occupying a little hut near Tioga Point, where the Minnesink party were to await Brant's arrival, trying to heal his wound." "As the party under Brant drew near the place the war-whoop was sounded and soon answered by a pitiful howl-the death yell of the lone Indian." "The party halted in mute astonishment when Mohawk, with nine pair of moccasins taken from the feet of his dead comrades, came forward and related the adventures of himself and friends and the terrible disaster that had overtaken them all." "The effect upon the warriors who gathered in a group to hear the recital," says Stone, "was inexpressibly fearful. Rage and desire for revenge seemed to kindle every bosom and light every eye as with burning coals. They gathered round the prisoners in a circle and began to make unequivocal preparations for hacking them to pieces. Harper and his men gave themselves up for lost . . . but at this moment deliverance came from an unexpected quarter, . . . the only survivor of the murdered party rushed into the circle and interposed in favor of the captives. With a wave of the hand as from one entitled to be heard, for he was a chief, silence was restored and the prisoners were surprised by the utterance of an earnest appeal in their behalf."

Capt. Harper knew enough of the Indian language to understand its import. In substance the chief appealed to his brother warriors in favor of the prisoners upon the ground that it was not they who murdered their brothers; to take the lives of the innocent would not be right in the eyes of the Great Spirit. His appeal was effectual; the passions of the incensed warriors were hushed; their eyes no longer shot forth burning glances of revenge and their gesticulations ceased to menace immediate and bloody revenge. "True . . . the chief who had thus thrown himself spontaneously between them and death knew all the prisoners, he having resided in the Schohara canton of the Mohawks before the war. He doubtless felt a deeper interest in their welfare on that account; still it was a noble action worthy of the proudest era of chivalry and in the palmy days of Greece and Rome would have insured him 'an apotheosis and rites divine'. . . . The prisoners were

so impressed with the manner of their deliverance that they justly attributed it to a direct interposition of the providence of God."

Brant conducted the prisoners to Fort Niagara and delivered them to Col. Butler. The feat of Van Campen and Pence was noised abroad and all the Indian nations in the service of the King condemned them as national enemies., Their names were repeated from lip to lip and lodge to lodge and with the view of discovering one or both of them every white prisoner taken by the Indians for many months was subjected to a rigid examination.

Besides the expedition headed by Brant, a second warparty composed entirely of Indians and including warriors from several nations, was organized on the Genesee in March, 1780. Leaving Little Beard's Town prior to the arrival of Brant's expedition and descendinig to the Susquehanna by a more westerly route, the party reached the lower Fishing Creek valley on the same day that Mohawk's band captured Moses Van Campen and his friends. Billimer and Welliner, who early realized their exposed situation, in good time retreated to one of the forts, but George Whitmoyer either continued to reside at his farm, or had returned to it, before the arrival of the war-party. It was Easter morning. The Whitmoyers awoke unconscious of the terrible danger that menaced them. Two girls, Catharine and Ann, aged fourteen and twelve, started out before daylight to secure the sap flowing in a sugar bush. Philip, the eldest son, partially dressed, was kneeling on the hearth of the great fireplace endeavoring to kindle the smoldering embers into flame. Suddenly the door was thrown open and a yell rent the air. The half-dazed boy turned his head to learn the cause and, as he glanced over his shoulder, the painted form of a half-naked savage with uplifted tomahawk, met his horrified gaze. Mr. Whitmoyer comprehending the situation, sprang out of bed and reached for his rifle to shoot the intruder, who stood for one moment undecided whether to strike the father or son; but a shot through the half open door stretched the brave pioneer lifeless on the floor; before Philip had time to move the keen tomahawk of the savage

was buried in his brain; his scalp was torn off and his mother tomahawked in her bed.

Meeting no resistance, the savages searched the house and secured Sarah, aged seventeen; Mary, ten; Peter, eight; George, six; John, four years, and an infant. Taking such plunder as they desired the Indians emptied the beds upon the fire and the humble homestead was speedily enveloped in flames. The smoke from the burning cabin and the whoop of the savages warned the children in the sugar bush of the loss of home and relatives. Realizing that their own safety was threatened, and that they were utterly unable to render assistance to the dear ones, they hastily concealed themselves.*

Knowing that an avenging force would speedily follow them, the savages gathered up their plunder, thrust each captive child upon a horse in front of a warrior and hurriedly retreated northward. The children, being mounted, were saved the fatigue of travel and the Indians were thus enabled to journey at a more rapid rate than was usually maintained in a retreat with prisoners. The eldest girl, Sarah, or Sally as she was familiarly called, had secured the babe at the death of the mother, and, clasping it closely in her arms, soothed it to rest. When placed on a horse Sally still held the child, which became frightened and began to cry, whereupon the Indian with whom they were riding struck it a heavy blow that only increased its cries.

Becoming enraged, the savage seized the child by one of its feet, swung it about his head and brained it on the nearest tree. Sally struggled to save the babe or to rescue its lifeless body hastily thrown upon the ground. She received brutal warning to desist if she wished to escape a similar fate. For the sake of the other children whom she considered her own charge, she stifled the agony in her heart and endeavored to obey. Being well mounted the Indians pushed forward, distancing any pursuers, and making only

The following day a party of rangers visited the ruins and buried the dead; the graves on the old road from Jerseytown to Washingtonville being still pointed out by descendants of the early settlers. Three days later some friends searched the sugar bush and discovered the two girls safe in their place of concealment.

the briefest stops until they passed the borders of New York. Then they halted for a rest and assembled in council to settle the fate of their captives. It being the policy to increase their numbers by prisoners, especially by the adoption of children, Mary and Peter were assigned to their Mohawk captors and taken to Brant's town at Niagara; George and John were claimed by Senecas, who had established homes at Tonawanda, while Sarah was separated from the others and sent to a family living at Deonindagao, or Little Beard's Town.*

IX. PIGEONS AND PRISONERS-VAN CAMPEN AGAIN.

Soon after Horatio's return from Niagara his mother decided to visit her brother, Gy-ant-wa-chia, or Cornplanter, who had settled on the Allegheny River. In order to obtain supplies, the family first journeyed to Fort Niagara and thence to their old camping ground at Devil's Hole. After leaving this camp the hunter's family returned to Buffalo Creek, and continued on through Cattaraugus to Cornplanter's town, on the Allegheny. Soon after their arrival a runner came in shouting, "Yu-ak-oo-was, yu-ak-oo-was!" ("Pigeons, pigeons !") He said the birds had roosted in a wood on the Genesee River, about two days' journey above Caneadea village.

All was now bustle and confusion, and every person in the village who could bear the fatigue of travel at once set out for the Genesee. On their arrival at the place designated by the runner, Jones beheld a sight that he never forgot. The pigeons, in numbers too great to estimate, had made their temporary homes in a thick forest. Each tree and branch bore nests on every available spot. The birds had exhausted every species of nesting material in the vicinity, including the small twigs of the trees, and the ground was as bare as though swept with a broom. The eggs were hatching and thousands of squabs filled the nests. Every

*For an account of her captivity, see the narrative by Mrs. S. E. Gunn, a great-granddaughter of Sarah Whitmoyer and Horatio Jones, in this volume.

morning the parent birds rose from the roost, the noise of their wings sounding like continuous rolls of distant thunder, as flock after flock soared away to obtain food. A little before noon they began to return to feed their young; then arose a deafening chorus of shrill cries as the awkward younglings stood up in the nests with wide open mouths uttering their calls of hunger. Soon after noon the old birds. departed again to return about sunset, when they came in such dense flocks as to darken the woods. All night long the sound of breaking branches caused by overloading the roosts, and the whir and flutter of falling birds trying to regain their foothold, disturbed the usual silence of the forest.

As the annual nesting of the pigeons was a matter of great importance to the Indians, who depended largely upon the supply of food thus obtained, runners carried the news to every part of the Seneca territory, and the inhabitants, singly and in bands, came from as far east as Seneca Lake and as far north as Lake Ontario. Within a few days several hundred men, women and children gathered in the locality of the pigeon woods. Among those who came were a dozen or more captive whites, with several of whom Jones had some acquaintances. One of these captives, a Dutchman named Smith Houser, was a simple-minded fellow whom Jones had befriended on various occasions, thus winning his friendship. For their temporary accommodation the people erected habitations of a primitive style, consisting mainly of huts constructed by setting up two crotched stakes on top of which a pole was laid. Other poles were placed against the ridge, three or four on each side, with the lower ends resting on the ground. One or two poles were then tied across the others parallel with the ridge-pole and to these were fastened long over-lapping sheets of bark forming tent-shaped huts with one open end that was closed at night by curtains of skins and blankets. This form of cabin was easily erected in a short time, and afforded a fair shelter to the occupants during the brief period of their stay.

The Indians cut down the roosting trees to secure the birds, and each day thousands of squabs were killed. Fires