The Frontiersmen

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY

In the year 1783, Western New York – or at least what was then deemed Western New York – was an almost unbroken wilderness, scarcely known to the inhabitants of the eastern and south-eastern portions of the State; although the greater part of that large tract of territory then known as Tryon County, was especially an unexplored country. It is true that occasionally some adventurous pioneer had penetrated the wilderness, and endeavored to form for himself and family a home, where, if he could not enjoy the luxuries and comforts to be found in more populous sections, he could at least be freed from many of the evils incident to the growing settlements and cities. Some there were, who had not these inducements, but, moved by a spirit of hardy enterprise, and with a love for the excitements and dangers of a pioneer life, penetrated the wilderness alone, with no companion but the rifle – a sure and steadfast friend amidst the dangers which were certain to beset him.

Thus, an adventurous traveler, who perhaps fancied himself the first white man who had ever toiled through the forests of this portion of the State, would be surprised as he came upon the traces of civilization, in a log hut, situated, perhaps, in the midst of a few acres of partially cleared wilderness. When such happened to be the case, it would be no occasion for wonder that the traveler and the settler became at once acquaintances and friends. The news from the settlements – inquiries for friends, and political information, would gladly be exchanged for the homely but welcome entertainment, which was at once provided.

At the period which we have chosen for our narrative, the County of Tryon was inhabited by roving bands of Indians, mostly belonging to the Six Nations. Some favorite localities were selected, which might be deemed peculiarly the homes of these bands; although their roving dispositions, the pursuit of game, or hostile encounters, would prevent the permanent occupation of any one locality.

That portion of Tryon County with which the reader will become somewhat acquainted in due course of this narrative, was more especially inhabited by that division of the Iroquois, known as the Oneidas. But it was not infrequent that bands belonging to other tribes of the confederacy made incursions into this territory, in pursuit of game, and occasionally on less peaceable missions.

It is well known that during the War of the Revolution, the different tribes, composing the confederacy of the Six Nations, were divided in their choice between England and the rebellious Colonies. The Oneidas, and a part of the Tuscaroras and Mohawks, adhered to the Colonies, while the other three nations of the confederacy were leagued with England, under Col. Butler, and the notorious Johnson. It was under the former officer that the Senecas, principally, aided by Tories, perpetrated the Massacre of Wyoming. The Onondagas, at first, professed neutrality between the belligerent parties; but as it was believed that they aided in the more hostile operations of the Senecas, a detachment was sent from Fort Stanwix, which destroyed their villages. This attack was revenged by assaults upon the settlements of Schoharie and the western borders of Ulster.

During the war, Tryon County contained a large number of Tories, who were constantly inciting the Indians to acts of hostility against the Colonies. But while they were successful with a large portion of the Iroquois, they signally failed in all their attempts to abate the fidelity of the Oneidas and Tuscaroras. This division in the councils of the Six Nations, disturbed the amity which had previously existed between the confederated tribes; and the bond which had so long united them, was severed forever. More than once, were the Oneidas driven from their villages, and compelled to seek protection from the whites; and parties of the latter tribe, with a part of the Tuscaroras, actually took up arms against their ancient brethren. It is said that the notorious Col. Walter Butler was killed by an Oneida Chief, during his flight after the battle of Johnstown.

At the time embraced by our narrative, it was not infrequent that difficulties occurred between the separated parties of the confederacy, and hostile encounters took place, which ended in bloodshed. Indeed, the successful Colonies had not concluded any treaty of peace with the Mohawks, Onondagas, Cayugas, and Senecas, until October, 1784. By that treaty, those tribes consented to a release of prisoners, and also to a cession of all their territory west of Pennsylvania.

The Six Nations, at the time of the Revolution, were considered the most formidable of the Indian warriors to be found on the North American Continent; and overtures were made to them, as well by the Congress of the confederated Colonies, as by the English Government. The overtures of the latter were made through Col. Guy Johnson – successor to Sir William – and through the great influence he possessed over them, he was able to induce them to take up arms against the peaceable and scattered inhabitants of the frontier. The number of Indians of the Six Nations who actually took up arms in favor of Great Britain, is estimated at about 1200. The whole number of Indians, of all tribes, who were employed by the British against the Colonies, was estimated by Captain Dalton, (Superintendent of Indian Affairs in 1783.) at 12,690.

The histories of the time, relate the terrible sufferings endured by the inhabitants of Tryon County. The valleys of the Schoharie, the Mohawk and the Susquehanna, were swept, year after year, by the Indians; villages were burnt – and, without discrimination of age or sex, the whites who were supposed to be favorable to the Colonial cause, were massacred. These events gave rise to the expedition of Gen. Sullivan into the Onondaga, Cayuga and Seneca country, which was overrun and laid waste; and it was hoped that the Indians, having lost their provisions and stores, would cease their incursions upon the border settlements. But all such hopes were vain; the depredations were renewed, and continued until the end of the war. It is said by the author of the Life of Brant, that "two years before the close of the war, one-third of the population had gone over to the enemy – one-third had been driven from the country, or were slain in battle, and by private assassination. And yet among the inhabitants of the other remaining third, in June, 1783, it was stated at a public meeting held at Fort Plain, that there were three hundred widows and two thousand orphan children."

The country which is the immediate scene of the following narrative, was little known in the time of the Revolution. The maps of the period designated it as Indian country, and as an unexplored region. The Tienaderack, or Unadilla River – one of the tributaries of the Susquehanna – is given as the western boundary of the whites, beyond which are the villages and hunting-grounds of the Oneidas and Tuscaroras. It is into this unexplored region that we propose to conduct the reader. We cannot promise a strict fidelity to truth, in the precise incidents related in our narrative, but they have kindred features in narratives related by the ancient settlers of this valley. There are traditions, well authenticated, which might give rise to many of the incidents. With this general view of the condition of Tryon County, at the time of the Revolution, we will conduct the reader to that portion of it in which we are more immediately interested.

CHAPTER II

It was, then, in the early part of the month of October, 1783, that two travelers might have been seen, leisurely wending their way, on foot, southwardly, along a somewhat narrow valley, through which flowed a rapid but attractive river. That part of the valley which was now in their view, was not more than half a mile in breadth. On the west, the hills were low, and presented no peculiar attraction to the eye. On the east, however, they attained a loftier height, and, in the golden sunshine which fell from the autumn sky, excited the surprise and admiration of our travelers. From the position they occupied, they could trace the course of the valley for some six or seven miles, among the hills, which became bolder and loftier, until it was lost in a sudden turn to the westward. The river, along whose banks they had traveled for some ten or twelve miles, was here from four to six rods in width; and, as we have before observed, was attractive by the rapidity of its current and the frequent but graceful curves in which it pursued its course. The Indian name, which this river now bears, implies "the Pleasant River."

The forest about them exhibited much variety of vegetation; and among the trees which they observed, they saw fine specimens of the pine, which towered above the surrounding forest, in the graceful superiority of foliage and beauty. The maple, hemlock, beech, birch, walnut, and chestnut, were abundant. It was at just the season of the year when the leaf of the maple wears its choicest hue of red; and the beech and chestnut assume their "sere and yellow." Blending with these varieties, the unfading richness of the evergreen, it would excite no wonder, that the younger of our travelers, at least, beheld with admiration the gorgeous drapery which, in this climate, the forest assumes, preparatory to the desolation of winter.

The younger of the two persons to whom we have called the attention of the reader, might have been twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age. Of middle stature, he exhibited a frame of much symmetry and power; and it was apparent that he had been inured to labors which had fully developed health and strength. His face was somewhat embrowned by exposure to the weather; but his active and intelligent eyes, the firm compression of his lips, and the ready play of his countenance, as he listened to or answered some remark of his companion, made it apparent that he had at least bestowed some labor upon the cultivation of his mind; for inward discipline and culture always have their effect upon the outward bearing. Besides this, there was in his countenance an evidence of sincerity of purpose, which if it pursues but one path to attain its end, and that frequently an uncomfortable one, always triumphs over temporary difficulties. Ralph Weston – for that is the name of the young traveler – was ever honorable and upright, even where worldly "prudence" would have admitted of a slight departure from the rigid rules of propriety. He was not of that modern school, which makes expediency the touchstone of morality of conduct; but he always disclaimed the artifices to which men too frequently resort to hide the practices which are well enough in themselves, but which happen to contravene popular opinions or customs. But, with this serious turn of mind, he possessed a romantic disposition, which frequently led him into acts that excited the surprise of more sedate or less romantic acquaintances; but with no art, save a frank disposition, and a heart of sympathy and friendship, Ralph Weston always found "troops of friends" to whom he was little less than what we propose to make of him – a hero.

Ralph Weston, then, as might be readily supposed, in the dark hours when the Colonies were struggling for life, embarked his hopes and fortunes in the cause of his country. At the age of eighteen, he volunteered as a private soldier, and after serving a short time in this humble capacity, he had risen in rank, until at the close of the war, he held the commission of a captain. His maternal aunt (for he had neither father nor mother, both having died in his infancy) always insisted that he should have been a general, at least; and perhaps, if merit were always the true test of advancement, he would have attained a much higher rank. But while he was always foremost in danger, he was ever a laggard in the ranks of those who press eagerly forward for the spoils of victory, or the honors which are more often worn than deserved. But we will suffer the reader to become more intimately acquainted with him as we proceed in our history.

His traveling companion, however, cannot be dismissed without notice; for Ichabod Jenkins (familiarly called "Ike," by his too-presuming acquaintances) had no small idea of his own importance. At the time when he appears before us, he cannot be less than forty-seven or eight years of age; when standing erect, he is full six feet two in stockings; but as he generally appears in locomotion, you would make his height at about five feet ten. His frame was not, apparently, robust, and a stranger would have been surprised at any great indication of strength on his part; yet few in the neighborhood of his residence, on any public occasion, when feats of agility or strength were undertaken, would have dared to match him in any game where these qualities were necessary. Yet this was the least of Ichabod's merits, if his own judgment could be trusted.

In his earlier days, a long struggle had taken place in his mind between the love of wealth and literary pursuits. He recognized the distinctive antipathy between these two mistresses; yet neither of them had ever acquired a complete victory over the other; so he had compromised between them by uniting a course of such reading as could then be attained in general literature, with a strong speculative disposition, which desired to leap at once, and by one bound, from rags into purple. Now, it must be confessed, that Ichabod had succeeded about as well in one pursuit as in the other – and to which of his mistresses to attribute his ill success, he did not know. He had read Mrs. Bradstreet's poems, who, in her day, was styled "the mirror of her age and the glory of her sex" – he had much admired the poetry of George Wolcott, but he was completely intoxicated with the "Simple Cobbler of Agawam," by Nathanial Ward, although he did not adopt its fanatical sentiments; the Revolutionary poets he had by heart, and for the reputation of Freneau, he would have abandoned the fame of Shakespeare, had he possessed the power of choice. He had at one time secluded himself from all of his acquaintances for a month or two; and at last, when he emerged from his solitude, he was seen with a quantity of manuscript, which he read to his most intimate friends with exceedingly rhapsodical gestures. It was even thought that this manuscript had been offered to some publisher, but as its contents whatever they were, never appeared in print, it was well understood that it had been rejected. It is certain, that from this time he abandoned all ideas of winning a literary reputation, and set earnestly to work to win the fortune of which he had so long been dreaming. But Ichabod, with an innate love for the jingle of rhyme, could, even at this day, repeat enough of the lyrical poetry of the country to endanger the patience and temper of his warmest friend.

After attempting, at Boston, many schemes for the sudden acquisition of wealth, which had all resulted in failure, he had, some time previous to the war, shaken off the dust of the (to him) unprosperous city, and traveled westward in search of a more congenial spot, where the resources of his mind could be developed.

He had finally located at one of the frontier settlements in the State of New York – a small, but growing place – and unencumbered by wife or family, he fancied himself certain of success at last. He had at one time taken a trip to the shores of Long Island Sound, for the purpose of making inquiry as to the prospect of realizing anything from the buried money of Capt. Kidd; but he returned somewhat poorer than he left. One time, while wandering on the shore of a small creek, in his own neighborhood, devising means for the expenditure of his wealth when it should be obtained, he was suddenly arrested by the glitter of some fine, shining particles, in the sand. Certain that he had at length discovered a gold mine, the land was purchased by him on contract, at an extravagant price, by turning out what little money and few valuables he possessed. His mysterious appearance and conduct, attracted towards him the attention of the whole settlement; it was whispered that he was always out of his boarding-house at night, and that he invariably slept a portion of the day. He had been heard, too, to hint, in a solemn manner, of his taking up his residence at Boston or New York, and of building half a dozen blocks of brick buildings, and living in a style of splendor that should astonish his early acquaintances, who had always enviously predicted that he would never amount to anything. The consequence was, that after much managing and prying, Ichabod's mine was discovered, and the whole settlement rushed – men, women and children – to share his good fortune. Trespass suits followed thick and fast, and at length it was discovered that the glittering particles which had been gathered so eagerly, were worth just as much as the sand in which they were imbedded, and no more. The result of this speculation was, that Ichabod lost both his gold and his land, and the little money he had previously possessed.

But nothing disheartened, other schemes filled his mind; and he was always the surest of success, just as he was the most certain to be unsuccessful. Ichabod was altogether too busy in his financial operations to volunteer as a soldier during the Revolutionary War, although he had cast around earnestly to ascertain if there was any way by which he could make his business and patriotism harmonize together. But while he had refused to sacrifice his chances of a fortune by taking up arms as a soldier, to his credit be it said, that in the frequent Indian incursions which had been made on the frontier settlements of New York, he had zealously engaged in the plans of defense, and had won an enviable notoriety as an Indian fighter. Always cool and calculating, he never suffered himself to be surprised; and he came at last to be dreaded by the Indians, as bearing a charmed life, which could not be taken. More than one Seneca, who had escaped from his rifle, bore the marks of his bullets; and his name was never mentioned by them but with a look of hatred. This feeling was cordially reciprocated; and even a lucky chance at a fortune could scarcely have deterred him from an attack, even in a time of peace, upon an Onondaga, Cayuga, or Seneca.

But with the return of peace, all ideas of war had vanished, and he now felt that it was necessary to make a desperate effort for the fortune which had been so long delayed. But it was necessary to possess some little capital; and with the view of laying the foundation for the capital desired, he had embraced the opportunity of guiding Ralph Weston on his journey, which was now nearly completed. He also had an idea about a speculation which he wished to look after; but of that hereafter.

Armed with a rifle, which had been his constant companion in his encounters with the Indians, and with a hunting-knife which he wore in a leathern belt, it would have been difficult for a stranger to have pronounced his vocation. There was little in his figure or appearance which would have indicated the habits of a borderer of the period, yet one would scarcely have ventured to guess at any other calling or profession.

His hair, which was long and straight, and originally of a brownish color, had become grizzly, and flowed from under his cap without order or regularity. His face was embrowned by long exposure to the extremes of weather, while its expression had a rigidity that was scarcely ever discomposed. His eyes were of a grayish cast, and seemed always to be on the alert, to detect dangers that might threaten either his person, or the mental treasures which were just ready to be coined.

The travelers journeyed in a sort of path, which had evidently been made some time before, but which had been little used. Occasionally, a tree that could not be avoided had been felled, and the stump wholly or partially removed; and often the path was obstructed by the trunk of a decayed tree, which had fallen from old age, or had been overthrown by the violence of the winds.

"Well, Ichabod," said Ralph, after the travelers had paused a while to survey the valley which now opened upon their view, "we must be near our journey's end. From the indications you gave me, we cannot be more than a mile distant, at farthest."

"I should say not, Captain," replied Ichabod; "I was never hereabouts but once before, and then I reckon we made something of a spec in the way of Injins. The varmints! but they are a long way off now, I reckon."

"I have never heard," said Ralph, "that any battles of consequence were fought in this section of the State. This region is too distant from the settlements, and too much of a wilderness, to have been the scene of any important conflict."

"I can't say, Captain, how important it may or mayn't have been to the country at large; but this I do calculate, that it was mighty important to them that had the fighting on't. Three Injins to one man, sartin; and they fought like devils, as they were, confound 'em! Why, Captain, if you'll believe it, one of them red rascals and I ra'ally had a pitched battle for the ownership of this here companion of mine," pointing to his rifle; "but we taught the cussed red-skins better manners. We don't part company so easy;" and Ichabod grasped his rifle with a still firmer hand; and then half said and half sung, from the old ballad of "Lovewell's fight,"

"I supposed," said Ralph, "that this country, through which we are now traveling, was in the possession of the friendly Oneidas and Tuscaroras?"

"Yes, it was in their possession," answered Ichabod, "except when it was overrun by those devils of Senecas or Onondagas and that was pretty tolerably often. They got lots of scalps, sometimes, and sometimes they lost their own. The Tryon County boys, when they had a fair chance at 'em, always paid 'em off with interest. As the poet said:

"But, as I ginerally found, they had to trust a good deal to their rifles."

"I had heard of the sufferings of the people at the settlements," said Ralph, "and knew the fact that many sharp battles, which are little known in the general history of the war, occurred; but I supposed they were confined to the immediate neighborhood of the settlements."

"Why, you see, Captain, if we got the start of 'em at the settlements, we weren't such fools as to let 'em go without a taste of our pluck; and it was on one of them occasions that I was down here. But I say, Captain," exclaimed he, as he approached a sudden bend in the river, where there was a much more than usual current, "what d'ye think of the chance of setting up a woolen factory down here, on this creek?"

Amused with the turn Ichabod had given to the conversation, Ralph suggested that it might possibly be a profitable investment, provided he could induce the Indians to become customers to his establishment, and provided the requisite staples for the manufacture could be obtained. Nothing daunted by the suggestion of obstacles, Ichabod proceeded to explain to Ralph how a rapid fortune, in that line, could be accumulated.

"Now s'pose, Captain, that we buy of these Oneidas and Tuscaroras a water-privilege. Well, that's done. Then we'll put up a building. Plenty of materials, you see, all around here; and we can get the machinery at New York, or send for a good hand, and make it ourselves. Then, as you say, we shall have to get the wool; and after it's manufactured, we shall have to sell it. But why can't we raise sheep here? We can get a small stock at the settlement, and what with them and the increase, we shan't have any lack of wool: and for a market, haven't we got the whole country? But you'll say, Captain, that the foreign importations will ruins us? Well, that is a difficulty; but it can't last, Captain; it won't last. We'll conquer them foreign fellows in that business, yet, as we did in the other. But I think we can, any way, get up a good-enough home market among these Injins. I'll have a talk with 'em about it." And we shall see that he did, on a subsequent occasion, faithfully perform his promise.