WOODCOCK VALLEY--MASSACRE OF ELDER--THE BRECKENRIDGE FAMILY--FIGHT
WITH, AND DESTRUCTION OF, CAPTAIN PHILLIPS'S SCOUT BY THE
INDIANS--CRUEL MASSACRE OF TEN MEN.
Woodcock Valley, located north of Huntingdon, is one of the
oldest-settled valleys in the county. In the days of Indian
depredations, it was a favorite haunt of the savage, whose great
war-path from the West to the East went through a part of it.
The first murder committed in it during the Revolutionary struggle
occurred at Coffey Run, near the present residence of Mr. Entriken. The
victim was a man named Elder, the husband of the woman mentioned in a
preceding chapter as having been carried a captive to Detroit by the
Indians. As there is no living witness who was present, the
circumstances connected with his massacre are merely traditionary. He
was on his way home in company with Richard Shirley, when he was shot
and scalped; in which condition he was found by a scouting party a day
or two after the occurrence. This was in 1778, and the same year a
number of captives were taken from the valley; but the accounts are so
vague that we can give no reliable data.
The Breckenridge family lived about three miles south-east of
McConnelstown, on the road which now leads from Huntingdon to Bedford,
on the farm at present occupied by Ludwig Hoover. The family consisted
of the father, mother, two sons,--John and Thomas, aged respectively
eighteen and sixteen years,--a girl aged fourteen, another aged three
years, and an infant at the breast. They had, during the alarms of
massacres, forted at Hartsock's Fort, which was almost in sight of
their farm; but in the spring of 1779, the alarm having in a great
measure subsided, they, as well as the rest of the settlers, went home,
and the fort was abandoned, under the full impression that they would
have no further use for it,--that Indian depredations were ended. In
this they were most signally mistaken.
In July--probably about the middle of the month,--one morning, directly
after breakfast, the sons, John and Thomas, started in search of a
horse that had broken from his enclosure the night previous. After they
had gone, the old lady occupied herself in her household duties, while
the oldest daughter repaired to the spring-house in the meadow,--a
distance of probably five hundred yards from the house,--for the
purpose of churning. While engaged in this occupation, she was suddenly
confronted by five Indians. Probably overcome by fright, she made no
effort to escape, but screamed at the top of her voice. The father,
without suspecting the real cause of the difficulty, started, unarmed,
in the direction of the spring-house, and when within twenty yards of
it a bullet from one of the Indian rifles struck him, and he fell dead
in the path. Mrs. Breckenridge was looking out of the window at the
time, and, fearing that their next move would be in the direction of
the house, she snatched the infant out of the cradle, and, taking in
her arms the other child, escaped. Instinctively she took the path
toward Standing Stone,--a direction in which the Indians were not
likely to follow. She pursued the path along Crooked Run for a few
miles, and then sank exhausted upon the ground. As soon as she rallied,
she endeavored to continue her way to the Stone; but to her dismay she
found that she had wandered from the path and was lost. In this
condition, she wandered about the woods with her children the whole day
and the entire night. Next day, the oldest child complained bitterly of
hunger, when the mother fortunately came to a rye-field. The rye was
just beginning to head, in spots, and she gathered a number of heads,
rubbed out the kernels, and gave them to the child. As the operation
was a tedious one, in consequence of the scarcity of the grain, she
took off her under-garment, wrapped up the infant and laid it down, and
went to work to procure sufficient to appease the appetite of the
child, and while so engaged she unconsciously wandered a considerable
distance from the infant.
John and Thomas returned to the house with the horses late in the
afternoon; and, seeing their father and sister murdered, believed that
the mother, with the other children, had either met the same fate or
been carried into captivity. They lost no time in making their way to
Standing Stone Fort, where they communicated the sad intelligence. By
that time it was nearly dark, and entirely too late to make any further
effort; but at the dawn of day, next morning, a posse of men went to
Breckenridge's house, where the murdered father and daughter lay, and,
while part of the people employed themselves in removing the bodies
preparatory to burial, another party scoured the country in search of
the mother, being encouraged to do so by seeing her tracks leading
toward Crooked Run. Late in the afternoon they found her, at the edge
of the rye-field, leading her child; but the anguish she had endured
had in a measure unsettled her mind, and she was unable to tell where
she had left the infant. It was deemed advisable to remove her to the
fort. By next day, she had so far recovered as to be able to state that
she left the infant in the field; whereupon a party set out, and
returned with it in the evening.
The infant had apparently not suffered a great deal, except from the
annoyance of flies. _Its entire face was fly-blown_; and yet, strange
to say, she recovered, grew to be a strong, healthy woman, got
married, and was the mother of Isaac B. Meek, Esq., formerly a member
of the legislature from Centre county, and, we are told, died but a
few years ago.
John Breckenridge became a distinguished Presbyterian preacher. Mr.
Maguire was under the impression that he located among his relatives in
Kentucky; but Dr. Junkin, of Hollidaysburg, whose knowledge of church
history cannot be questioned, informs us that he officiated for many
years in the first Presbyterian church ever built in Washington City.
Woodcock Valley was the scene of the massacre of Captain Phillips's
scout,--one of the most cruel and cold-blooded murders on record,--a
massacre which hurried into eternity ten as brave men as ever ranged
the woods of the Juniata Valley.
The following is Colonel Piper's official report of the massacre, made
to President Reed. It contains no particulars, and is also inaccurate;
nevertheless, we deem it worthy of a place, as it bears an official
stamp. We copy it from the Archives of 1780:--
_Bedford County, August 6, 1780._
SIR:--Your favor of the third of June, with the blank commissions,
have been duly received; since which we have been anxiously
employed in raising our quota of Pennsylvania volunteers, and at
the same time defending our frontiers. But, in our present
shattered situation, a full company cannot be expected from this
county, when a number of our militia companies are entirely broken
up and whole townships laid waste, so that the communication
betwixt our upper and lower districts is entirely broken, and our
apprehensions of immediate danger are not lessened, but greatly
aggravated by a most alarming stroke. Captain Phillips, an
experienced, good woodman, had engaged a company of rangers for the
space of two months, for the defence of our frontiers, was
surprised at his fort on Sunday, the 16th of July, when the
captain, with eleven of his company, were all taken and killed.
When I received the intelligence, which was the day following, I
marched, with only ten men, directly to the place, where we found
the house burnt to ashes, with sundry Indian tomahawks that had
been lost in the action, but found no person killed at that place;
but, upon taking the Indian tracks, within about one half-mile we
found ten of Captain Phillips's company, with their hands tied, and
murdered in the most cruel manner.
This bold enterprise so alarmed the inhabitants that our whole
frontiers were upon the point of giving way; but, upon application
to the Lieutenant of Cumberland county, he hath sent to our
assistance one company of the Pennsylvania volunteers, which, with
the volunteers raised in our own county, hath so encouraged the
inhabitants that they seem determined to stand it a little longer.
We hope our conduct will receive your approbation; and you'll
please to approve it by sending your special order to our county
commissioner to furnish these men with provisions and other
necessaries until such times as other provisions can be made for
our defence. As Colonel Smith will deliver this, I beg leave to
recommend you to him, as he is very capable to give full
satisfaction to you, in every particular, of our present
circumstances.
I have the honor to be,
With all due respect,
Your Excellency's most ob't
And very humble servant,
JOHN PIPER.
Overlooking the fact that Colonel Piper, in this semi-official
statement, did not even condescend to mention the name of a single one
of the brave men who fell by the hands of the ruthless savages, is it
not a little strange that the whole report should be filled with gross
inaccuracies, not the least of which is that Captain Phillips was
killed, when it is notorious that he returned after the war--having
been taken prisoner,--and people are still living in the valley who saw
him many years after the massacre of his scout?
Captain Phillips, previous to the disaster, resided near what is now
Williamsburg. He was a man of some energy, and a skilful and
experienced woodman. He had made a temporary fortress of his house, to
guard against savage incursions, and his usefulness in protecting the
frontier was duly appreciated by the settlers. Through the influence of
some of the most prominent men about Clover Creek, Colonel Piper was
induced to give Mr. Phillips a captain's commission, with authority to
raise a company of rangers to serve for two months, as it was known
that there was a large body of savages somewhere in the valley,
unmistakeable traces of their presence having been seen at many places
along the river.
Captain Phillips commenced recruiting men immediately on the reception
of his commission; but, owing to the fact that it was just the
beginning of harvest, he met with very little success. By the 15th of
July, 1780, he had but ten men collected; but with these he determined
to scout through Woodcock Valley and the Cove, in order to protect the
farmers in harvesting their grain. To this end he distributed
ammunition and provisions, and the party marched from the Cove across
the mountain. On entering the valley, they found most of the houses
abandoned, but no signs of Indians. Late on Saturday evening they
arrived at the house of one Frederick Heater, which had been abandoned
by its owner. The house had been pierced with loopholes, to serve as a
temporary fortress in case of necessity, but the proprietor, unable to
find sufficient men to garrison it, had fled to Hartsock's Fort. At
this house Captain Phillips determined to remain over Sunday. The
entire force consisted of Captain Phillips, his son Elijah, aged
fourteen years, Philip Skelly, Hugh Skelly, P. and T. Sanders, Richard
Shirley, M. Davis, Thomas Gaitrell, Daniel Kelly, and two men whose
names are no longer remembered. After partaking of their supper they
all stretched themselves out on the floor and slept soundly until
morning. While preparing their morning meal, one of the Skellys
happened to open the door, when he discovered that the house was
surrounded by Indians. A glance sufficed to show Captain Phillips how
matters stood. There were not less than sixty Indians, and among them
two white men, dressed, decorated, and painted, the same as the
savages. The captain at first supposed they were marauders, and would
probably not stop; but the hope was most delusive. A small shower of
rain having fallen the day previous, this savage war-party had tracked
Phillips and his men to the very door of Heater's house. Phillips
commanded the utmost silence, and awaited with breathless anxiety the
further movements of the enemy. Through the window he discovered the
savages grouped upon an eminence--some ten of them armed with rifles,
and the remainder with bows and arrows--in consultation. Directly one
of the savages fired his rifle, which was evidently a _ruse_ to draw
the men from the house; but it did not succeed. At last one of the
Indians ventured within rifle-range of the house, when Gaitrell,
unable to resist the temptation, thrust the muzzle of his rifle
through one of the loopholes, fired, and shot him through the left
shoulder. The war-whoop was then raised, and the savages ran to and
fro for a while, concealing themselves behind trees, some seventy
yards from the house, under the impression probably that an immediate
action would take place.
No further demonstrations being made by the rangers, the Indians waited
but a short time until, at a preconcerted signal, they fired a volley
at the door and window of the house, both of which were riddled by the
bullets, but no person was injured. The scout, in this agony of
suspense, surrounded by a large body of savages, with the greatest
bravery stood at the loopholes, and whenever a savage showed himself
within rifle-range he was shot at. In this manner two were killed and
two wounded. The Indians, in the mean time, continued firing at the
door and window; and in this way the fight continued until about the
middle of the afternoon, when Philip Skelly shot the chief through the
left cheek at a distance of nearly a hundred yards. This so exasperated
the Indians that they raised the war-whoop a second time, loud and
fierce, and appeared determined to have vengeance.
At this juncture an occurrence took place which seems almost incredible;
yet Captain Phillips, whose statement we are giving, vouched for the
truth of it, and he was unquestionably a man of veracity. Davis had
the muzzle of his rifle out of a loop-hole, and was intently watching
for a chance to shoot, when he felt a sudden jarring of the rifle. He
withdrew it, and found a sharp-pointed, tapering hickory arrow driven
into the muzzle so tight that it took the combined efforts of four men
to withdraw it. Whether this new method of spiking a gun was
intentional or not, it illustrated most forcibly the wonderful power
of the Indian over the bow--whether he fired at the rifle or the
loop-hole.
The Indians, finding it impossible to dislodge the rangers from what
appeared a stronghold in every sense of the word, by all stratagems yet
used, affixed dry leaves and other combustible matter to arrows, set
fire to them, and lodged them upon the roof of the house, which soon
was on fire in two or three places. The men carried up all the water in
the house, and subdued the flames from the inside; but the water was
soon exhausted, and a fresh volley of the fire-arrows set the roof in a
blaze, and there were no longer means within their reach to quench the
destructive element. Still the rangers stood at the loopholes, even
when the upper part of the house was all on fire. Certain death stared
them in the face; they dared not go out of the house, for they would
expose the weakness of their force and meet instant destruction as soon
as they passed over the threshold; on the other hand, the fire above
them was raging, and they did not know what moment they would be buried
beneath the burning timbers. And yet the men never flinched. But, at
last, Captain Phillips, seeing the desperate strait to which they were
reduced, cried for quarter, and told the savages that he would
surrender, on condition that his men should be treated as prisoners and
not injured. To this the Indians assented, and the men escaped from the
house just in time to save their lives from fire, but only to meet a
death equally shocking.
The spokesman for the Indians--one of the white renegades--demanded, in
the first place, that all their arms should be delivered up. To this
the men readily agreed; and they handed their rifles and knives to the
savages. The next demand was that they should suffer themselves to be
pinioned, in order that none might escape. This degrading proposition
met no favor with the men; but they were compelled to submit, and their
hands were secured behind their backs by strong thongs. In this
condition they started--as the Indians said--for Kittaning; but, after
getting half a mile from the house, some five or six of the Indians,
who had Captain Phillips and his son in charge, continued on their
route, while the remainder ordered a halt. The ten men were then tied
to as many saplings, and two or three volleys of arrows were fired into
them.
The fate of the scout was not known until Tuesday.
Some persons passing Heater's house on Monday morning, seeing it in
ruins, carried the news to Hartsock's Fort. An express was sent to
Colonel Piper, who arrived on the ground with a small force late on
Tuesday. About the house they found a number of tomahawks, knives, and
other articles, which indicated that an action had taken place; but the
fate of the men could not be conjectured.
Finally, some one discovered the tracks, and proposed following them,
which they did, and found the men at the place designated, each man
with from three to five arrows sticking in him. Some of them had not
been killed outright, and it was apparent that their struggles to get
loose must have been most desperate. Kelly was one of these, who, in
his efforts to free himself, had buried the thong in the flesh of his
arm. All of the men were scalped. They were buried on the spot where
they appeased the savage appetite for blood; and their mouldering bones
still repose there, without even the rudest of stones to commemorate
the sad event or perpetuate their memory.
Phillips, in consequence of his rank, was taken prisoner, as at that
time officers brought to the British garrison commanded an excellent
price. Himself and son were taken to Detroit, and from thence to
Montreal, and did not reach their home until peace was declared.
Some of the friends of the persons massacred were disposed to find
fault with Captain Phillips, especially as the massacre was so general
and yet he and his son had escaped. Of course, Phillips not being
present to defend himself, the talk was so much on one side that some
went so far as to stigmatize him as a traitor and a coward. On his
return, he gave the true version of the affair; and it must be admitted
by all that, under the circumstances, he did all that a brave officer
could do to save the lives of his men. Their fate weighed heavily on
his mind for the balance of his life; and in the thought of their
untimely end he forgot all the sufferings and privations he endured
while a prisoner in the camp of the enemy.