Death of Thomas Quick, Sr., and the threat of his
son Tom.
CHAPTER XXIII.—Tom kept his vow and had his revenge.
CHAPTER XXIV.—Killing a buck with seven skins—The biter
bitten—Throwing a young Indian down the rocks—Hiding guns in
hollow trees.
CHAPTER XXV.—The whiskey scene—Six Indians roasted.
CHAPTER XXVI.—Capture, escape and death of Tom—Honored by a
monument.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
A Bird’s Eye View of the Delaware and Neversink Valleys From
Hawk’s Nest Mountain.
It is contrast that makes the beautiful. What a monotonous world this
would be if it was one entire level plane. It is the variegated colors
that makes the landscape beautiful and harmonious. In fact it is upon
contrasts that we build all of our notions of the beautiful. Yet the
same object seen by different persons, from the same standpoint, creates
different impressions. Some admire the Alpine mountains and deep blue
sky of Italy, and the towering majesty of Mont Blanc. Here, with them,
all creation is centered, and there is nothing beautiful that is not
connected with Italian skies, hills or landscapes.
Others view Vesuvius, and admire the smoke and fire as it is thrown
heavenward. Others immure themselves within the walls of cities like New
York or London, and satiate their eyes with brick and mortar, and their
ears with a jargon of sounds. Others admire a more extended scenery,
or rather a scenery where nature is represented in all its variegated
colors; where river and rivulet are blended into one; where the cascade
and cataract drop their moisture into the depth below; where the fauna
and flora are equally distributed; where the mountain ascends thousands
of feet, in contrast with the plain below. In a word, where nature’s
great architect has faithfully executed the fore-ordained design.
But where can this perfection be found? Where is this Eden?
I have gazed upon all the cities of the world: From Mont Blanc I have
viewed Italy and Switzerland; From Pike’s Peak I have viewed the Pacific
and the western slope; I have stood over the thundering and majestic
Niagara and viewed the spray going heavenward. All these views are grand
and sublime, yet they lack contrast between great and small things that
are calculated to make nature beautiful in all its parts and satisfy the
mind, eye and ear at a single glance.
Yet there is one such spot on earth; one beautiful place where all these
things are combined; one pinnacle of the mountain top, where the eye can
take in all these beauties at a single glance.
It is that pinnacle that rises hundreds of feet above the level and
embraces within its view the beautiful valley of the Delaware.
It is Hawk’s Nest Mountain. Here the Shawangunk range rises hundreds
of feet above the Delaware river, and the beholder imagines himself
transported to the skies. These heights are perpendicular, or rather they
project over the river, and in its side are deep furrows, crevices and
caverns. And in these crevices and caverns, the hawks and eagles build
their nests and rear their young without fear of being molested by man.
A few feet from the Hawk’s Nest are the Lifting Rocks. In looking upon
these, you gaze upon one of the wonders of the world. Here are three
large rocks, but a few hundred feet apart, weighing from 30 to 100 tons,
elevated above the ground about five feet and resting on three stone
pillars. These pillars are equal distance apart—as much so as if they had
been placed there on geometrical principles.
Where did these huge rocks come from? When were they placed there, and by
what power were they raised and placed on these triangular pillars?
Geologists say that they were brought from a great distance by the ice
during the glacier period, and that their setting on these pillars of
stone is one of the freaks of nature beyond the comprehension of man.
Standing at Hawk’s Nest and looking southeast, we behold “High Point,”
the most elevated land in the State of New Jersey, it being the highest
point in the Shawangunk range. Northeast of us the Appalachian mountains
rise to the horizon as far as the eye can reach.
[Illustration: INN AT HIGH POINT.]
Turning to the southwest, “Pilot Knob” comes into view, towering hundreds
of feet above the surrounding hills. To the northwest rises the Carbon
mountains that furnish us with coal. And above all towers Mount Arrat,
where it rains or snows every day during the year.
This direction also brings into view the rocky fortress where Tom Quick,
the Indian Slayer, dug his cave and lay in ambush to wreak vengeance on
his deadly foe. Northwesterly rise the “Fish Cabin” mountains, through
whose rocks the water has cut a channel hundreds of feet in depth, and
falls in the Delaware below. At Handsome Eddy and Shohola, the rocks rise
in majesty above the river, and just beyond is the fatal battleground of
the battle of the “Minisink.” At the north the country is dotted by the
thrifty farmer with his cattle grazing on a thousand hills.
About five miles east from Hawk’s Nest rises the Shawangunk mountain, and
at its base flows the lovely and placid Neversink (Mahackamack) river.
The Neversink valley runs northeast and southwest whilst the Delaware
Valley runs northwest and southeast. The waters of the Delaware and
Neversink unite about five miles from Hawk’s Nest, at a point called
“Tri-States Rock,” this being a place that a person can stand in three
states at the same time—New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania.
Two miles above Hawk’s Nest, the waters of the Mongaup empty into the
Delaware river. One-and-a-half miles east of Hawk’s Nest, the rapid
Shinglekill plunges into the Delaware river. The fountain-head of this
stream is a Big Pond, a small lake, about three miles from Huguenot. The
waters of the Steneykill and Little Pond unite with the Shinglekill. The
Sparrowbush unites with the Delaware about three miles from Hawk’s Nest.
Below Hawk’s Nest Rock is Hawk’s Nest road, a lovely and romantic drive,
from which can be seen the beautiful views I have described. Hundreds of
feet below this road runs the Delaware and Hudson canal. As our vision
extends across the canal and river to the Pennsylvania shore, we see the
iron horse, puffing and blowing, as if to escape from the power of man.
As we watch it in its course, it dashes across the iron bridge at Saw
Mill Rift and enters the state of New York. At the angle of the Neversink
and Delaware rivers, nestling between the mountains, lays the beautiful
city of Port Jervis, with its factories, churches and monuments. On
the west rises the lofty spires of Mount William and Point Peter, and
opposite in the sister State of Pennsylvania is located the beautiful
village of Matamoras, the rival town of Milford, whilst a little to the
south is located the pretty village of Tri-States. About five miles
northeast from Port Jervis, on the line of the canal, near the banks of
the Neversink, is the old Peanpack (Huguenot) settlement. Thus I have
described the Delaware Valley as seen by a bird’s eye view in July 1891.
But it is not of this time I write. Our tale of love and suffering dates
back two hundred years ago; when the red man of the forest held sway,
and contended for every inch of ground that the white man attempted to
appropriate; when the war whoop, instead of the steam whistle, was heard.