RAYSTOWN BRANCH, CONTINUED--MURDER OF SANDERS AND HIS FAMILY--
ENGLISHMAN AND WIFE TAKEN PRISONERS--FELIX SKELLY AND MRS.
ELDER TAKEN CAPTIVES--THEIR RETURN, ETC.
The country between the mouth of the Raystown Branch of the Juniata
and what is called the Crossings was thinly settled prior to the
Revolution. The land, and general appearance of things, did not strike
settlers very favorably; hence it may be assumed that it was only taken
up about 1772, when the new-comers from the eastern counties had
already taken up the choice tracts lying contiguous to the river.
The first depredation committed on the Branch, near its mouth, by the
savages, occurred in May, 1780. A band of roving Indians were known to
be in the country, as several robberies had occurred in Hartslog
Valley, at houses belonging to men who with their families were forted
either at Lytle's or at Huntingdon. A scout had ranged the entire
frontier in search of these depredators, but could not find them. They
were seen in Woodcock Valley, and information immediately conveyed to
the commander at the fort in Huntingdon. A scout was sent to Woodcock
Valley, but got upon the wrong trail, as the Indians had crossed the
Terrace Mountain, where, it appears, they divided into two parties. One
of them went to the house of one Sanders, on the Branch; and just as
the family were seating themselves at the table to eat dinner, five of
the savages bounded in, and killed Sanders, his wife, and three
children. An Englishman and his wife, whose names are not recollected,
were in the house at the time, both of whom begged for their lives,
declared they were loyal to the king, and would accompany them. The
Indians agreed to take them along as prisoners, notwithstanding at that
period scalps commanded nearly as high a price as prisoners. The
Englishman and his wife were taken to Montreal.
The day following the above massacre, the other party of savages, who
it appears had taken the country nearer the Juniata to range through,
made their appearance at the house of a Mrs. Skelly, who was sick in
bed at the time, and her nearest neighbor, Mrs. Elder, being there on a
visit. It was a beautiful May-day Sabbath afternoon, when Mrs. Elder
prepared to go home, and Felix Skelly, the son, agreed to accompany her
part of the way. They had gone probably a hundred rods through a
meadow, when Mrs. Elder noticed a savage, partly concealed behind some
elder-bushes. She stopped suddenly, and told Felix, who had got a
little in advance, to return, as there were Indians about. Skelly said
he thought not, and advised her to come on, or it would be night before
he could return. Mrs. Elder stood still, however, and soon saw the
figure of the Indian so plainly as not to be mistaken, when she
screamed to Felix to run, and, when in the act of turning around, a
savage sprang from behind an elder bush into the path, and seized her
by the hair. Another seized Skelly, and in a moment the shout of
victory went up, and three or four more Indians came from their places
of concealment. Finding themselves captives, and unable to remedy
matters, they submitted with a good grace.
Fortunately for them, the warrior who had command of the party could
speak a little English, and was a little more humane than the
generality of savages of the day. He gave Mrs. Elder positive assurance
that no harm should befall her. He would not, however, give the same
assurance to Skelly. They took up their line of march over the Terrace
Mountain, crossed over to the base of the Alleghany, avoiding as much
as possible the white settlements, and crossed the mountain by the
Kittaning Path.
Skelly, although but seventeen years of age, was an athletic fellow,
well built, and weighed in the neighborhood of one hundred and eighty
pounds. The Indians, noticing his apparent strength, and in order
probably to tire him so that he would make no effort to escape, loaded
him down with the plunder they had taken in Hartslog Valley. In
addition to this, they found on the Alleghany Mountains some excellent
wood for making bows and arrows, a quantity of which they cut and bound
together, and compelled Skelly to carry. Mrs. Elder was obliged to
carry a long-handled frying-pan, which had been brought all the way
from Germany by a Dunkard family, and had, in all probability, done
service to three or four generations. Of course, Mrs. Elder, burdened
with this alone, made no complaint.
At length the party reached an Indian town on the Alleghany River,
where it was determined that a halt should take place in order to
recruit. One of the Indians was sent forward to apprise the town of
their coming; and on their entering the town they found a large number
of savages drawn up in two lines about six feet apart, all armed with
clubs or paddles. Skelly was relieved of his load and informed that the
performance would open by his being compelled to run the gauntlet.
Skelly, like a man without money at one o'clock who has a note to meet
in the bank before three, felt the importance and value of _time_;
so, walking leisurely between the lines, he bounded off at a speed that
would have done credit to a greyhound, and reached the far end without
receiving more than one or two light blows. He was then exempt, as no
prisoner was compelled to undergo the same punishment twice.
The Indians, disappointed by the fleetness of Skelly, expected to more
than make up for it in pummelling Mrs. Elder; but in this they reckoned
without their host. The word was given for her to start, but the
warrior who had captured her demurred, and not from disinterested
motives, either, as will presently appear. His objections were
overruled, and it was plainly intimated that she must conform to the
custom. Seeing no method of avoiding it, Mrs. Elder, armed with the
long-handled pan, walked between the lines with a determined look. The
first savage stooped to strike her, and in doing so his scant dress
exposed his person, which Mrs. Elder saw, and anticipated his intention
by dealing him a blow on the exposed part which sent him sprawling upon
all-fours. The chiefs who were looking on laughed immoderately, and the
next four or five, intimidated by her heroism, did not attempt to raise
their clubs. Another of them, determined to have a little fun, raised
his club; but no sooner had he it fairly poised than she struck him
upon the head with the frying-pan in such a manner as in all likelihood
made him see more stars than ever lit the "welkin dome." The Indians
considered her an Amazon, and she passed through the lines without
further molestation; but, as she afterward said, she "did it in a
hurry."
The squaws, as soon as she was released, commenced pelting her with
sand, pulling her hair, and offering her other indignities, which she
would not put up with, and again had recourse to her formidable
weapon--the long-handled pan. Lustily she plied it, right and left,
until the squaws were right glad to get out of her reach.
In a day or two the line of march for Detroit was resumed, and for many
weary days they plodded on their way. After the first day's journey,
the warrior who had captured Mrs. Elder commenced making love to her.
Her comely person had smitten him; her courage had absolutely
fascinated him, and he commenced wooing her in the most gentle manner.
She had good sense enough to appear to lend a willing ear to his
plaintive outpourings, and even went so far as to intimate that she
would become his squaw on their arrival at Detroit. This music was of
that kind which in reality had "charms to soothe the savage," and
matters progressed finely.
One night they encamped at a small Indian village on the bank of a
stream in Ohio. Near the town was an old deserted mill, in the upper
story of which Skelly and the rest of the male prisoners were placed
and the door bolted. That evening the Indians had a grand dance and a
drunken revel, which lasted until after midnight. When the revel ended,
Skelly said to his comrades in captivity that he meant to escape if
possible. He argued that if taken in the attempt he could only be
killed, and he thought a cruel death by the savages would be his fate,
at all events, at the end of the journey. They all commenced searching
for some means of egress, but none offered, save a window. The sash was
removed, when, on looking out into the clear moonlight, to their horror
they discovered that they were immediately over a large body of water,
which, formed the mill-dam, the distance to it being not less than
sixty feet. They all started back but Skelly. He, it appears, had set
his heart upon a determined effort to escape, and he stood for a while
gazing upon the water beneath him. Every thing was quiet; not a breath
of air was stirring. The sheet of water lay like a large mirror,
reflecting the pale rays of the moon. In a minute Skelly formed the
desperate determination of jumping out of the mill-window.
"Boys," whispered he, "I am going to jump. The chances are against me;
I may be killed by the fall, recaptured by the savages and killed, or
starve before I reach a human habitation; but then I _may escape_, and,
if I do, I will see my poor mother, if she is still alive, in less than
ten days. With me, it is freedom from this captivity _now_, or death."
So saying, he sprang from the window-sill, and, before the affrighted
prisoners had time to shrink, they heard the heavy plunge of Skelly
into the mill-dam. They hastened to the window, and in an instant saw
him emerge from the water unharmed, shake himself like a spaniel, and
disappear in the shadow of some tall trees. The wary savage sentinels,
a few minutes after the plunge, came down to ascertain the noise, but
Skelly had already escaped. They looked up at the window, concluded
that the prisoners had amused themselves by throwing something out, and
returned to their posts.
The sufferings of Skelly were probably among the most extraordinary
ever endured by any mortal man. He supposed that he must have walked at
least forty miles before he stopped to rest. He was in a dense forest,
and without food. The morning was hazy, and the sun did not make its
appearance until about ten o'clock, when, to his dismay, he found he
was bearing nearly due south, which would lead him right into the heart
of a hostile savage country. After resting a short time, he again
started on his way, shaping his course by the sun northeast, avoiding
all places which bore any resemblance to an Indian trail. That night
was one that he vividly remembered the balance of his life. As soon as
it was dark, the cowardly wolves that kept out of sight during the day
commenced howling, and soon got upon his track. The fearful proximity
of the ravenous beasts, and he without even so much as a knife to
defend himself, drove him almost to despair, when he discovered a sort
of cave formed by a projecting rock. This evidently was a wolf's den.
The hole was quite small, but he forced his body through it, and closed
the aperture by rolling a heavy stone against it. Soon the wolves came,
and the hungry pack, like a grand chorus of demons, kept up their
infernal noise all night. To add to the horrors of his situation, he
began to feel the pangs of both hunger and thirst. With the break of
day came relief, for his cowardly assailants fled at dawn. He ventured
out of the den, and soon resolved to keep on the lowlands. After
digging up some roots, which he ate, and refreshing himself at a
rivulet, he travelled on until after nightfall, when he came upon the
very edge of a precipice, took a step, and fell among five Indians
sitting around the embers of a fire. Uninjured by the fall, he sprang
to his feet, bounded off in the darkness before the Indians could
recover from their surprise, and made good his escape.
In this way he travelled on, enduring the most excruciating pains from
hunger and fatigue, until the fourth day, when he struck the Alleghany
River in sight of Fort Pitt; at which place he recruited for a week,
and then returned home by way of Bedford, in company with a body of
troops marching east.
His return created unusual gladness and great rejoicing, for his
immediate friends mourned him as one dead.
Mrs. Elder gave a very interesting narrative on her return, although
she did not share in the sufferings of Skelly. She was taken to
Detroit, where she lived in the British garrison in the capacity of a
cook. From there she was taken to Montreal and exchanged, and reached
home by way of Philadelphia.
Felix Skelly afterward moved to the neighborhood of Wilmore, in Cambria
county, where he lived a long time, and died full of years and honors.