GRANDMOTHER AND THE INDIANS
This story loomed large in the collective memory of the town folk, many of whom were direct descendants. A detailed account was included in the 1880 history of the township.
SUMMIT COUNTY
WITH AN OUTLINE SKETCH OF OHIO
EDITED BY WILLIAM HENRY PERRIN
ILLUSTRATED
CHICAGO:
BASKING & BATTERY, HISTORICAL PUBLISHERS
186 DEARBORN STREET
1881
The Richfield chapter was written by Dr. A.E. Ewing & S.R. Oviatt
[The following narrative, which scarcely belongs in the history of Richfield Township, is given herewith, as illustrative of pioneer life. and, at the request of the writers of the chapter on Richfield. many of whose citizens are descendants of the " captives " mentioned. The narrative was originally published in the Litchfield (Conn.) Enquirer in 1833, and in the Observer in 1846.—Historian.]
Soon after the "French and Indian war," Mr, Nathaniel Carter removed from Killingworth to Cornwall (Conn.). where he purchased a farm and resided for some years. But, as the tide of emigration was at that time setting from New England toward the pleasant and fertile valleys of the Delaware and Susquehanna in Pennsylvania, early in 1768. Mr. Carter, with some of his hardy neighbors, began to make preparations for removing thither. The accounts which they had received of that country had filled them with glowing anticpations, though they were by no means unmindful of the fact that the life of a pioneer was one of hardship and peril. Mr. Carter's family at this time consisted of a wife and six children—Jemima, the eldest daughter, having a short time before been married to Mr. John Bates of Warren. The other children were Nathan, Sarah aged eleven years, Elizabeth eight, Nathaniel six, and an infant.
On a beautiful morning in the spring of the year above mentioned, this family (except the married daughter), together with two other families from the same neighborhood, took up the line of their journey to the " land of promise." After a tedious tour, marked with the usual vicissitudes and adventures of such a journey, they arrived in safety at the forks of the Delaware, where they remained a short time, and ultimately settled on the Lackawaxen Creek. in Wayne County. about twelve miles below the site of the present town of Bethany. They advanced about fifteen miles beyond any other white settlement, cleared a small spot near the bank of the stream and erected a building of logs, in which the three families resided. Here they passed a few months in apparent security, engaged in various employments to improve the safety and comfort of their new residence. The tall trees immediately before their dwelling they had in part cleared away. some grain and garden vegetables were growing near by, while around the doorway a few flowers, transplanted from their dear native New England, were budding and blossoming—adding variety and beauty to the scenes of their wilderness home. While some were laboring. others carried the muskets and ammunition, acting as sentinels, that they might seasonably be apprised of approaching danger. Every day seemed more promising of future happiness and security, and added something to their little stock of comforts. The wild scenery had become familiar to their view. and an agreeable interest had associated itself with most of the objects which were embraced by the little horizon, formed by the tall and unbroken forests which stretched away to an almost interminable breadth around them.
One day in the latter part of September, when the inmates of this little settlement were occupied in their usual pursuits, Mr. Carter, with his eldest son and one or two others, being engaged in building a house a short distance in the woods, and the man whose business it was to act as sentinel having gone a few rods out of sight of the house to examine some traps. The Indians, who had been secretly watching for their prey, uttered their savage war-whoop, and rushed upon these defenseless women and children. At this moment, Mrs. Carter and her daughter Elizabeth were a few yards from the door engaged in picking corn for dinner. Elizabeth, seeing them before the war-whoop was given, and knowing from their peculiar appearance that they were banded for war, turned to her mother and gave the alarm, but her words were scarcely uttered before she saw that beloved parent turn deadly pale, and the next moment she beheld the tomahawk buried deep in her skull. The Indians, twelve in number, then rushed into the house, where were the elder females, one of whom was confined to the bed by illness, a daughter of the same woman aged sixteen, who was also ill, the infant daughter of Mr. Carter, and five other children. One of the Indians seized the infant and dashed its brains out against the logs of the house; and the two sick women were instantly put to death with tomahawks. The man who had gone to examine the traps, hearing the shrieks of the sufferers, hastened to their defense, but had only time to discharge his gun once, before he received a death-blow from the hands of the assailants.
The Indians, having selected such of their captives as they supposed could best endure the hardships of savage life and taken the scalps from those they had killed, and also having taken the clothing and utensils which they thought would best serve their convenience, they set fire to the house, and then hurried off to their encampment a short distance from thence, on the opposite side of the creek. The captives were three children of Mr. Carter (Elizabeth, Sarah and Nathaniel), Mrs. Duncan, and three children belonging to the other family. At the encampment they found about 200 Indians, principally warriors. Several large fires were burning, around which the Indians began to regale themselves with roasted corn and other refreshments, which they had brought from the white settlement. After having freely indulged themselves in exultations at their recent success, and, night approaching, they secured their captives with cords and stretched themselves on the ground around the fires. Sarah, the eldest of the three children of Mr. Carter, appeared perfectly distracted by the circumstances of her situation. She continued crying and calling for her father to come and rescue her. The Indians several times appeared determined to silence her screams with the tomahawk. At length, when they had become buried in sleep, Sarah obtained a small brand from the fire, with which she barely succeeded in burning the cord which bound her to the savages, but leaving her hands still tied together. In this situation, and surrounded by the midnight darkness, she succeeded in finding a canoe, and loosing it from its fastenings, in which she reached the opposite bank, and, finally, found her way back to the smoking ruins of her recent home, where she gave way to the most violent lamentations. Though her cries were distinctly heard at the encampment, she was not pursued until morning, when she was retaken.
The Indians then commenced their journey through the woods, carrying their captives on horseback. After pursuing their route three days in a westerly direction, they halted and sent back a war party of about one hundred. After five or six days, the party returned with several scalps, and the horror of the unfortunate captives can scarcely be imagined, when they discovered among the number, those of Mr. Carter and Mr. Duncan. These men on returning from their labors and seeing the desolation wrought by the Indians, repaired to the nearest white settlement, and procured the aid of forty men, with whom they returned for the cattle, and with the faint hope of recovering the captives. Just as they gained the vicinity of their recent home, they were suddenly surprised by the yell of these savages and by the flight of their arrows. About half of Carter s men instantly deserted, and left their companions to fight the battle as best they could. Yet, though struggling against such fearful odds, these brave men stood their ground, till Carter found himself alone—all besides having been either killed or disabled. He had stationed himself behind a rock, and still kept up the fire until struck down by the tomahawks of the enemy. Some four or five of those wounded in the early part of the engagement succeeded in crawling so far into the forest as to elude the subsequent search of their wily foes, and at length reached their homes.
On the return of the Indian warriors to the encampment, there was great lamentation and mourning among the savages, over those of their number who had fallen in the battle, more than half of the 100 being among the slain. The Indians then recommenced their march through the woods to the residence of their nation. As nearly as the captives could recollect, they traveled several days diligently in a northwesterly direction, and at length arrived at their place of destination. Here in dark filthy huts, ornamented with the scalps of their parents and friends, separated from each other, did these lonely captives spend the long and tedious winter, in astute of almost perfect starvation. The Indians would never go abroad to obtain new supplies of food so long as one morsel remained, and then sometimes returned with little success.
Nathaniel, the youngest of the captives, having from the first been a general favorite with the Indians, was treated by them with great comparative kindness and attention, and with so much success that the little white stranger soon ceased to mourn his bereavements, and join heartily in the amusements and pastimes which they devised for the purpose of diverting him, and making sport for themselves.
Early in the spring they deserted their winter quarters and journeyed toward the lakes. After a tour of several weeks they arrived in the vicinity of Fort Niagara, where Elizabeth and Sarah were ransomed through the negotiations of Sir William Johnson. But all efforts to obtain Nathaniel were unavailing. No consideration would tempt the Indians to part with him, and, strange as it may appear, he had become so much attached to them that he would not consent to leave them. His sisters, after bidding him an affectionate and final farewell, were conveyed to Albany, where their Connecticut friends, being apprised of their ransom, met them, and they soon had the unspeakable gratification of once more visiting the home of their nativity, and of finding themselves surrounded by sympathizing friends and relatives. Yet it was long, very long, before they ceased to mourn over the dreadful scenes through which they had passed, and their sad bereavements.
The reader who has followed thus far our narrative, may feel an interest to know something of the subsequent history of the captives. Sarah Carter never fully recovered from her ill treatment and mental sufferings . Though she lived to old age, her intellect was permanently 'paired; she died in Goshen, Conn. Elizabeth was married to Mr. Benjamin Oviatt, of Goshen, and died in that town in 1835. Among her children were Mr. Luman Oviatt, of Goshen; Heiman Oviatt, Esq., an enterprising citizen of Hudson and a liberal patron of the college at that place, more recently a resident of Richfield; Mr. Nathaniel Oviatt and Mr. Salmon Oviatt. of Richfield. Nathaniel grew up among the Indians, imbibed their habits, and married one of their daughters. It is a remarkable circumstance that among the articles which the Indians carried away with their captives was a Bible, which they afterward gave to their young favorite. He had previously learned to read, and by means of this book, which he kept till manhood, he ever retained that knowledge. He died in the Cherokee nation, at the age of about seventy.
Some years later. while the foreign mission school was in operation at Cornwall. Conn., Mr. Isaac Bates, a warm friend of the school, received a letter from a missionary among the Indians, stating that he had sent on to be educated a young half-breed Indian, of fine talents and exemplary piety, named Carter, expressing a wish that he would become acquainted with him. An early acquaintance with the young man was sought by Mr. Bates, and greatly to his surprise he discovered in him a son of the long lost captive. The youth remained at the school some time, frequently visiting his relatives in that vicinity. After completing his studies, he returned to his native country with a view of there preaching the Gospel.
Soon after the "French and Indian war," Mr, Nathaniel Carter removed from Killingworth to Cornwall (Conn.). where he purchased a farm and resided for some years. But, as the tide of emigration was at that time setting from New England toward the pleasant and fertile valleys of the Delaware and Susquehanna in Pennsylvania, early in 1768. Mr. Carter, with some of his hardy neighbors, began to make preparations for removing thither. The accounts which they had received of that country had filled them with glowing anticpations, though they were by no means unmindful of the fact that the life of a pioneer was one of hardship and peril. Mr. Carter's family at this time consisted of a wife and six children—Jemima, the eldest daughter, having a short time before been married to Mr. John Bates of Warren. The other children were Nathan, Sarah aged eleven years, Elizabeth eight, Nathaniel six, and an infant.
On a beautiful morning in the spring of the year above mentioned, this family (except the married daughter), together with two other families from the same neighborhood, took up the line of their journey to the " land of promise." After a tedious tour, marked with the usual vicissitudes and adventures of such a journey, they arrived in safety at the forks of the Delaware, where they remained a short time, and ultimately settled on the Lackawaxen Creek. in Wayne County. about twelve miles below the site of the present town of Bethany. They advanced about fifteen miles beyond any other white settlement, cleared a small spot near the bank of the stream and erected a building of logs, in which the three families resided. Here they passed a few months in apparent security, engaged in various employments to improve the safety and comfort of their new residence. The tall trees immediately before their dwelling they had in part cleared away. some grain and garden vegetables were growing near by, while around the doorway a few flowers, transplanted from their dear native New England, were budding and blossoming—adding variety and beauty to the scenes of their wilderness home. While some were laboring. others carried the muskets and ammunition, acting as sentinels, that they might seasonably be apprised of approaching danger. Every day seemed more promising of future happiness and security, and added something to their little stock of comforts. The wild scenery had become familiar to their view. and an agreeable interest had associated itself with most of the objects which were embraced by the little horizon, formed by the tall and unbroken forests which stretched away to an almost interminable breadth around them.
One day in the latter part of September, when the inmates of this little settlement were occupied in their usual pursuits, Mr. Carter, with his eldest son and one or two others, being engaged in building a house a short distance in the woods, and the man whose business it was to act as sentinel having gone a few rods out of sight of the house to examine some traps. The Indians, who had been secretly watching for their prey, uttered their savage war-whoop, and rushed upon these defenseless women and children. At this moment, Mrs. Carter and her daughter Elizabeth were a few yards from the door engaged in picking corn for dinner. Elizabeth, seeing them before the war-whoop was given, and knowing from their peculiar appearance that they were banded for war, turned to her mother and gave the alarm, but her words were scarcely uttered before she saw that beloved parent turn deadly pale, and the next moment she beheld the tomahawk buried deep in her skull. The Indians, twelve in number, then rushed into the house, where were the elder females, one of whom was confined to the bed by illness, a daughter of the same woman aged sixteen, who was also ill, the infant daughter of Mr. Carter, and five other children. One of the Indians seized the infant and dashed its brains out against the logs of the house; and the two sick women were instantly put to death with tomahawks. The man who had gone to examine the traps, hearing the shrieks of the sufferers, hastened to their defense, but had only time to discharge his gun once, before he received a death-blow from the hands of the assailants.
The Indians, having selected such of their captives as they supposed could best endure the hardships of savage life and taken the scalps from those they had killed, and also having taken the clothing and utensils which they thought would best serve their convenience, they set fire to the house, and then hurried off to their encampment a short distance from thence, on the opposite side of the creek. The captives were three children of Mr. Carter (Elizabeth, Sarah and Nathaniel), Mrs. Duncan, and three children belonging to the other family. At the encampment they found about 200 Indians, principally warriors. Several large fires were burning, around which the Indians began to regale themselves with roasted corn and other refreshments, which they had brought from the white settlement. After having freely indulged themselves in exultations at their recent success, and, night approaching, they secured their captives with cords and stretched themselves on the ground around the fires. Sarah, the eldest of the three children of Mr. Carter, appeared perfectly distracted by the circumstances of her situation. She continued crying and calling for her father to come and rescue her. The Indians several times appeared determined to silence her screams with the tomahawk. At length, when they had become buried in sleep, Sarah obtained a small brand from the fire, with which she barely succeeded in burning the cord which bound her to the savages, but leaving her hands still tied together. In this situation, and surrounded by the midnight darkness, she succeeded in finding a canoe, and loosing it from its fastenings, in which she reached the opposite bank, and, finally, found her way back to the smoking ruins of her recent home, where she gave way to the most violent lamentations. Though her cries were distinctly heard at the encampment, she was not pursued until morning, when she was retaken.
The Indians then commenced their journey through the woods, carrying their captives on horseback. After pursuing their route three days in a westerly direction, they halted and sent back a war party of about one hundred. After five or six days, the party returned with several scalps, and the horror of the unfortunate captives can scarcely be imagined, when they discovered among the number, those of Mr. Carter and Mr. Duncan. These men on returning from their labors and seeing the desolation wrought by the Indians, repaired to the nearest white settlement, and procured the aid of forty men, with whom they returned for the cattle, and with the faint hope of recovering the captives. Just as they gained the vicinity of their recent home, they were suddenly surprised by the yell of these savages and by the flight of their arrows. About half of Carter s men instantly deserted, and left their companions to fight the battle as best they could. Yet, though struggling against such fearful odds, these brave men stood their ground, till Carter found himself alone—all besides having been either killed or disabled. He had stationed himself behind a rock, and still kept up the fire until struck down by the tomahawks of the enemy. Some four or five of those wounded in the early part of the engagement succeeded in crawling so far into the forest as to elude the subsequent search of their wily foes, and at length reached their homes.
On the return of the Indian warriors to the encampment, there was great lamentation and mourning among the savages, over those of their number who had fallen in the battle, more than half of the 100 being among the slain. The Indians then recommenced their march through the woods to the residence of their nation. As nearly as the captives could recollect, they traveled several days diligently in a northwesterly direction, and at length arrived at their place of destination. Here in dark filthy huts, ornamented with the scalps of their parents and friends, separated from each other, did these lonely captives spend the long and tedious winter, in astute of almost perfect starvation. The Indians would never go abroad to obtain new supplies of food so long as one morsel remained, and then sometimes returned with little success.
Nathaniel, the youngest of the captives, having from the first been a general favorite with the Indians, was treated by them with great comparative kindness and attention, and with so much success that the little white stranger soon ceased to mourn his bereavements, and join heartily in the amusements and pastimes which they devised for the purpose of diverting him, and making sport for themselves.
Early in the spring they deserted their winter quarters and journeyed toward the lakes. After a tour of several weeks they arrived in the vicinity of Fort Niagara, where Elizabeth and Sarah were ransomed through the negotiations of Sir William Johnson. But all efforts to obtain Nathaniel were unavailing. No consideration would tempt the Indians to part with him, and, strange as it may appear, he had become so much attached to them that he would not consent to leave them. His sisters, after bidding him an affectionate and final farewell, were conveyed to Albany, where their Connecticut friends, being apprised of their ransom, met them, and they soon had the unspeakable gratification of once more visiting the home of their nativity, and of finding themselves surrounded by sympathizing friends and relatives. Yet it was long, very long, before they ceased to mourn over the dreadful scenes through which they had passed, and their sad bereavements.
The reader who has followed thus far our narrative, may feel an interest to know something of the subsequent history of the captives. Sarah Carter never fully recovered from her ill treatment and mental sufferings . Though she lived to old age, her intellect was permanently 'paired; she died in Goshen, Conn. Elizabeth was married to Mr. Benjamin Oviatt, of Goshen, and died in that town in 1835. Among her children were Mr. Luman Oviatt, of Goshen; Heiman Oviatt, Esq., an enterprising citizen of Hudson and a liberal patron of the college at that place, more recently a resident of Richfield; Mr. Nathaniel Oviatt and Mr. Salmon Oviatt. of Richfield. Nathaniel grew up among the Indians, imbibed their habits, and married one of their daughters. It is a remarkable circumstance that among the articles which the Indians carried away with their captives was a Bible, which they afterward gave to their young favorite. He had previously learned to read, and by means of this book, which he kept till manhood, he ever retained that knowledge. He died in the Cherokee nation, at the age of about seventy.
Some years later. while the foreign mission school was in operation at Cornwall. Conn., Mr. Isaac Bates, a warm friend of the school, received a letter from a missionary among the Indians, stating that he had sent on to be educated a young half-breed Indian, of fine talents and exemplary piety, named Carter, expressing a wish that he would become acquainted with him. An early acquaintance with the young man was sought by Mr. Bates, and greatly to his surprise he discovered in him a son of the long lost captive. The youth remained at the school some time, frequently visiting his relatives in that vicinity. After completing his studies, he returned to his native country with a view of there preaching the Gospel.