Editorial Note:  Most folks are aware of Lewis Wetzel, well long before Wetzel in a small town in NE PA, there was Tom Quick.

THE ORIGINAL LIFE AND ADVENTURES
--- of ---
T O M   Q U I C K, THE INDIAN SLAYER,
As Published at Monticello in 1851.

"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.

I. Birth and Youth of Tom
II. Death of Thomas Quick, Senior
III. Fate of the Carter Family
IV.  Defence of a Block House
V.  Murder of Muskwink
VI.  Massacre of an Indian Family
VII.  Adventures at Hagen Pond
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 Mongaup Falls
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 Battle with Panthers
XIX.  Death of Tom Quick
XX.  Battle of Minisink
XXI.  Russ and Van Etten
XXII.  The Scouts of Minisink

CHAPTER I.

BIRTH AND YOUTH OF TOM.

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 Milford, (then known as Upper Smithfield,) in Pennsylvania. His circumstances and position were nearly, if not quite, equal to those of a large majority of the affluent and respectable Dutch immigrants of that period. Actuated by a spirit of indomitable enterprise, he "pitched his tent" considerably in advance of those who had come into the country before him; and according to the legendary testimony of his descendants, he was the pioneer of Milford or Upper Smithfield.

At this time, except at Peenpack, on the Neversink, the Indians held undisputed possession of the banks of the Delaware and its tributaries, from Milford to the source of the river. Quick was surrounded by them, and probably they regarded him with a jealous eye--as a trespasser upon their territory. If any such feeling existed on their part, however, he soon succeeded in winning their confidence and esteem to such a degree that they did not openly manifest a spirit of discontent at the proximity of this habitation to their wigwams.

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, end 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 Delaware--some as far up as Cochecton and the mouth of the Callicoon. He erected a saw mill and subsequently a grist mill, on a stream which flows into the Delaware at or near Milford. He had, in fact become wealthy, and was regarded as one of the most respectable and enterprising inhabitants of that region. A Dutch school was established in the neighborhood, and James and Cornelius, as well as the daughters, were sent to it; but Thomas had become so much of an Indian in his habits and disposition, that he could not be induced to attend the school, and if he did go to it, he made no progress in learning. His brothers and sisters were more successful, and advanced so far in the "rudiments" that they could read the bible in the Dutch language without skipping many of the hard words. They were also taught the art of writing, so that they could trace, without much difficulty, the mystic characters which formed their signatures; and were given a very slight knowledge of arithmetic, which was sufficient for them, as people of their lineage generally possess a spirit of prudence and thrift which makes them the very best practical "calculators" of their sphere of life. While the younger children were poring over the alphabet, Tom was engaged in the athletic amusements of the Indians. In trapping, wrestling, jumping, shooting, etc., he excelled a majority of the lads of his own age and thus excited the envy of not a few embryo braves.

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 Delaware was a favorite haunt of the red man. Game was found upon its banks sufficient for them, and its waters swarmed with numerous kinds of fish. The bones of their fathers were interred in its most pleasant places, and the members of the tribe and their friends had been in the habit, from remote antiquity, of gathering within the sound of its waters to celebrate their annual festivals. Some of the pioneers of Cochecton have been heard to say that they had seen Cashiegtouch island, near the Indian burying ground of that town 'covered with Indians, and some of them were fine, noble fellows.'

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 England and France, the Indians were easily induced to fight against the adherents of Great Britain, and endeavor to drive them back to their old bounds.

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 Milford, and that they had induced others to locate there. The Indians were anxious to rid the whole valley of the strange, land-loving race; and if this had not been a sufficient inventive, the prospect of plundering a family its opulent as that of the Quicks, was sufficient, in case the Delaware settlements were attacked, to render the ties of gratitude weak and easily broken.
 

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 Delaware and Susquehanna might favor the French, it gave the Quicks and their friends some uneasiness. The natives became less sociable than they had been, and but few of them continued to visit the whites. Ultimately, they withdrew from the Delaware valley altogether. The fact was, each party feared and distrusted the other, and the Indians felt that they had been wronged. They had long been dissatisfied with the manner in  which the whites had got possession of their lands in the Delaware region. They complained that the English had not given them as much as they had agreed to pay for the several tracts which had been sold, and that they generally took possession of twice as much as they bought. For instance: The natives had sold land to "the proprietors of Pennsylvania," the boundaries of which were to extend a certain distance on the Delaware or Great Fish Kill, and as far back, in a northwest direction, as a man could walk in a day and a half. To settle the depth of the track, the purchasers procured the swiftest runners in the colonies, who did not stop by the way even to eat while running the line. The expiration of the "day and a half" found them eighty-six miles in the interior. The Indians were very indignant at the manner in which the "Proprietors" had overreached them and were never satisfied that the whites had treated them honestly.

The Delawares claimed that they had been wronged in the bargain by which the whites became the possessors of Minisink. And they complained, too, that the people of Minisink were in the habit of getting the Indians drunk when they came thereto trade, in order to defraud them. They frequently talked of driving the whites from the disputed territory. But they were a subdued and crushed people, who had had the spirit of war beaten out of them many years previously, by the haughty and warlike Iroquois, at whose mercy they had since existed, and who had imposed upon them the opprobrious characteristic of being the tribe of squaws. For a time, they committed nothing but petty acts of hostility. They occasionally murdered or captured a few whites at some of the exposed points; but seemed to spare the settlements. After a while, they appear to have become entirely quiet; but their apparent inactivity was but a prelude to new outrages.

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 Delaware even sought a more active part in the struggle by volunteering to serve in the army. One or two neighborhoods were thus left almost entirely in the possession of old men, women and children.

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 Milford. With this object in view, they proceeded to a point near that place; where they halted and concealed themselves in the woods, probably for the purpose of consulting upon the manner in which they should make the contemplated onslaught or more probably to wait until night to make the attack, as was their custom. Unfortunately for the Quicks, and ultimately for Indians, the former, unconscious of danger, went to this place while the Indians were there.

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 Delaware, which had been recently frozen over, and the ice sufficiently thick to bear them. To cross in full view of the Indians was extremely hazardous; yet it was the only chance they had for escape. The attempt was made, and before they had half reached the opposite shore, the savages appeared upon the bank behind them. Now came the most critical moment of their flight. They were within rifle shot of their enemies, and with nothing to screen themselves from the murderous fire of the yelling savages, any one of whom could shoot a deer, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, while it was bounding through the forest. Their only hope was to run in a zigzag course, so as to baffle the aim of their pursuers, and to keep as far apart as possible, so that, possibly, the Indians in the haste and excitement of the moment might not fire at both of them.

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 scalp-whoop, 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 Delaware. His oath was not violated; and he lived to see the day when he could traverse the river almost from one extreme to the other without encountering a red man.

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 III

FATE OF THE CARTER FAMILY.

ONE of the original settlers of the valley known as Cochecton was a man named Amos Carter, who before the French war, and not many years after he was married, removed from Cornwall, in Connecticut, and settled not far from the present site of the Damascus post-office. Here he built a log cabin, and cleared a few acres, which he tilled.

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 Cornwall.
 

CHAPTER IV.

DEFENCE OF A BLOCK HOUSE.

In 1762, the Indiana 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 Delaware, at and in the vicinity of a place called Cushetunk.

We will now describe the immediate cause of the last outbreak of the Indians.

The name of the principal chief of the Delaware tribe was Tediscung, or, according to the more euphonious orthography of modern writers, Teedyuscung. He was much beloved by his subjects, and was noted as a diplomatist and orator. He had formerly taken conspicuous part in the councils of the tribes.

According to tradition, the Six Nations, who claimed the Delawares as subjects, became jealous of the popularity and power of Teedyuscung, and resolved to destroy him. In the fall of 1763, a party of warriors came down the Susquehanna, and made a pretended visit of friendship to the chief. During the night his cabin was set on fire, and the next morning nothing remained of his dwelling but a heap of ashes, nor of his body but a shrivelled and charred carcass. His people gathered around his remains in great numbers, when his destroyers led them to believe that the whites in the vicinity were his murderers. Being wild with grief and indignation, they were not in a mood to investigate the cause of his death; but eagerly received the first plausible tale in regard to the great calamity which had overwhelmed them. They at once flew to arms, and before another setting sun, thirty whites were massacred in their fields, and the other whites of the Susquehanna were fugitives in the wilderness. About two hundred and fifty of them escaped, and returned to Connecticut. During the evening after the massacre, their houses were burned. The Indians at once resolved upon attacking the settlers of the Delaware, who had located themselves above the mouth of the Lackawaxen, and before the latter knew of their danger, parties were on their way to massacre them. These parties reached the Delaware by the way of the Lackawaxen, which was the route generally travelled by the savages when they visited the Delaware.

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 New York side there was no settlement nearer than the valley of the Shawangunk; and from the Delaware to the Susquehanna, the country way in the undisputed possession of the savages. The Indians, therefore, had good grounds for imagining that the whites, hemmed in as they were, could not possibly escape; and it really seemed as if the hand of Providence alone could save them from massacre.

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 Providence, the lives of the women and children in the wooden fortress depended upon him alone.

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 Delaware. Covering her head with a portion of her dress and moaning bitterly, she was borne away, while her unfortunate offspring remained upon the shore, uttering broken and inarticulate cries, as if a dim consciousness of what was enacting had entered her benighted mind. Her bones were subsequently found near the block house and buried.

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 Delaware, Neversink, etc., as were living, returned and re-occupied their farms and "clearings." And a broken band they were! But few families had not lost by disease, or the tomahawk, some of its members.

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 25th of December, 1771, Daniel Skinner, junior, his brother Hagga, some other white men, and several Indians, were at the house of Nicholas Conklin, in Cochecton. According to an old document, the red men "were something in liquor," and one of them asked Daniel to give him some rum. Daniel refused to do so, whereupon the savage got angry, and struck Daniel, "and Daniel struck him back." In the scuffle which ensued, one man was stabbed, and the Indians seem to have been handled roughly. When the savage who was at fault became sober, he acknowledged that he had done wrong, and promised to make satisfaction for the damage he had done. Notwithstanding this, Daniel and Hagga were put to considerable trouble in consequence of the emeute.  They were complained of by one Nathaniel Evans, who had the peace and welfare of the community so much at heart, that on another occasion, he was hired to carry a message to the Indians which was intended to produce a collision between the two races. The Governor and Council of New Jersey, who at that time claimed jurisdiction over Cochecton, and we do not know how much more, ordered the Skinners to be arrested for the offence they had committed, which, it was feared, would "involve the province in a bloody war," unless the offenders "were brought to condign punishment, according to law."

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 Butler's Rift. He was yet wild with the excitement growing out of that transaction, and boiling with a desire to imbrue his hands again in Indian blood. His success in hunting had not been very great; but he was probably troubled very little on account of his ill luck; for he had a greater desire to meet with Indians and slay them than to encounter what he considered less brutal beings. He was not many days in waiting for an opportunity to gratify his revenge, if revenge like his could be gratified.

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, "squawked 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 Pennsylvania side of the Delaware, in company with a relative named Peter Quick. While there, an Indian known as William George was discovered in a canoe on the river, and coming directly towards them. Tom made Peter squat in the reed grass, and told him that they would have some sport with the red skin. They remained concealed until the Indian came close to them, when, Tom rushed from the grass, aimed his rifle at the savage, and ordered him to come ashore. William George appeared to be much frightened when he saw Tom, and did not dare to do otherwise than as he was directed. Tom asked his business, &c., and then told him that he should die. And he would have killed him at once if Peter had not interfered, and with much difficulty prevailed upon him not to kill the savage. Tom then ordered William George to go about his business, and the latter seemed very willing to get beyond the reach of Tom's rifle; for he paddled off in fine style. As the canoe was shooting through the water, and while it was still within reach of Tom's lead, he drew up his rifle, aimed at the fast retreating Indian, and exclaimed: "Ho could ich, de dunder! out de cano tumbly!" ("Thunder! how I could tumble him out of the canoe!")

The Indian was soon out of sight. Tom, during the remainder of the day, was very morose, and seemed to be angry at himself, because he had permitted the Indian to escape. It is probable that he killed many of the red men in this way.

CHAPTER VII.

ADVENTURES AT HAGEN POND.

FOR some time, Tom was very careful to commit no more murders openly. A favorite mode with him was to go the Indian hunting grounds, and remain concealed as much as possible from the Indians. Whenever he heard the report of a gun, he would creep cautiously towards the place where it was fired, and if he succeeded in finding it, he would generally discover a savage skinning a deer or a bear, and when once discovered, it was an easy matter to send a bullet through his head or heart. Tom would then conceal the body of his victim, finish skinning the game, take the skin of the animal, as much of the flesh as he desired, and the rifle of the dead Indian, and depart in search of new adventures.

Generally, he deposited the rifle in a cleft of rocks or hollow tree; but if he took it to the settlements, and was asked how and where he got it, he would say that he had found it beside a dead Indian; and when he brought an unusual number of skins, he would quietly tell them that he had "shot one buck on top of another,"--meaning that he had killed an Indian in the way we have just indicated. This enigmatical manner of describing what he had done, was the only kind of witticism that Tom was known to utter.

When in the settlements, and an Indian came there, he would pretend to be friendly toward him, and do everything in his power to allay suspicion. If he could gain the Indian's confidence he would in the end, invite him to join him in a hunting excursion, and the Indian would generally be among the missing for ever thereafter.

Among the rest, two Indians came to Minisink to sell their skins and procure ammunition, and a few other articles, which they needed. They lingered about the settlement several days and became acquainted with Tom, who finally induced them to join him is a hunt at Hagen Pond, in what is now the town of Lumberland, Tom was thinking of various plans to kill his companions, when one of them proposed to remain at the pond and fish, while Tom and the other agreed to spend the day in hunting The arrangement was that they should take separate routes, and meet during the day at Rock Cabin. This afforded too good an opportunity to be lost by Tom, who was afraid to attack both at once, as they were equal to him in skill and agility.

According to arrangement, he took the direction he had agreed to go, and after hunting a short time, he proceeded to the Cabin, where he selected a good place to watch for the coming of the Indian he had agreed to meet there. At the time appointed for meeting, the stealthy tread of the savage was heard in the thicket--in a few moments he emerged to sight, and with a shriek fell upon the earth a corpse. Tom's sure rifle had found another victim. Some leaves and mould were soon thrown over the body, and Tom was on his way back to the pond. Here he waylaid the other Indian, and killed him.

At another time, Tom encountered an Indian at Hagen Pond, but did not succeed in killing him. Tom went to the pond, to hunt, with a man named Cornelius DeWitt, who, during the Revolutionary war, was captured by the Indians and taken to Canada. Almost as soon as they reached the pond, Tom saw signs of Indians being there, and exclaimed: "There are Indians about! You get some wood for a fire, and I'll look them up."

DeWitt was of a more humane or timorous disposition than Tom, and objected to his getting into trouble with the Indians; but nothing he could say had any affect on the Indian Killer. Tom seemed more like a wild best raging for blood than a human being. He instantly prepared for an encounter. He examined the flint of his rifle, and the powder in the pan-threw aside every cumbersome and useless article, and took to the thick underbrush which lined the shore of the pond, accompanied by his dog. He crept through the bushes as noiselessly as a snake would have done, and yet seemed to get over the ground quite fast. He continued to go on in this manner, until he got near the outlet, where he had to leave the bushes and cross an open. space. While he was doing this, he discovered an Indian, a considerable distance off, on the big marsh, as it was called. The Indian had a gun, and was probably hunting for ducks or wild geese. He saw Tom about as soon as the latter discovered him, and with the instinct of his race, at once suspected that the white man was bound on no friendly errand. He instantly fled into the adjoining woods and disappeared, going apparently toward the Delaware.

This occurred just before sunset, and when Tom saw the Indian run away, he returned to the place where he and DeWitt intended to stay during the night. DeWitt had gathered but little wood; and it was needless to do so; for prudence taught them that they should dispense with a fire that night, as a light would serve as a beacon to the savage, and enable him to turn the tables against them, if he was disposed to harm them.

The next morning, Tom told DeWitt that he intended to look the redskin up. DeWitt objected; but found it was useless to oppose Tom. Search for the savage he would, whether it was agreeable to the other or not. He soon found the Indian's trail, and followed it in company with DeWitt.

The most sagacious of the redmen could not pursue an enemy through the woods more unerringly than Tom. Through a forest which would be as trackless as the ocean to any of the present inhabitants of Sullivan) if anything short of an ox or a horse should walk in it, Tom continued in pursuit, discovering at every step, undoubted indications of the passage of the hatred red man.

Here a wood plant or weed was crushed; there the dead leaves upon the ground showed that a moccasined foot had pressed them. Here the green mould on some fallen tree had been disturbed--there on the rivulet's margin the foot print was plain. On--on went Tom through the solitary forest, bent upon his bloody mission of expiation and revenge.

Every effort of the wily Indian to baffle Tom was of no avail. The Indian Slayer followed him to the Delaware, and thence to the Brink Pond, in Pennsylvania, where he again came in sight of his intended victim--a feat, probably; which none but an Indian had ever before accomplished.

At the Brink Pond, Tom and the savage saw each other again, but the latter was beyond the reach of the others rifle, and Tom had not the satisfaction of bringing him down.

The red man, finding that his life depended upon his speed, fled like a frightened stag, and Tom, knowing that his pace would not be soon slackened, and that he would have to follow him too far into the Indian country for his own safety, gave up the chase.

From the Brink Pond, the two white men went home, without killing a deer.
 

CHAPTER VIII.

KILLING A BUCK WITH SEVEN SKINS.

WE have now reached a period of Tom's life towards which  tradition does not point with certainty. There is a gap which we cannot fill except with certain legendary accounts of real or supposed exploits, which our authorities do not assign to any particular time.

Almost innumerable tales are told of Tom's encounters with the savages, and of the tact and cunning he resorted to in order to circumvent them. Many of these stories, we think, have been invented by ambitious tale tellers in their anxiety to outdo their companions in relations of the wonderful; but, on the other hand, some of them are true, or founded on facts--a few little additions having been made from time to time, as they were handed, down from father to son.

As often as we have heard conflicting versions of the same story we have adopted the one that seemed the most plausible to us; or we have collected sufficient information to enable us to determine what was worthy of being recorded.. This will explain to those who have furnished materials for this little work, why we do not always follow the thread of their narrative very closely.

The story of the "Buck with Seven Skins," which follows, although it has an air of probability, we place it at the head of the apocryphal tales of Torn.

Tom usually wintered at the house of some congenial spirit on the frontier. The family upon which he quartered himself was always well paid for boarding him, for as long as Tom was with them, they lived upon the fat of the land. He as previously stated, invariably supplied them with an abundance of venison and bear meat.

Once he found that winter was near at hand, and that he had. not the usual supply of venison for the person whom he intended to stay with. He was about to engage in a hunt at some distance, where he was quite sure he would find deer enough in a few days to supply his friend's cabin as long as he desired, when an Indian came into the neighborhood. Tom made his acquaintance as soon as practicable, and it was not long before they agreed to go on a hunt together--Tom agreeing to take the venison for his share, and the Indians the skins. The first day they were out, they had unusual good luck. Deer was plenty, and indeed the woods seemed full of them. They killed one after another, skinned them, and hung up the "hind quarters" where they would be secure from wolves and other wild beats until Tom could take them away. In the afternoon they found they had killed seven. The Indian was in fine spirits--and so was his white companion. They had both done a very fine day's work.

The Indian had as many skins as he could carry, and consequently did not wish to hunt any more at that time. So he got them together, and placing them upon his back, started for his cabin. He never reached it; however; for as he started off, Tom fired his rifle and down tumbled the Indian, the ball having gone through the seven skins and into his heart.

When Tom reached the settlement with the skins and venison, his friends who knew the bargain he had made with the Indian, asked him how he came by all the hides; and his reply was, that after they had got through with their hunting, he had "killed a buck with seven skins on his back!" The next winter was spent by Tom with Ben Haines, at Handsome Eddy.

CHAPTER IX.

"THE BITERS BITTEN."

TOM was not only in the habit of shooting the Indians us they passed up and down the Delaware in their canoes, but he frequently waylaid them as they were traveling from one part of the country to another in their usual paths. With all these paths he was well acquainted; and he would spend days and weeks in lurking in their vicinity for the purpose of getting a shot.

The number of Indians who had disappeared mysteriously, and the fact that some of them were last seen with Tom, and that he had sworn to kill Indians as long as he had an opportunity, caused the natives to suspect he could tell what had become of them; and the whites generally knew that he could, if he pleased, find the rifles of the missing.

The Indians, therefore, were anxious to kill him, and many attempts is were made by them to shoot him. It is said that they had frequent opportunities; but that they missed their mark so often, that they finally believed he had a charmed life and could not be touched by an Indian ball.

The following is a fair sample of the stories told in the neighborhoods where his adventures took place, concerning the way the Indians attempted to catch or kill Tom:

One spring, Tom was splitting rails for a man named Westbrook, who lived in the Mamakating Valley. He had got hold of a rather tough log to split, and was driving in a wedge, when he suddenly found himself surrounded by seven Indian warriors. They told him that he must go with them, to which he readily agreed, provided they would help him split the log. They were so pleased at getting Tom without a fight, that they threw down their guns, and each one thrust his hand into the opening or split, according to the directions of Tom, who said he would drive the wedge in, however, he gave a well-directed blow and drove it out, and thus fastened the whole seven by catching their fingers in the half-split log. He then killed them, one after the other, and at his leisure.

This story has been told of Tom for more than half a century. It is almost too wonderful to be true. We give it as it was related to us by an old man named Page, who died recently, aged more than one hundred years. He assured us that it was well founded; that he had been often at the place where the savages were killed; and that he had more than once seen their bones "on the spot."

An Indian came to the house where Tom had "put up" for the winter, and asked permission to stay all night, which was granted. He professed to be very friendly; but Tom's quick eye soon discovered that all was not right, and that he had an enemy to deal with. During the evening the savage pretended he had seen a great many deer a few miles off, and asked Tom if he would not like to go the next day and kill some of them. Tom pretended that he was pleased with the proposal, and agreed to go.

During the night Tom managed to get the Indian's rifle, which he unloaded, and afterwards substituted ashes in the place of the powder, and put back the ball, and placed the rifle carefully where he had found it.

The next morning the savage slyly inserted the ram-rod in the chamber of the rifle, examined the priming, &c., and seemed satisfied that all was right. This and some other circumstances confirmed Tom in the belief that mischief was brewing.

There was considerable snow on the ground, and the hunter found it quite inconvenient to tread through it, and apparently to render the walking easier, the Indian proposed that one of them should go ahead to break the path. To this Tom readily agreed, and the Indian was greatly pleased when Tom made no objection to be the first to go in advance.

After they had proceeded in this way a mile or two, and had come to a very lonely place, Tom heard the Indian's gun snap, and the powder flash in the pan. Tom looked back and asked what the Indian had seen.

"A fine buck," was the reply.

The Indian re-primed his gun, and they went on. Pretty soon Tom heard another snap and flash.

"Well, brother Indian," inquired he, "what did you see this time?"

"An eagle swept over the forest," replied the other as he again primed the gun.

"Brother Indian," said Tom, "the snow is deep. I am tired. You go ahead."

"Brother Yankee speaks well," said the savage gloomily, and took his station in advance.

Tom levelled his rifle.

"Lying Indian dog!" exclaimed he; "what do you see now?"

"The spirit land," was the reply, as the Indian hung his head and drew over it his blanket.

The savage was soon dispatched, and Tom returned without any venison--but with two rifles.

Tom was wandering through the woods, one day, without his rifle, when he encountered a young Indian who was armed. Tom Spoke to him in a friendly manner, and soon found himself on very good terms with the stranger.

"Brother Indian," said Tom, "would you like to see Tom Quick?"

The savage answered in the affirmative, and Tom agreed to show him the Indian Killer. After a long walk, which terminated on a high ledge of rocks, at the foot of which were a few acres of cleared land, Tom told the Indian to wait a few moments and he would show him the person they were looking for. Tom went to the brink of the precipice and peered over it. "I do not see him yet, brother," said he, "but he will soon come along." He continued to watch for several minutes, and at last pretended that he saw the person whom the Indian was so anxious to encounter.

"There he comes," said Tom; "here, you take my place, if you want to get a good sight at him." The Indian cocked his rifle, and hastily and eagerly advanced to Tom's side.

"Where is he?" inquired the red man.

"There--there," said Tom, pointing so that the Indian would lean over the brink, in his desire to shoot the enemy of his race.

"A little further--a little further," whispered the Indian Slayer.

The Indian hung over the precipice as far as he could without losing his equilibration. He peered closely into the shrubbery at the outskirts of the field, and into the field itself, without making a discovery. In the meantime, Tom slipped behind him, and suddenly grasping the shoulders of the savage, and shouting, "Shoot me!--shoot me! would you!" he hurled the red man over the precipice. The Indian fell upon the rocks below, and was killed. Tom left the body of the savage to feed the crows and the foxes, and "went on his way rejoicing."

CHAPTER X

CAPTURE AND ESCAPE OF TOM.

THE Indians captured Tom several times; but they could never manage to keep him until they reached their villages. They were always anxious, when they had him in their power, to preserve his life until they reached home, so that they could there apply the torture to their wily enemy; and this is the reason they did not slay him at once.

On one occasion they surprised him while he was asleep; but when or where is not positively known, although it is probable the occurrence took place not far from Port Jervis. They immediately bound him securely, and after plundering the cabin in which they found him, they sat out for their own country by the way of the Delaware.

Tom, as usual, had a large number of skins in his possession, all of which the savages appropriated to themselves. It seems that two Indians were engaged in this adventure, one of whom, in returning, carried Tom's goods and chattels on his shoulders, and walked in advance of the prisoner; while the other, had possession of the rifles of himself and companion, one of which was kept cocked and ready to shoot Tom with, if he attempted to escape. This Indian "brought up the rear."

For some time, the Indians travelled on the beach of the river or on the bank. At last, however, they came to a high ledge of rocks, where they were under the necessity of taking a very dangerous path far up on the cliff.  They were obliged to travel, some part of the way, within a few feet, and indeed almost directly on the brow of the precipice. One would think this afforded a poor place to escape; but it was just the one that suited the Indian Slayer. He pretended to be dizzy and afraid of falling off the rocks, and passed along as far from the brink as possible. He several times hesitated to go on, and the Indian who followed him frequently applied the butt of his musket to urge him forward. He was determined not only to escape, but to kill the savage who followed him. A difficult feat for an unarmed man to accomplish, especially with his hands bound securely behind him! But it was an easy one for Tom.

When they had readied the narrowest part of the path, Tom was suddenly seized with a very severe attack of dizziness, and could hardly be compelled to proceed, although blows fell thick and fast upon his back and shoulders. Finally he stopped altogether, and refused to go a step further. He leaned against the bank on the upper side and shuddered whenever he cast his eyes towards the river. The Indian, after beating him severely, attempted to take hold of him to push him along. By an adroit movement, Tom got between the Indian and the precipice, and the next instant, with a loud "ugh-whoop!" the savage was making a rapid airline descent towards the river. After falling forty or fifty feet, he landed in the crotch of a button-ball tree. The Indian's back was broken by the fall, and he hung in the tree powerless, and roaring for his brother savage to help him. The rifles fell into the river.

Tom was almost instantly cured of his dizziness. He next relied on his heels for security, and ran with astonishing celerity towards home. The Indian who had carried the plunder, ran after him a short distance; but finding it useless to attempt to catch him, he returned to assist his companion.

Tom and two or three of his nearest neighbors returned in a short time to recover the plunder and look for the savages, but could find neither the one or the other.

Tom's habit of concealing guns in the woods on one occasion saved his life. The Indians (two in number) had captured him, and were taking him off by the Grassy Brook route. He seemed perfectly resigned to the fate which appeared to be unavoidable, and marched with them unreluctantly. His arms were pinioned with deer skin thongs, and his captors kept upon him a vigilant eye, and were ready at any moment to shoot him if he attempted to break away from them.

After a while they were visited by a shower of rain, and Tom soon found that the thongs which bound his wrists began to, stretch, and ultimately that they had become so loose that he could, whenever he thought proper, free his hands. He was very careful to conceal this fact from the savages, and patiently waited for a favorable opportunity to run or do something else to escape.

Beside the path they were passing was a very large chestnut tree, which was hollow, and on the side of the trunk that was furthest from the path the wood had entirely rotted away, leaving a large hollow space. In the opening thus made, Tom had not long before concealed several guns, which he had "found by the side of dead Indians." He had also deposited with them a flask of powder and a goodly store of bullets.

When they reached this tree, Tom expressed an urgent desire to go to it, and gave such a good reason for the request he made, that his captors consented to let him go. They permitted him to do so the more readily because he had thus far given them but little trouble.

The Indians cocked their rifles when Tom stepped from the path, and aimed them at him. Each with a finger on the trigger watched him eagerly, determined to bring him down if he made the least movement to escape.

Torn proceeded towards the tree very leisurely, and on reaching it, went behind it, and was concealed front the view of the enemies. With most inconceivable rapidity, he charged two or three of his weapons with powder and lead. The Indians, little suspecting what Tom was at, stood in the path with hardly a twig to screen them from his murderous aim. Tom afterward said that he did not stop to return the ramrods to their places until he had as many of his guns loaded as he thought he should need. He hesitated a moment after he was ready to shoot, fearing that his guns would "miss fire," in consequence of their late disuse; but knowing that this was probably his last chance, he blazed away at one of the savages, who fell dead in his tracks. The other attempted to get behind the nearest unoccupied tree; but he never reached it. A bullet sent him to the spirit land, to join those who had fallen by Tom's hands.

CHAPTER XI.

"THE BITERS BITTEN" AGAIN.

AN Indian who thought he was more shrewd and cunning than his fellows, undertook to kill Tom without aid from anyone. He lurked in the vicinity of the cabin where Tom was staying, devising a plan to overreach the wily white man. The savage found that the owner of the cabin had a hog, which was confined to a pen close by the hut, and he determined to make this stupid animal the means of producing Tom's destruction.

One evening, when no one but the Indian Slayer was in the cabin, the red man got into the pen, which, being made of logs, afforded a very good breastwork. He then caught the animal, and holding it between his knees, made it squeal as lustily and shrilly as if a bear had hold of it. The savage expected that Tom would rush out, without proper precaution, to rescue the porker; but he was mistaken. Tom was always on his guard.

The Indian Slayer caught up his rifle--ascertained that it was all right--looked through a crevice in the door towards the hog pen; but at first could not see anything which led him to think that the hog was not attacked by a bear or a panther. He was on the point of starting for the pen, when he saw something, which made him pause.

The savage endeavored to screen his body behind the logs of which the pen was constructed, and at the same time peer over the top to watch for the coming of Tom. But the hog did not prove a very tractable steed. It was so fractious and unmanageable that, just as Tom had concluded to open the cabin door, the head of the savage was thrust above the topmost log. This was enough for the Indian Slayer.

Tom opened the door of the cabin a few inches, so that he could have a fair chance to shoot when the scalp-lock of the savage made its appearance the second time. The hog continued to jump and frisk, and squeal, and the red man soon exhibited his head again, when the porker was speedily released from its burden. Tom fired--the hog suddenly ceased to utter its car-splitting notes, and the savage took up the burthen of his swinish melody. With a piercing yell, he jumped from the enclosure, and endeavored to flee to the adjoining woods; but he had received a deadly wound, and Tom easily overtook him. Of course, the fate of the savage was sealed. Tom had no mercy on him, and killed him with fewer compunctions of conscience than he would have felt at crushing a reptile.

According to an old legend, Tom had a very severe battle with a savage who came to him while he was in a field at work. Tom saw the Indian approach unarmed, and did not feel afraid to encounter him on equal terns.

The savage told a plausible tale about something that he pretended he had discovered not far off, and which he wished his "brother yankee" to see.

Tom, apparently without suspecting anything was wrong, consented to go with the Indian; his quick eye, however, saw a gleam of malignant satisfaction on the countenance of his visitor, which told him plainer than words could have done what was the errand upon which the red man was bent.

The savage had discovered Tom from a hill near by, and had concealed his gun in the woods, hoping to entice Tom to its neighborhood, while he was unarmed, and then, when he could not defend himself, kill him.

Tom was never caught napping. He was now wide awake, and concluded that there was a trap set for him. He had gone but a short distance with the Indian, when he came to a hemlock knot, which he concluded would be a very good weapon in a rough and tumble fight. He stopped to pick it up, when the savage, perceiving what he was at, sprang upon him. Tom got hold of the knot; but, with his antagonist upon him, he could not use it. A long struggle for life or death ensued between them. Tom finally succeeded, and was once more a conqueror, but to the day of his death he averred that this was the hardest and most severe fight he was ever engaged in.

When he had killed the red man, he was so exhausted that it was with difficulty he got to the house where he had found a temporary residence.

According to another legend, a native attempted to kill the Indian Slayer while he was engaged in a saw mill. Tom, by some means, found that an Indian was close at hand, and arranged his hat and coat in such a way as to deceive his would-be destroyer. While the savage thought he was about to shoot Tom between the shoulders, as the latter had shot Muskwink, Tom was in a position to send a bullet into the body of the Indian, and his bullets were generally fatal. The legend says that once more the "biter" was so badly "bitten" that he never recovered from his wound. In other words, Tom killed him.

CHAPTER XII.

MURDER AT MONGAUP FALLS.

PREVIOUS to the revolutionary war, a man named John Showers lived in a log house near the falls of the Mongaup. One evening, some five or six hunters met at his house, which was quite a resort for such people. As the cabin afforded somewhat better accommodations than the forest, they concluded to avail themselves of its shelter for the night. Torn Quick was among the number. During the evening, an Indian came in, and asked permission to remain all night. He was told that he could stay.

The evening was frosty, and a rousing fire was kept up. The hunters amused themselves in telling of their adventures, and many stories like the following were told:

One of the hunters was boasting of his skill in shooting at a mark, and told in what manner he shot a panther.

"Fudge! old fellow!" said another. "I have two boys at hum (one of 'em is 10 and 'tother 11) who'll beat that. I tell you what, they were out shooting t'other day close tu the house, when I heerd both their rifles go tu once. I felt curious 'bout it, and went to see what both on 'em blazed away together for. Well, when I got to where they was, I found 'em tryin' tu drag a painter to hum what they'd killed. They tell'd me they had seen the beast to once and fired away, and after it had hung to the tree a minit, down it cum plump. Their balls struck about two inches apart and both on 'em riddled it heart."

"I had a tussel with a bear once," said another after a short pause in the conversation, "and dang me it was curious. I had been travassing the woods pretty much all day without as much as setting eyes on a chip'n squir'l. I begun to feel kinder savage, when Ty (patting his dog on the head) began to snuff and balk at a hole in the ledge. I can allers tell when Ty has got arter sothin' and the way the critter yelled sot me a thinkin' he'd got sothin' be worth having. So I jist made up to the ledge to 'connoiter. The hole was gaul dang'd big: but Ty was shy about gettin' inter it. The critter is as full of pluck as any dog of his inches I ever see; but dang him, he did't like to go in, no how. Thinks I, old feller, if you won't go in, I will. So I just laid down old Poll there (pointing to his gun) and crawled in myself. I got about ten feet, when the hole got bigger, and I could look around a leetle, and kinder see what I was comin' to. Well, in the back end of the hole like I see the dangdest bear I ever sot eyes on. The critter sot beside a big stun about as high as my head. Ty he come in arter me, and as soon as he see the varmit, he yelled worse than ever. Well, the bear didn't seem to mind me at all, but kinder watched the dog. So I jist stepped round beside the stun, and got on it. Thinks I, old feller, you or I must go out of this dang'd quick. So I stepped down behind him like, and braced my back against the rock, and pushed away with my feet for sartin'. The critter grunted like and says I 'grunt away old feller, but you've got to go.'"

Here the narrator turned himself towards his son, who was in the company, and casting his eyes to the ground, continued:

"Well, you know, I got him started, and Ty he pitched into him before, and I pitched into him behind, and he pitched arter Ty, and we had him out danged quick, and old Poll you know gave him a pill what settled his hash!"

"That's a fact, daddy," exclaimed the son, "for I've heard you tell it afore!"

'That yarn may be true," said a young man, in a doubtful tone, "but I would rather come across ten such bears in the woods than one mad wolf. They are the animals to try your spunk, old daddy. Perhaps you never saw one. Well, I have, and blast me if I want to see another.

"The way of it was this. Dad wanted some whiskey; and I wanted some powder and lead. So I took old roan and started for the store down in Minisink. I had got almost to Ben Swartz's clearing, and didn't see nothing, when I saw something just ahead of me right in the road, which I took for a short eared wolfish kind of dog. I didn't mind it much till I got pretty close, when I whistled to it, and it turned round. You see its back had been to me till then. Gracious! wasn't I scared! It was a mad wolf, with its mouth all covered with slobber, and its eyes-oh how they did look! It come straight for old roan's smeller; but I hauled up, and the wolf stopped too, about four feet off. Says I to myself, "I'll just shear off and give you half of the road." But the wolf headed me, and yop it went at roan's nose. The old horse threw up his head as the beast tried to grab him, and I tried the other side of the road; but it was no go. The wolf headed me all the while, and every time I moved, it made a yop at roan's smeller. I tried to back out of the scrape; but as fast as old roan went tail foremost, the wolf followed after.

"I was in a pickle. I couldn't go back and I couldn't go by, and I expected every minute that it would leave the horse's nose and grab my feet; and maybe my shanks didn't seem long about that time!

"At last I out with my jack knife----"

"Why you didn't stick the brute with that, did ye?" interrupted one.

"Oh! aint he a rouser!" exclaimed another.

"Hold on, will ye? Well, I out with my jack knife, and cut off one of the stirrups, strap and all, and watch for a good chance and perhaps you think I didn't knock its brains out with the stirrup--but I did, and got hone with the old man's whiskey, and he jawed me a week after for spiling the saddle."

Late in the evening, a goodly number of logs were placed on the fire, and the hunters, wrapping themselves in their blankets, laid down upon the floor to sleep. They were soon "in the land of dreams," except Tom, who was watching quietly for a chance to kill the Indian. One would imagine that he had shed blood enough already; but the more Indians Tom killed the greater was his desire to destroy them. When the breathing of the sleepers showed that they were sound asleep, Tom threw aside his blanket, and cautiously and noiselessly got his gun. In a few minutes the hunters were awakened by an explosion. They found themselves bespattered with brains, and the Indian dead in their midst.

Quick, immediately after firing, left the cabin, and disappeared in the forests. The hunters, after consulting, concluded that the murder of the Indian should be concealed, in order to avoid any unpleasant consequences which might follow, if his brethren knew of it. The Indian was buried in the morning, and his death was unknown to any except the hunters until concealment was no longer necessary.

CHAPTER XIII.

TOM'S REVOLUTIONARY EXPLOITS.

DURING the Revolutionary war Tom seems to have been busy in his crusade against the Indians. He would not enlist in the army, but he would join any expedition that was got up against the Indians and continue with it as long as he pleased, when he would go off and fight "on his own hook."

On one occasion he joined a party from Minisink, who were in pursuit of some marauding Indians. The latter were several hours in advance of the pursuers. The whites did not see the enemy until they reached the Delaware somewhere in Cochecton or Lumberland. The Indians had crossed where the river was very wide and were waiting on the opposite shore to have a battle if their pursuers attempted to cross. It was considered imprudent under the circumstances to make the attempt, and the Indians were not long in discovering that the Yankees would not attack them. When this became apparent, several of the Indians were on the beech. The river was very wide at this place and it was not thought that any gun could carry a ball far enough to reach the opposite shore.

A war of words passed between the parties, and finally one of the savages made an indecent gesture towards the Yankees, and dared them to shoot. This so enraged Tom that he raised his rifle and taking careful aim, fired. The Indian with a yell fell upon his face and was soon dead.

At another time, Tom was in the woods alone. He was on the lookout for Indians when he unexpectedly came upon one of them. They saw each other at the same moment, and both fired at once. The Indian's ball struck one of Tom's thumbs, the end of which was cut off. The ball glanced along the barrel of the rifle, and passed so close to one of Tom's ears that it tingled some time. Tom was more fortunate. His aim was unerring. The Indian was shot through the head, and Tom went on his way, cursing the savage for wounding him.

This was the only time Tom was hit by an Indian. Persons who knew Tom remember very well that one of his thumbs had lost its tip.

During the war Tom met another savage under similar circumstances. He and the Indian both took to trees within gunshot of each other, where they remained for some time; each one hoping to get a shot. After various manœvers and strategems, Tom resorted to the old one of thrusting his cap cautiously from behind the tree. Crack went the Indian's rifle, and Tom fell upon the ground, pretending to be wounded, when the Indian came running towards him, to take his scalp; but which he did not get, for as soon as the red warrior had got fairly under way, Torn sprung up, and treated him to an ounce of cold lead. The Indian exclaimed, as he saw Tom aim, "Me cheated."

According to tradition, Tom was taken prisoner by the savages during the Revolution; but in what manner and in what locality is not now known. This time he was caught by a numerous band who had probably been marauding and murdering in one of the frontier settlements. They stripped him of everything except his shirt and trowsers, as they supposed; but as Tom's good genius would have it, he had under his shirt a powder flask, which he had converted into a "pocket pistol." It was filled with rum, which has slain a greater number of Indians than the more dreaded rifle.

When the Indians found what kind of a prize they had made, they set off by forced marches for their own country. Tom of course was bound, and this time they not only bound him, but fastened a long piece of raw-hide to his wrists, one end of which was held by an Indian. He was kept, too, in the midst of the party, and it really seemed as if the case was desperate. During the first day the savages kept up a running fire of words at him, and maltreated him in various ways, all of which he bore with as much apparent stoicism as the bravest and best of his captors would have done under the same circumstances.

At night they encamped in the usual mode, tied Tom securely within their circle, and appointed one of their number to watch over him until the next morning.

In the first part of the night Tom pretended to sleep, and after a while feigned to wake up. He soon commenced a conversation with the Indian who acted as the sentinel of the band, and was not long in discovering that the savage was an enemy of "fire water"--a thing quite unusual at that time. Tom's intention was to get the Indian drunk, and then escape; but finding that he had the wrong person to deal with, he concluded to wait until the following night, when he hoped to meet with better success. He therefore determined to sleep until morning, and hope for "better luck next time."

The second day's march was but a repetition of the first; and Tom was heartily glad when the party encamped once more. This time an Indian was chosen who loved "fire water." When all the others of the party were asleep, Tom ascertained this, and telling the native that he had been kind to him; that he had not struck him as often as the others, etc., and that he expected to die in a day or two and would need no more of the "good stuff," he directed the savage where to find the rum.

The Indian thrust his hands beneath Tom's shirt and drew out the flask with much satisfaction, and Tom saw him drink from it several times, much to his joy. It was not long before the rum began to exhibit its usual effects. The savage became drowsy, and finally, in familiar language, took an involuntary "journey to the land of nod" or dreams.

Tom then managed to get the Indian's knife, with which he in some way contrived to cut the thongs which bound his wrists. He wounded himself severely in doing so. He was soon free, and with steps almost as noiseless as the descending dew, he vanished among the giant tree trunks upon which the dying fire occasionally threw a fitful glimmer. Tom was once more rejoicing on the path leading towards Peenpack. The next morning when the Indians woke up, they found one of their number drunk--an empty powder flask by his side--and Tom "among the missing."

He was at least fifteen miles off, on his way to his white friends. He ran nearly all the next day, and got home without engaging in any other adventure. The Indians followed him almost to the settlements, but he was several miles in advance of them, and in speed was equal to the most fleet of his pursuers.

We can learn nothing more of Tom's exploits during the war. We would gladly add several other pages to this chapter, and give a more complete account of his doings previous to the declaration of peace, but, alas and alackaday! we have no more material.

CHAPTER XIV.

ADVENTURE OF THE SANDBURGH.

JUST after the Revolutionary war, I lived on the Barrens, near the Foul Woods. When the war was over, and we had gained our freedom by whipping the British and the tories and Indians, a few of the red skins came back. They had lived about the Delaware and the Shawangunk before we fought for independence, and it seemed natural for them to come again to the place where they were brought up.

None liked to have them about. Women were always scared at the sight of them, and worried and fretted all the time they were in the neighborhood. The young ones, too, were uneasy, and when a red skin came along, they would run into the house or the bushes, holding on to their scalps, as if they expected to have their top-knots cut off.

The Indians were not encouraged to come back, and very few would have anything to say to them, and those who did talk to them advised them to clear out.

A man had to go to Kingston to attend to some law business. When on his way back, he stopped at a tavern kept by a man named Brodhead. He lived near the Sandburgh, kept very good accommodations, and as good liquor as could be found on the road. When he went into the bar room, he found a wild, rough-looking man there. He had on a fur cap and a hunter's frock. His cheek bones were high like an Indian's, and he was spare in flesh, though a very bony man. His eyes were gray, and such a fiery pair of gray eyes was never seen before nor since. They seemed to go right through you, and made you feel uneasy while he looked at you.

While my horse was eating his oats, three red skins came in. They had been wandering about on the Shawangunk, and seemed to be on their way back to their own country. As soon as they got into the bar room, the strange looking man spoken of began to talk to them. He spoke in an outlandish gibberish, which the Indians seemed to understand. They answered him with a few words, and seemed quite uneasy, eyeing him suspiciously, and edging off whenever he came near them.

After talking to them some time, he offered them some rum; but they shook their heads, saying: "Bad--bad." He then drank about a gill of rum himself, and sat down the tumbler as if he meant to smash it. The landlord seemed to be frightened all the time, and did not really seem to know what he was at. At last he told the red skins they had better go, and they took their guns and went off up the Sandburgh. As soon as they had got out of sight, the white man took another large horn, and went after them. His gun, I remember, was an uncommon long one, and the stock seemed to be nearly worn out. As soon as he had got out of the tavern, the landlord groaned and said, "Lord have mercy an them poor Indians!--that's Tom Quick!" He seemed to feel in great distress on their account.

The tavern keeper went to the door and listened to find out whether anything happened in the direction the Indians had gone. After a while, guns were heard fired a great ways off; and then he returned into the bar room.

Two or three hours later Tom came back with the three guns the Indians had taken away. How he got them, you may imagine. Tom himself never threw any light on the subject, and the Indians were never seen afterwards. The landlord charged all to say nothing of what had occurred, as it might bring the settlers into trouble with the Indians.

CHAPTER XV.

INDIAN STRATAGEM.

WHEN we first heard the following story, we somewhat hastily pronounced it altogether apocryphal. We have since found reason to believe that the main part of the story is true.

On the green banks of a western river a number of Indians hail convened in council. Several of the choicest braves of the tribe had disappeared, and none of their brethren knew their fate. They had gone from time to time to hunt on the banks of the Delaware, or to visit the graves of their fathers, or sell their furs at the outposts of Minisink. A few of them had been seen near the houses of the white men; but they had never returned to their wigwams. Their friends had listened anxiously for their home-bound foot-steps from moon to moon, and from the season of snow to the season of flowers. The corn had matured around their wigwams, and the "feast of succotash" had been celebrated, yet they came not. A silence as profound as that of the grave--a mystery more impenetrable than that in regard to the origin of the red man, prevailed in regard to their disappearance.

A medicine man or prophet, who was regarded as an extraordinary specimen of his kind, had been consulted; and, having called into requisition all the skill of his art, he declared that the missing braves had fallen victims to the rifle of Tom Quick, who yet haunted the forests of the Delaware like an evil spirit.

They knew that he was an unrelenting foe. They knew that he had sworn by the God of the pale face never to share any of their people as long as his Deity gave breath to his nostrils. They knew that he had murdered some of their friends after the calamut of peace had passed between the two races; and that he regarded no obligation save that which he had voluntarily taken to revenge the death of his father. And they believed that no red man, unless he possessed some powerful charm or medicine, could harm him, so often had they shot at him and failed to take his scalp.

The assembled braves gave ready evidence to the words of the prophet. They firmly believed that the missing men had fallen by the hand of Quick.

At the mention of his name, the usual stoical demeanor of the warriors changed. Revenge and hatred gleamed from their eyes. Each man grasped his tomahawk, his scalping knife or his rifle.

A brave whose only brother had disappeared with the others, sprang to his feet.

"Brothers!" he exclaimed, "Tom Quick must die! One by one, in the silent forest, he has blasted the noblest of our tribe as the mighty oak is rent by the forked lightning. Their squaws and their little ones mourn for them, and hunger for the venison which is no longer seen in their lodges.

"Brothers! Their path to the spirit land is choked with thorns and briars, because their blood is unavenged.

"Brothers! Shall we seek our foe as we seek the panther which has tasted the life-blood of our little ones, or shall we flee to the shelter of our wigwams, and tremble like squaws?

"Brothers! ere another moon, I shall go toward the rising sun, and never return until the scalp of our enemy is taken. Must I, the last of my father's sons, seek the war path alone? I have spoken." Two other braves, whose kindred had also disappeared in the same mysterious manner, immediately volunteered to go with him, and the council broke up.

The three warriors who thus voluntarily devoted themselves to the welfare of their race, departed for the Delaware in a few days. At first they concluded to wait in ambush for their intended victim on the banks of the river, supposing that he would return from or go to his hunting ground that way. Day after day and night after night, they concealed themselves behind trees and in the tall reed grass; but Tom did not make his appearance. Fall came with its frosts and storms, its sleet and snow, and they were obliged to go into winter quarters, where they remained until spring. They then resumed their watch at their old station.

They had not been long in ambush during the second "season of flowers," before they encountered a white man who was bound up the river. They recognized in him a friend--a tory--who had often accompanied them in their expeditions during the recent war. At the cessation of hostilities, he had professed to give in his adhesion to the government; but he was yet in heart and soul a royalist, and hated the whigs so vehemently that at times his prudence was hardly sufficient to prevent an open "expression of his sentiments" in regard to the "rebels," who refused to associate with a man who had assisted the savages in murdering the wives and children of his neighbors. His hatred of Tom Quick was intense; for Tom had repeatedly pronounced him worse than an Indian, and had even threatened to include him among the number of his natural enemies.

When the warriors ascertained that they had met a friend, they soon elicited from him information which induced them to change their plan of operations. Tom, they found was living with one of his friends, who had a cabin near Handsome Eddy. They resolved to seek him there, and act as circumstances should dictate.

Soon afterwards, they proceeded to a height in Tom's neighborhood, from which they learned that he was in the habit of going to the woods every evening after a cow, and that a bell was on the cow. The next afternoon they went to the place where the cow was usually found. Towards evening they took the bell from her, and drove her back into the woods. They then returned toward the house, and getting on a log behind some bushes, where they could see some distance in the direction of Tom's residence without being seen themselves, they commenced ringing the tell, supposing that the stratagem would bring Quick into their clutches, and that they could easily shoot him as he approached their place of concealment.

Just before sundown, Tom started after the cow, rifle in hand as usual. As soon as he heard the bell, he thought its "ding dong" was unusual. "Mully" had never been in the habit of ringing with as much violence, or as continuously. He stopped and listened attentively. All was evidently not right. His quick ear detected something in the sound which led him to believe that the bell was not "in its accustomed place." But who or what put its clapper in motion, he was at a loss to conjecture. Caution seemed necessary and Tom was determined to exercise his ordinary prudence. As near as he could judge the bell was rung about half way up the hill, from the top of which he concluded he would reconnoitre. He took a wide circuit, (in doing which he encountered the cow,) and soon found himself on the brow of the ascent, from which he saw the Indians, one of whom had possession of the bell, while his rife was at his side. The others, with their arms ready for a conflict, were peering through the bushes in front.

They were so sure of circumventing Tom, and that he would approach from the house, that they did not deem the usual precautions necessary, and little dreamed that Quick was cooly inspecting their operations from the hill. How frequently are the most cunning taken in the very trap which they have prepared for others.

Tom thought a moment, and only a moment, what course to pursue. He resolved to attack all three, and was sure that he could do so without greatly endangering his own life. He knew that his rifle would send a ball through two of them, provided he could get in the right position, and hit them in the right place; and he thought his chance of killing the third would be good, provided he did not take to his heels and escape. He therefore endeavored to get them in range, and passed noiselessly from tree to tree until he had nearly reached the place from which he intended to shoot, when he unfortunately stepped on a twig which snapped under his foot. The bell stopped its "ding dong" instantly, and the Indians turned, with rifles cocked, towards him. But he had disappeared before they could see him, and a large hemlock completely screened his form from their eyes. They saw nothing except the cow, which was quietly grazing and walking towards them, and supposing the cause of alarm originated with her, they gave the usual Indian exclamation of satisfaction, and recommenced the ringing and watched as before.

After waiting a sufficient time behind the hemlock, Tom glided noiselessly to the point from which he intended to fire--took deliberate aim--and one of his fatal balls sped on its mission of death. Two of the savages were at once put in a situation where physic was powerless. The third (the bell ringer) was wounded slightly. He was so much surprised at what had occurred, that he sprang upon his feet without his rifle, and then took to his heels with such expedition and earnestness that he was soon beyond the reach of harm. Tom gave the finishing stroke to the two who had fallen, and left their bodies to feed the wild beasts of the forest.

Many of the circumstances connected with the killing of these men soon became known to the whites, and the savage who escaped bore the intelligence to his brethren that two more braves had become victims of Tom's rifle. This enraged the Indians so much, that they resolved to kill or capture Tom at all hazards, and during the same year they almost succeeded in their design, as will appear in the next chapter.

CHAPTER XVI.

CAPTURE AND ESCAPE OF TOM.

TOM began to feel the effects of a life of exposure and hardship. He had followed trapping and hunting for nearly thirty summers, and now, in his 51st year, exhibited the usual bodily infirmities of men who had seen fully sixty winters. Yet his spirit was still undaunted, and his hatred of the Indians undiminished. He had fewer opportunities to shed their blood, however, for not many of them continued to visit his favorite hunting grounds in the vicinity of the Delaware, the Mingwing, the Mahackamack, etc. The great body of them had removed their lodges during the war to the western lakes, or the head waters of the Susquehanna, and when peace once more spread its kindly influences through the land, they did not return except in small parties. After lingering a few days, and occasionally weeks, in the vicinity of the whites, and amidst the scenes of their early years--those years when the pale-faced, land-grasping race had not spread over the country like a cloud of locusts, blighting and destroying all that was valuable to the Indian--they would return to their new homes, provided they escaped the rifles of a few outlaws like Tom, who regarded the life of a savage as they did that of a wild beast or venomous reptile.

As has been stated in a previous chapter, some of the Indians were never heard of after they had visited Minisink. The whites  as well as their red neighbors, generally thought that Tom could throw some light upon their fate, or at least produce their rifles, if he thought proper. But he maintained a prudent silence in regard to them.

Notwithstanding Tom had become somewhat infirm, he could not resist the inclination he felt to dwell again in the solitary forests during the warm season. His stay among his friends of the settlements, however, was more protracted than usual, and he did not depart until about the first of June.

He made his headquarters at a cabin near the Lechawchsin--known at present as the Lackawaxen--on the farm once occupied by Benjamin Halbert. In this cabin he deposited his furs, and generally remained in it himself while the weather was unpleasant.

The Indians were so rarely seen in that part of the country that he felt little apprehension in regard to them, notwithstanding their recent abortive attempt to kill him near the settlements.

The Indians, however, were determined to make another attempt to capture or slay him. With this object in view, they, organized a band of fifteen or twenty braves, who resolved to reconnoitre every neighborhood in the vicinity of the Delaware, and trace every tributary of that river to its source, for the purpose of discovering his whereabouts and destroying him.

After searching some time they found his retreat. Fortunately for them, a storm of rain, accompanied by a dense mist or fog, occurred opportunely, and greatly aided them in their enterprise. Disposing of their number properly, they surrounded the cabin of which he was the solitary occupant, and before he knew that an Indian was in the neighborhood, he was in their power.

The cabin formed a focus towards which the cordon of savages gradually and surely converged. Tom soon found himself encircled by his enemies, with a dozen rifles pointed at his breast. Surprised and unarmed as he was, escape was impossible and, resistance useless. Like many men not half so shrewd as himself, Tom made a virtue of necessity. He submitted, and was speedily stripped of his clothing and bound hand and foot.

Great was the joy of the red men when they had secured him. Their yells of triumph echoed and re-echoed through the forest, and it seemed as if Pandemonium, by some strange influence, had acquired an earthly locality. They insulted him in every possible way. They compared him with the most timid of animals, and spurned him with their feet.

Tom made no reply to their insults. His demeanor was fearless. Not a muscle quivered, and even his eye, that "mirror of the soul," exhibited no shade of apprehension. On the contrary, it would occasionally darken with the most deadly hatred, or resemble the tiger's, when that ferocious beast rushes upon his victim.

It was near night when Tom was taken, and the Indians, after a consultation, concluded that, as it rained, they would not turn their steps homeward until morning. A number of them watched him closely, prepared at any moment to shoot him if necessary to prevent his escape, while the others rummaged his effects. His skins and some other articles were prepared for transportation. One thing, however, they did not find, and that was Tom's rifle, which accidentally was in a dark corner of the garret.

Among other things which pleased them, they found a small keg of "fire water"--a liquid which Tom seldom used, but which he generally had in his possession, and drank of it freely. Its effects soon became visible. Some were highly exhilarated and joyous; others grew morose, sullen and bloodthirsty; while another portion seemed more shrewd and intelligent than usual. The latter saw that, unless Tom was placed beyond the reach of their ill-natured brethren, he would probably fall a victim to their increasing moroseness ere morning; and next to taking his life, they desired the whole tribe to participate in the torturing of him. They were not disposed however, to take the exclusive charge of him; for they desired to have "a night of it" too. So they suggested that it would be well to confine their prisoner in the garret of the cabin until morning, and that he should be bound with additional thongs so as to render escape impossible. As none of there wished to have the approaching carousel checked in any manner, the proposition was readily assented to by the whole party. Extra ties were accordingly placed upon his limbs, and a long piece of deer skin attached to his thongs and then to a rafter.

Never was mortal in a more disagreeable predicament. He was in gloom and darkness, with no hope of escape--his enemies drunk and rejoicing like fiends over a fallen spirit, and his prospect of death before morning was among the uncertainties; for he heard some of the Indians declare occasionally that it would be best to take his scalp at once, and others contended that he should be disposed of in the manner usual with the Indians, when they captured a great warrior.

He remained in suspense as to the result of the debate until near midnight, when the savages became less boisterous. Some of them were beastly drunk--others were not disposed to continue the "pow-wow," and soon, so far as Tom could judge, all were asleep or too much intoxicated to harm him. He thought his lease of life was good until morning, but soon found that the evils of the night had not terminated.

For the first time in his life, our hero--if we may term him a hero--began to feel dispirited. Was escape possible? There appeared to be no means within his power to extricate himself, and if he could not do so when the Indians were intoxicated, how could he at another time when they would probably be sober? Having slipped through their fingers so often, he felt quite sure that they would be extremely careful to secure him for the torture. The torture! would not their ingenuity be exhausted in devising ways to render his death as painful as possible?

The thought flashed through his brain that it would be better to kill himself at once than permit them to blister, and sear, and roast him until he died. But he was so effectually tied that he could not even commit self-murder. The dark thought was abandoned, and he began to speculate upon the possibility of exasperating the Indians in some manner the next day, so that they would  tomahawk him, when his attention was drawn to a slight noise below. He listened, and ere long was convinced that something was stirring there. Soon he imagined he heard a moccasined foot upon the floor, and presently some one seemed to be ascending the ladder which led to the garret. A moment afterwards, the head of a drunken savage appeared above the floor of the apartment in which Tom was confined.

In one hand the red man held a brand of fire, and in the other a formidable looking knife. The fire east a ruddy reflection upon the Indian's face, and upon the glittering steel, giving a very sanguinary appearance to the former, and imparting to the latter a bright, bloody hue.

The Indian approached with unsteady feet, and stood before his intended victim with features distorted and brutal from the effects of rum, and with eyes gleaming, glittering, snakish. His body swaying to and fro, he regarded Tom a moment, and then murmuring, "Revenge is sweet! my knife shall drink the blood of the panther which has slain my kindred!" he prepared to strike Tom.

It was an awful moment. Tom had often taken life wantonly, but never thought before what a dreadful thing it was to be launched into the unseen world, without an opportunity to address a single petition to the Divine Author and Judge of all things. In an instant, a thousand memories of the past flitted through his brain, and his mind rested upon the great problem of the future. What would be his fate there?

Tom hadn't time to reflect much on this point; for when he reached it, the savage attempted to thrust his knife into Tom's heart. Instinctively--and instinct is a better guide in such emergencies than reason--Tom dodged--fell flat upon his face. The knife, which was intended for his heart, passed harmlessly over him, and the drunken savage, having missed his mark, was unable to preserve his balance, and fell headlong over the prostrate body of Torn. His head struck heavily against the log wall of the garret, and he fell stupid, stunned and senseless upon the floor. In his fall he dropped the brand, which fortunately did not set fire to the hut.

Tom soon had the satisfaction of knowing that his intended murderer no longer had the power to harm him. He then listened to ascertain whether the noise of the encounter had aroused the Indians below, and found that all was still.

He got upon his feet again and stood as before. Suddenly the idea occurred to him that if he could reach the Indian he might possibly get the knife, and cut himself loose. He threw himself upon the floor again and moved over it like a legless worm in the direction of the Indian. Poor Tom was doomed to disappointment in his attempt to reach the savage. The thong which was tied to his neck was not long enough! Without any object in view, he turned back, and endeavored to reach the place he had left, when he made a discovery which rewarded him for his trouble.

While crawling back his foot came it cont