Three Rivers
Hudson~Mohawk~Schoharie
History From America's Most Famous Valleys

The Story of Old Fort Plain and the Middle Mohawk Valley
by Nelson Greene
O'Connor Brothers Publishers, Fort Plain, NY 1915

CHAPTER XVII.
1780, August 2-Incidents and Tragedies and Details of Brant's Minden Raid.

The Canajoharie district raid of August 2, 1780, by Indians and Tories under Brant, was made from the direction of the Susqehanna valley through the Otsquago valley and thoroughly ravaged the Dutchtown and Freysbush districts, culminating about Fort Plain. For that period, the portion of the Canajoharie district comprised in the town of Minden was thickly settled and the people fled to and crowded the forts which were so feebly defended on account of the withdrawal of the militia to convoy stores to Fort Schuyler. The maintenance of this latter exposed post, and the consequent splitting up of the defensive strength of Tryon county among so many forts, was doubtless the reason that so many terrible raids of the enemy devastated the valley, the hostile force escaping before the scattered garrisons and militia could unite for common defense.

In the Minden raid the raiders broke up into small bands, the more thoroughly to murder loot and burn. From Simms's account, it appears that the enemy remained in this section during August 2 and that night and the next day dispersed in small parties, probably toward the Susqehanna for the most part. This was done to evade pursuit by the militia then marching to Fort Plain and shows how difficult is was for the patriot Tryon county military authorities to check these forays and brings into prominence Willett's effective work in the following year, at the time of the two raids which ended in the American victories of Sharon Springs and Johnstown.

The Minden raid, in point of loss of life, prisoners taken and property destroyed takes rank as the most destructive which took place along the Mohawk during the Revolution. At German Flats, in September, 1778, 116 houses and barns were burned, but there was no loss of life with the exception of three rangers who were killed while scouting for Brant's force. It was due to the long heroic run of the noted scout Helmer to German Flats and his warning to the farmers that there was no further casualties. About the same number of barns and dwellings were burned in the Minden raid of 1780, but in addition 16 people were killed and 60 captured. The loss of stock and implements was a most serious one as it prevented the harvesting of crops and the Canajoharie district was one of the most fertile sections of the valley and was depended upon frequently for bread and foodstuffs by neighboring communities. Its defense of tour forts had previously prevented Its sacking, but its forts were useless without sufficient men and these were absent on the march to Fort Stanwix to convoy a comparatively trifling amount of stores.

In this chapter are narrated some of the personal experiences, tragedies and details of this hostile foray in Minden township. They show, as nothing else can, what these raids meant to the suffering valley people, just as the experiences of the patriot fighters at Oriskany display the horrors of Revolutionary warfare along the old New York frontier. They also give further information about the families about Fort Plain at that time and furnish some insight into the farm life of the period. They are summarized or copied from Simms's "Frontiersmen of New York."

John Rother, at this time, owned a grist mill and had a farm in the Geisenberg neighborhood. Daniel Olendort was his miller. Rother owned a big dog which barked and gave warning of the approaching Indians, on August 2. Rother seized his gun and ran for fort Plank, more than a mile away, followed by his niece. His wife hid in a flax field. As the Indians approached the house the dog set upon them furiously and they stopped to shoot him, the reports arousing several settlers and warning them of danger. The savages plundered and burned the dwellings, the first they fired in that neighborhood. Rother and his niece were chased by one Indian. Not being able to keep up with her uncle, the girl kept falling behind and the Indian gaining. The panic-stricken girl shouted "Uncle, the Indian." Rother stopped and pointed his gun at the Indian who would stop or fall back. This was repeated a dozen times until the two fugitives reached the fort. Rother was afraid to fire for had he missed, both would have been tomahawked and scalped. His wife was not discovered by the savages and also escaped.

Joseph Myers lived four miles southwest of Fort Plain. On the day of the raid, he had gone to Fort Plank to make cartridges, leaving his wife and three children, aged three, five and seven years, at home. Evan, the only girl, was five. Myers had lost a limb and wore a wooden leg. The family lived a mile from the Pothers, before mentioned, and Mrs. Rother was known as the "Doctress," as she dispensed home-made German herb remedies. Mrs. Myers sent the two oldest children to get some salve for the youngest child's head. The oldest brother said he would carry the youngest on his back to the Rothers, let the "Doctress" apply the salve, and then carry him back. Evan was allowed to accompany them. When nearly half-way they heard a gun fired and seeing Indians around Rother's house, started to run home. The savages saw them and several chased them, one of them pinning the two little boys to the ground with a bayonet as they were running pick-a-back. Evan later thought she was not scalped as she did not cry. She was picked up in the arms of an Indian and the savages went to the Myers. Mrs. Myers, hearing the gun shot at Rother's, hid and saved her life. The buildings were plundered and burned. Evan was taken to Canada with other prisoners and, on account of her tender age, was borne on the back of an Indian most of the long, tiresome journey. On their arrival at the Indian village an Indian took the girl in his arms and whipped her. The little five year old was then put on a horse led by an Indian, to run the gauntlet. She was knocked off by blows several times and put on again and was considerably hurt but did not dare cry. She was then given an Indian dress and her cheeks painted. She quickly forgot her German tongue during her life with the Indians, who found such a small white child so much trouble that they finally delivered her at Montreal for a bounty. Here she soon forgot her Indian and learned to speak English. She was long in Canada before it was learned whose child she was as she had forgotten her own name. Peter Olendorf, who was captured in the same raid, readily guessed her parentage when she said her father had a wooden leg and lived not far from a fort. Mrs. Bartlett Pickard, with a nursing child, was captured in the vicinity of Myers, and later liberated by Brant and sent home. In order to take her home, Mrs. Pickard claimed Evan was her child but the Indians were not fooled and the pretence was of no use. Mrs. Pickard arrived at Fort Plain, three days after her capture, almost famished and then Mrs. Myers first learned the fate of her daughter. Mrs. Pletts, made a prisoner on the same day in Freysbush, brought Evan back with her, on her liberation from Canada, taking a motherly care of her for which, it is unnecessary to say, her parents were ever after grateful.

David Olendorf was at work with his wife in his barn. He was pitching wheat from his wagon and his wife was mowing it away, a duty that often devolved on women during the war. When he, before the muzzle of a gun, was ordered down from the wagon, she was not in sight and, upon being asked, Olendorf said there was no one else there. A suspicious savage said, "If any one else is in the barn call them out as we are going to burn it." True to their word they did burn it and, after it was set on fire, the woman was called down from the loft, The savages also burned and plundered the house. With other prisoners, the Olendorfs were started on the long journey to Canada, suffering severe privations on the way. Soon after their journey started the Indians asked Olendorf if he could run pretty well and he said "Yes." Thereupon they told him, if he could beat their best Indian runner, he would be set at liberty and this contest the white man easily won. He soon found out why his fleetness of foot had been thus tested, for he was securely bound every night during the rest of the journey. During the dreary march he incurred the displeasure of an Indian, who threw his tomahawk at Olendorf, the blade sticking in a tree behind which the white man sprang. An old savage saved his life. On reaching Canada Olendorf and his wife were separated and he was imprisoned. He then decided to enlist in the British service and desert to his countrymen at the earliest opportunity. While on his way to the New York frontier settlements, with a raiding party under Sir John Johnson, two prisoners were brought in. Olendorf, who was then a sergeant, overheard the men talk in German and he proposed to them for all three to escape. It became his official duty to post sentinels that night which favored his design and after stationing the most distant one he took occasion on his return to lop several twigs that he might pass the outer watchman unobserved. Securing provisions, he conducted the two men outside the camp at midnight. Observing great caution, part of the time crawling on their hands and knees, the three found the broken boughs and passed all the sentinels in safety. "Now if you know the way to the settlements, lead on for we have not a moment to lose," said Olendorf. One of the captives became pilot and in a few days the trio reached Fort Plain In safety, where they were joyously received by their friends, whom they forewarned of the enemy's approach.

Mrs. Olendorf, then with child, feared longer to remain in an Indian family to which she had been taken and, watching her opportunity when the family were all drunk, to which condition she had contributed as far as possible by freely passing the liquor, she fled for refuge to the residence of an English officer for protection. The family were at first afraid to conceal her, fearing the revenge of the savages. Her condition excited their pity and they concealed her in a closet, where the Indians failed to find her on their search. On the birth of her little son, two English gentlemen acted as sponsors, from whom she had a certificate of its birth. She was finally taken to Halifax, exchanged with other prisoners, and finally reached Fort Plain over a year after her capture. The boy born in captivity, Daniel Olendorf jr., became an inn keeper in Cooperstown and his brother Peter was an inn keeper at Fort Plain. Daniel Olendorf senior was one of the scouting party which shot Walter Butler the next year at West Canada creek.

Baltus Sitts, of the Geisenberg settlement, was at work in the fields with his wife and so escaped unseen, but his building's were burned and plundered. Mary Sitts, nine years old, and her grandfather were captured. Sophia Sitts, a five-year-old, was taken by an Indian squaw in the apple orchard. After carrying the little prisoner on her back some distance, the squaw found it too hard and, setting the child on the ground, pointed to the house and told her to go back. The grandfather was taken to Fallhill where he was liberated at the intercession of the squaw named, who had doubtless received at some time some kindness or favor from the Sitts family. Mary Sitts was taken to Canada, adopted into an Indian family and ever after remained there. A few years later her father went after her and found her, in everything but color, a veritable squaw. No persuasion could induce her to return and she later became the wife of an Indian, at whose death she married a white man and remained in Canada.

According to Simms, Sophia Sitts was living near Hallsville in 1882, being then at the age of 107 years. Simms says she then distinctly remembered her own and her sister's capture and says she was then five, placing her birth Oct. 6, 1774. This would make her the person living to the oldest known age in the history of the valley. In February, 1883, Mrs. Sitts was still living, being then 108 years old. There is no record of her death, to the writer's knowledge, but she probably passed away soon after. Few women are said to have done so much hard work in their lifetime as this centenarian and for many years she was considered one of the best binders ever seen in a wheat field. Sophia Sitts had three husbands, William Livingston, Joseph Pooler and Jacob Wagner.

Another similar case to that of Mary Sitts is that of Christina Bettinger, taken prisoner near Hallsville. Her father, Martin, was with the militia on the expedition to Fort Schuyler and her mother was taken prisoner, with six children, but was liberated after the party had gone a short distance. Among all the demoniac savagery, which loved to murder and torture human beings of the tenderest years and of tottering age and all the periods between, Brant's periods of clemency and humanity stand out peculiarly. He evidently protected his former friends as much as possible and he decried the fiendish savagery of Walter Butler and his like. There were other Indians somewhat like him. Christina Bettinger, 7 years old, was not at the house but was captured by another party and taken to Canada. She was not exchanged at the end of the war, and a few years later her father found her. He found her living among squaws and practically one of them. She was identified by the scar of a dog bite on her arm. She was given a small cake, baked and sent her by her mother, which touched her sensibility even to tears. She refused to return home and is believed to have married an Indian and, uncouth and uncivilized as she was, remained in her isolated wilderness adopted home. A family of Ecklers, residing near Bettingers, were also captured.

Three brothers, John, Sebastian and Matthias Shaul, then resided at Van Hornesville and were all captured and taken to Canada. Frederick Bronner, living nearby, secreted himself under an untanned cowhide, and so escaped capture. The women and children here were allowed to return home by Brant, shortly after. Jacob Bronner, George Snouts and Peter Casselman were captured by the enemy near Fort Plank. After the raid nine settlers without coffins were buried at this post.

The following is copied verbatim from Simms, as probably representative of family border experiences:

George Lintner was among the pioneer residents of that part of the Canajoharie settlements known as Geisenberg in the present town of Minden, tour miles from Fort Plain. On the 2d day of August, Lintner went early in the day to Fort Plank, a mile or two distant, to perform some duty. At the end of only a few hours he learned from the signal guns of the neighboring forts, as also from the constant discharge of firearms, which he believed in the hands of the enemy, that the invaders of the territory were numerous and would doubtless find every habitation in the district. The arrival of Rother and his niece and probably other fugitives at this post, told him of the possible fate of his own family, but he dared not proceed thither alone and Fort Plank was too feebly garrisoned to afford a sallying party. His family consisted of a wife and five children, their ages ranging at about 15, 11, 8 and 6 years and an infant of a few months; and being now unable to afford them needed assistance caused him many an anxious thought and fearful foreboding. The names of these children in which their ages stand were, Albert, Elizabeth, John and Abram. During the forenoon, Mrs. Lintner and her children had heard the frequent discharge of guns in the neighborhood but did not suspect it proceeded from the enemy until noon, when they had seated themselves at the dinner table. The mother then began to feel disquieted and said: "My children we are eating our dinner here and the Indians might come and murder us before we are aware of it." As she said this she arose from the table and opened the door; and Instantly she saw a sight that almost curdled the blood in her veins. Scarcely a mile distant she saw a thick cloud of smoke, and at once recognized it as coming from the root of Rother's grist mill, while In the next moment she heard the discharge of several guns which the enemy had fired into a flock of sheep near the mill. Such omens could not be misconstrued, and snatching her infant child she fled from the house, followed by the other children, down a steep bank into the woods just beyond. Scarcely had they gained this covert when the Indians entered the house and found the table ready for dinner; and, not finding the family in the house, they fired into and then searched the bushes through which the family had passed a few minutes before. Their firing told the fugitives they had not fled one moment too soon. Dispatching the dinner so opportunely provided for them, they plundered and set fire to the house, and only remaining long enough to be sure it would burn, they left it to pay a similar visit to some other dwelling. After Mrs. Lintner had found a favorable place of concealment she discovered that Abram, her six-year-old boy, had become separated from the party, and although she felt a mother's anxiety for his safety, she dared not make a search for him. The lad found his way back to the house well on fire, evidently soon after the Indians left It and had sufficient presence of mind to pull the cradle out of doors. He remained about there all the afternoon and as night came on he dragged the cradle into a pig sty, still standing on the premises, in which he slept that night, too young to apprehend danger. The three oldest children, two boys and a girl, wended their way late in the day to Fort Clyde, which they reached in safety. Mrs. Lintner, with her infant child, remained that night under a hollow tree not far from her late home. A family dog was with her and several times in the evening its bark was answered by another which she supposed belonged to the enemy and which she feared might betray her hiding place. After a night of fearful solicitude, she made her way in safety to Fort Clyde, to find the children who had gained it the evening before. On the morning after he left his home of cheerful contentment, Lintner, having heard no alarm guns, ventured, as early as he dared to go, to learn the fate of his family. Finding his dwelling down, he approached its site with fearful apprehension, but, after careful examination of the debris in which he could find no charred remains, he became satisfied that the family had not been murdered in the house; and while still searching the premises, if possible to learn their fate, he discovered his little boy in an adjoining field following some cattle, evidently not knowing what else to do. He asked him where his mother and the other children were, when he began to cry, being unable to give any account of them except that they ran into the bushes back of the house. The father, having become satisfied that if the remainder of the family were not prisoners on the road to Canada, they might have reached Fort Clyde. Taking the hand of his little boy, thither he directed his steps; where to their great joy, the family were again united; when Mrs. Lintner, in German, expressed her gratitude as follows: "Obwhol wir nun Alles verboren haben ausser den Kleidern die wir auf den Liebe tragen, so fuhl ich mich doch reicher als jezmor in meinen Leben!" ("Now, although, we have lost everything but the clothes we have on, I feel richer than I ever did before in all my life!")

Within a short distance of Fort Ehle (a mile or more south of Canajoharie) Brant's raiders surprised and killed Adam Eights and took captive to Canada, Nathan Foster and Conrad Fritcher.

John Abeel was born in Albany about 1724. He was an Indian trader among the Senecas where he met the "beautiful daughter of a Seneca chief" and by her had a son who became the celebrated Cornplanter. He was forced by Sir William Johnson to give up his business among the Iroquois because his traffic in rum produced so much drunkenness and misery among them. In or shortly after 1756 he settled at the beginning of the Dutchtown road in the Sand Hill section and built himself a stone house. His grandson, Jacob Abeel, built here the present substantial brick house about 1860. John Abeel settled upon lands secured by patent to Rutger Bleecker, Nicholas Bleecker, James Delancey and John Haskoll, in 1729. They secured 4,300 acres in a body along the Mohawk on each side of the Otsquago and extending up the creek several miles. In 1759 John Abeel married Mary Knouts. At the time of the Minden raid, Abeel was captured by the Indians. He was taken on the flats, between the house and the river. The family were preparing dinner and the table was set with food upon it, when an alarm gun at Fort Plain caused the women and children to run to that nearby shelter. Arriving at the Abeel house and finding a good dinner before them, the savages sat down and finished it. Some of the Indians brought out food and sat upon a wagon, which stood before the door to eat it. Henry Seeber, who was in the fort and had a good gun, took a shot at them although they were almost out of range. There was a commotion among them immediately and they scattered at once. Some of them fired the dwelling before leaving. As bloody rags were found about later it was evident that Seeber's bullet found a mark. It is believed that Cornplanter did not know of his father's captivity under several hours, when some war parties came together not very distant from the river. He had not been a prisoner long when he asked in the Indian tongue: "What do you mean to do with me?" This led at once to the inquiry as to his name and where he learned the Indian language. These things becoming known, among the savages, it was not long before Abeel was confronted by a chief of commanding figure and manner, who addressed him: "You, I understand, are John Abeel, once a trader among the Senecas. You are my father. My name is John Abeel, or Gy-ant-wa-chia, the Cornplanter. I am a warrior and have taken many scalps. You are now my prisoner but you are safe from all harm. Go with me to my home in the Seneca country and you shall be kindly cared for. My strong arm shall provide you with corn and venison. But if you prefer to go back among your pale-faced friends, you shall be allowed to do so, and I will send an escort of trusty Senecas to conduct you back to Fort Plain." The chief's father chose to return, and early in the evening a party of Senecas left him near the fort. At the close of the war Abeel erected another house on the site of his burned dwelling. The trader had shown signs of insanity even prior to the war, and after that time, in one of his spells of insane anger, shot one of his negro slaves through the head, killing him. Neighbors went to arrest him but he seated himself in his door with his rifle and threatened to shoot the first one who attempted his arrest. At the first opportunity he was taken in charge but was not put on trial for the murder, as his unbalanced condition was so marked. As there were no asylums in those days, he was chained to the floor in a room of his own house. Abeel had periodical fits of being very ugly and troublesome and, on such occasions, he would clank his chain and continue a kind of Indian war dance nearly all night. He was handed his food through a small hole with a slide door cut in the wall. As he advanced in years and became enfeebled he was allowed to wander about his farm, and on one of his rambles, he was gored to death by a bull. His death was recorded by Rev. D. C. A. Pick of the Reformed Dutch church of Canajoharie (now Fort Plain), as follows: "John Abeel, gestorben den 1 December, 1794, alt 70; beerdigt den ejusd mensis anni alt in Michael."- John Abeel died 1 December, 1794, buried the 3, same week, same month and year; aged In the day of St. Michael 70 years.

One of the numerous small bands, into which Brant divided his force to make destruction more complete, visited the home of John Knouts in Freysbush. The site of the Knouts dwelling may still be seen in the apple orchard on the premises formerly owned by Josiah Roof. Here are also the graves of Mrs. Knouts and her children, slain by the Indians. Knouts was made here a prisoner and murdered on the way north after the savages left the settlement. When the Indians entered the house, Mrs. Knouts was busy outside it and hearing the outcries of her children inside, she ran up just in time to see one of them tomahawked. While begging for her other children's lives, she was struck down and scalped with the other two children. Henry, a boy of eight or ten, was taken from the house, presumably by a Tory neighbor, around the corner and told to run for his life. This he did but was seen by an Indian, struck with a tomahawk, scalped and left for dead. On the day following a party went from Fort Clyde to bury these victims, when they found this little boy still alive and able to tell of the tragedy of the day before. He was an intelligent child and said he was running to get back of the barn and so into the woods. He said: "I should have escaped but an Indian met me between the house and the barn, who knocked me on the head with his hatchet and pulled out my hair," meaning that he had been scalped, of the details of which operation he was evidently ignorant. This brave little Knouts boy was taken to Fort Clyde and carefully treated and, after his wounds had nearly healed, he took cold and died. The mother was found lying in the door yard with the three children murdered with her in her arms. Thus Indians sometimes disposed of their slain, before firing a dwelling, as supposed to strike the greater terror to living witnesses of their hellish cruelty. Her scalp was hanging on a stake, where the Indians had left it, evidently having forgotten it in their great haste to surprise other families. There is a tradition that the Indian who slew her took from her hand a ring having on it a Masonic emblem, discovering which he said: "Had I known the squaw had on such a ring, I would not have harmed her." It is needless to say the buildings on the Knouts place were burned and thus an entire family and their home were wiped out by almost incredible savagery. John Abeel, the Indian trader mentioned elsewhere, had married a Knouts girl, who was probably a relative of this family.

In the general destruction of the Dutchtown settlements in Minden, to the surprise of everyone, the house of George Countryman remained unharmed, since it was well known that there was not a more staunch Whig in the neighborhood. The circumstance remained a mystery until the close of the war. He had a brother who had followed the Butlers and Johnsons to Canada, who was with the Minden marauders. He was a married man and, supposing his wife was at his brother's house, induced the raiders to spare it. After the war this brother in Canada wrote George Countryman that had be known at the time that his own wife was not in it, he would have seen that smoke with the rest.

The house of Johannes Lipe, very near Fort Plain, was saved from plunder and fire by the courage and presence of mind of his wife. She had been busy all the evening carrying her most valuable articles from her house to a place of concealment in the ravine nearby. The last time she returned she met two prowling Indians at the gate. She was familiar with their language and, without any apparent alarm, enquired of them it they knew anything of her two brothers who were among the Tories who had fled to Canada. Fortunately the savages had seen them at Oswegatchie and, supposing her to be a Tory likewise, they walked off and the house was spared.

The families of Freysbush who were accustomed to seek safety in Fort Clyde were Nellis, Yerdon, Garlock, Radnour, Dunckel, Wormuth, Miller, Lintner, Walrath, Lewis, Wolfe, Falling, Schreiber, Ehle, Knouts, Westerman, Brookman, Young, Yates and a few others. From the Knouts house the savages went to the home of Johan Steffanis Schreiber, who discovered them approaching and made his escape. They made prisoners of his wife and two or three small children and led them into captivity, a fact recorded on a family powder horn, which is now owned by the state.

Nancy Yerdon was married to George Pletts and lived on a farm owned in 1882 by Philip Falling. She had given birth to twins a few months previous, one of whom had died, and had several other children. The family were living at Nancy's father's house, that of John Caspar Yerdon. On the day of the raid she went to the vicinity of a spring at some distance to dig potatoes for dinner, leaving her nursing child in a cradle in the house. While at work an Indian made her a prisoner and hurried her away to where other captives were being rounded up. The Yerdon house, for some reason, was not approached. After several small war parties were assembled, with their captives, a shower came up and the party took refuge behind a haystack. Here the savages conferred and decided to kill their prisoners it they had to abandon them. Mrs. Pletts, as the weather was warm, was clad only in an undergarment and a skirt, not even having on the accustomed short gown of that period, and thus scantily clad was compelled to travel all the way to Canada. The infant left in the cradle was named Elizabeth and grew up and married Henry Hurdick, who was a jockey on
the local race-tracks of that day. Maria Strobeck, a "sprightly girl just entering her teens," was also captured with her father at a clearing where they had gone to get some ashes near the Failing farm in the vicinity of Mrs. Pletts, and went with the party as the latter did to Canada. On their way to Canada, Mrs. Pletts and the Strobeck girl, toward whom the former acted as a foster mother, were scantily fed. On her return, Mrs. Pletts told her friends that on their long, weary journey they came to a brook in which they caught several small fish which they ate raw, and, although they were wriggling in their mouths, they proved a luxury. On arriving in the Canadian country, they were taken into separate Indian families; and, finding many unclean dishes, Mrs. Pletts, who was a tidy woman, voluntarily scoured them clean and kept them so. This act very much pleased the Indians, who treated her afterward with marked kindness. She felt it still her duty to keep a parental eye on Miss Strobeck. Finding her romping with the young Indians, the married woman tried to persuade her to leave them, but "she was so happy with them she would give no heed to the counsel of Mrs. Pletts. Indeed she became so infatuated with the novelty of Indian life that she could not be persuaded to be included in the exchange of prisoners and did not return with Mrs. Pletts when she might. Some six or eight years after the war, her father journeyed to Canada and found her, but she could not be prevailed upon to return home with him; and it was supposed she subsequently took an Indian husband and remained there." While among the Indians, Mrs. Pletts was given a sewing needle, which she boasted of using for years after her return and which she prized very highly. Among the prisoners who came back from Canada were Mrs. Pletts and John Peter Dunckel. Years later, when they were well along in years and were then widow and widower, they concluded to unite their fortunes, and came on foot to Dominie Gros, who then lived In Freysbush. And so they were married and none of the ten grown-up children of the couple by former marriages, objected or ever considered this unconventional marriage of the old folks as a runaway match. It was an agreeable pastime for the young to hear this old couple relate stories of the war, their own perils included.

Mrs. Dyonisius Miller was made a prisoner in the Freysbush settlement. She had with her a small nursing child. She was placed on a horse, which was led by an Indian to Canada. Although the savages generally came down in large bodies, they usually returned in small parties; and prisoners taken near together often journeyed with different captives, some of them not meeting again until their return. As the party of which Mrs. Miller was one became straitened for food, she had but little nourishment for her infant child and, as it cried from weariness and hunger, an Indian more than once came back, hatchet in hand to kill it, but pressing it to her breast, she would not afford him the desired opportunity. Indians dislike intensely the sound of a crying child. To save her darling, Mrs. Miller kept almost constantly nursing it or attempting to, until her breast became so sore as to cause her great agony. But she saved the life of the infant girl and brought it back safely to her old home, when released. This child, when grown to womanhood, married William Dygert.

Henry Nellis lived near Fort Clyde, upon whose land the post was erected, with his son, George H. Nellis. The latter became a general of militia and man of considerable prominence at a later day. On the day of the raid they both fled to the tort pursued by a party of Indians. At a shot the son caught his foot in some obstruction and fell, his father thinking him killed. The younger man jumped up and both got inside the stockade in safety. A bullet hole through the son's hat showed that the fall had saved his life.

Adam Garlock was riding his horse, when the beast scented the Indians, as horses frequently did in those days. Garlock, thus warned, saw a party of Indians approaching, wheeled his horse about and galloped in safety to Fort Clyde amid a storm of bullets. "This circumstance is said to have aided him in procuring a $40 pension, of which bounty he felt quite proud."

At this invasion of the enemy Elizabeth Garlock was scalped and left for dead on the river road above Fort Plain. She supposed the deed was done by a Tory named Countryman, who had been a former neighbor. He was painted as an Indian. Tories were often called "blue-eyed Indians." Elizabeth Garlock recovered and later married Nicholas Phillips and died at Vernon, N. Y., at the age of 80 years.

John, son of Thomas Casler, who was an early settler of Freysbush, was captured. On the way to Canada, the prisoners were bound to trees nights and one night the carelessness of the Indians set the leaves on fire. As the flames neared Casler, he called to the savages to release him. A Tory, in the raiding party, named Bernard Frey, who knew the prisoner well, said to burn up." The red men, however, were more humane and saved Casler. A night or two later Casler escaped and, rightly supposing the savages would search for him on the back track, he ran back a short distance and hid to one side of the route. Here he remained while his foes pursued him back and until their return. Then in safety he returned to the ashes of his home. Casler always said, in after life, that he would shoot Bernard Frey on sight, such was the feeling engendered among next-door neighbors around Fort Plain by this murderous warfare. Casler entertained no love for the Indians and, during a subsequent deer hunting trip killed a red man on a Schoharie mountain.

Warner Dygert was murdered on his farm at the west end of the Canajoharie district. He was a brother-in-law of Gen. Nicholas Herkimer, and kept a tavern at Fall Hill. Dygert, with his son Suffrenas, started out to make a corn crib, carrying a gun as was the universal custom in those days. His movements were watched by tour Indians. He set down his gun and, with his tinder box and flint, lit his pipe. Just then he was shot down and scalped. The little boy was taken to Canada, finally returning in the same party with Mrs. Pletts and Mr. Dunckel, before mentioned and other captives from the Canajoharie district. The younger Dygert finally removed to Canada.

Jacob Nellis of Dutchtown was journeying to Indian Castle on the day of the raid. He was shot down opposite East Canada creek. His father, who was called the oldest man of the name, saved himself by a ruse. As the Indians approached the house, the old man shouted at the top of his voice: "Here they are boys' March up! March up!" and the savages fled, fearing the house was fortified. A German doctor and his wife, named Frank, were killed in Dutchtown. Frederick Countryman was stabbed with a spear nineteen times and killed. Brant expressed regret at this and coming up and seeing the corpse made the typical Indian remark: "It is as it is, but it it had not been, it should not happen." An old man named House was captured and killed because the savages thought him too old to bother with on the Canadian march. A girl named Martha House was captured thinly clad and taken to Canada, reaching there after the long, hard journey in an almost naked condition. Her Indian captor treated her kindly. On her return she married a man named Staley, who had also been a Canadian captive.

Regarding Brant, during this raid the following comes from an early writer, Rev, Dr. Lintner, born in the locality and who knew the people and circumstances: "He [Brant] occasionally exhibited traits of humanity which were redeeming qualities of his character. On the evening of the day when the Canajoharie settlement was destroyed by the Indians, some 12 or 16 women were brought in as prisoners. Brant saw their distress and his
heart was touched with compassion. While the Indians were regaling themselves over their plunder-dancing and yelling around their camp fires, Brant approached the little group of terror-stricken prisoners and said: 'Follow me!' They expected to be led to instant death but he conducted them through the darkness of the dreadful night to a place in the woods some distance from the Indian camp, where he ordered them to sit down and keep still until the next day, when the sun should have reached a mark which he made on a tree, and then they might return home. He then left them. The next morning, a little before break of day, he came again and made another mark higher on the tree and told them they must not set out till the sun had reached that mark; for some of his Indians were still back, and if they met them they would be killed. They remained according to his directions and then they safely returned to the settlement." The Rev. Mr. Lintner said in a historical address: "Much of the bitter feeling which existed in this country against the mother country, after the Revolution, was engendered by that inhuman policy which instigated the savages to make war upon us with the tomahawk and scalping knife. The bounty offered for scalps was horrible. It stimulated the savages to acts of barbarity and was revolting to the moral feelings and social sympathies of all civilized peoples."

There is at least one personal experience related of a soldier who probably accompanied Gansevoort's troops to Fort Schuyler, which expedition resulted in the Canajoharie district raid. In the spring of 1780 Jacob Shew went for one of "a class," as then termed, in Capt. Garret Putman's company, for the term of nine months, part of which time he was on duty at Fort Plank. The ranger service often called troops from one post to another. Shew was one of a guard of about a dozen men sent with a drove of cattle from Fort Plain to Fort Schuyler. While encamped near the village of Mohawk they were fired upon in the dark and several Americans were wounded. The fire was promptly returned and there was no reply from the enemy. Shew was also one of a guard sent up the Mohawk with several boats loaded with provisions and military stores. These boats, at that time, were usually laden at Schenectady and came to Fort Plain, where an armed guard was detailed to escort them up the valley. The troops went along the shore and at the rapids had to assist in getting the boats along, which were laid up nights, the boatmen encamping on the shore with the guard.

The tactics of these British and Indian raids was to destroy the supplies of Tryon county patriots and crumple back the frontier. During the whole war no deadlier blow, in this direction, was struck than that whose force centered in Minden around Fort Plain. Fort Plain must have been a scene of tragedy enough to wring the stoutest heart. It was manned by a tiny garrison which feared, at any time, its utter annihilation and filled with men, women and children, all of whom had lost their homes and many of whom mourned part or all of their families as dead or captured. Their grief was not mitigated by resentment toward the stupid act of the officials who had left unguarded one of the richest granaries of the opulent valley, to insure the safety of a few boat loads of provisions and supplies.

What was true of Fort Plain was also true of the other posts of the Canajoharie district, Forts Windecker, Plank and Clyde. Fort Willett was not then constructed. They were all crowded with the survivors of their neighborhoods. The Canajoharie district was thickly settled for that time and that portion of it comprised within the present town of Minden was particularly so, with its fertile Freysbush and Dutchtown sections. It was owing to the very complete chain of fortifications hereabouts that the greater part of the population escaped massacre. The people of Palatine also gathered in Fort Paris and Fort Kyser, and all up and down the valley, the population, left undefended by the absence of their military force, fled to neighboring forts. The fortified and palisaded farmhouses must almost have been crowded by a panic-stricken population and it was only these few well-defended places that escaped destruction.

Simms gives an account of the fortified houses of this section which are here summarized as follows:

In Canajoharie township: Fort Ehle; Van Alstine house (now called, for some unknown reason. Fort Rennselaer); Fort Falling.

In Palatine: Fort Frey, Fort Wagner, Fort Fox. In St. Johnsville: Fort Hess, Fort Klock, Fort Nellis, Fort Timmerman, Fort House (a little below East Creek).

Simms gives no similar list of the Minden fortified houses.

William Irving Walter of St. Johnsville, in a letter to the Fort Plain Standard under date of December 19, 1912, says of the Minden raid:

"The raiders, after their work of massacre and rapine, camped at a ravine a little to the west of Starkvllle, still known locally as Camp Creek, where they intended to rest a few days and recruit for their long trip on the return." Brant's stay here was shortened by the approach of the militia, but at least part of his force was in the Minden vicinity two or three days. This shows the retreat of the Tory and Indian force to have been back up the Otsquago valley to the headwaters of the Susquehanna and from thence into the Iroquois country.

Simms says that Fort Plain became the headquarters of the neighboring valley forts In 1780. Whether it was such at the time of the Minden raid is not known. Here a military escort took charge of the convoys of supplies brought up the valley on flatboats, as before stated. This would necessitate a garrison larger than at the ordinary post and the American valley commander would naturally select the post, with the largest garrison and a central location, as his headquarters, Fort Plain was the most centrally located post in the valley and it was also the point where the guard for the boats was located, so that it is probable it was the headquarters on August 2, 1780.

Mrs. W. W. Crannell, an Albany writer, in her "Grandmother's Childhood Tales," gives a picture which might well pass and may well be that of a Minden family during the night of the raid of August 2, 1780. This account also gives a picture of a Mohawk valley farm house in the early nineteenth century and the whole is here included:

Seventeen miles from my own home in the county of Herkimer, was situated the old home in which my mother was born. With the exception of Santa Claus, there was nothing looked forward to so eagerly, or from which we anticipated so much pleasure as the semi-annual visit to this old homestead. After we left the main road, we drove along a private road or lane, that made its way from one main road to another; a sort of short cut of two or three miles, through the lands of several farmers whose houses were built, as the farmhouses of that period were wont to be, in the center of the farm. When we reached the dooryard, we unbarred the gate and drove through a flock of hissing geese and quacking ducks, up to the back or porch door. The noise of the geese would call grandmother to the door, and her bright, cherry face, crowned with its wealth of snowy, white hair, would appear at the upper halt of the door, which was flung open while her trembling fingers were unfastening the lower half. How well I remember the old house, with its porch or "stoop," through which we passed Into the "living room." The red beams overhead were filled with pegs, upon which were hung braided ears of corn, stumps of dried apples, or other homely articles which had not been put in winter quarters yet. And then the fire-place-such corn and potatoes as we roasted in its ashes. How often we sat before its cheerful blaze and drank sweet cider and ate apples, while we listened to our elders' tales, until Morpheus wooed us to his embrace. And what fun it was to climb into bed. First to pull the curtains back, and then throw down the blue and white spread, the flannel and the linen sheets, all homespun. If it was cold, the warming pan was placed between the sheets, and then, getting upon a chair, we stept upon the chest near the bed, and with the aid of mother and a "one, two, three," in we went, down, down, down into the soft warm feather beds. Did we ever sleep such a sleep as that in after years?

But I digress; this is not what I set out to relate. When mother and aunts were out visiting the neighbors then grandmother (Nancy Keller), taking knitting, would sit down before the fire and talk of her girlhood.

"Those were hard and dreadful times," she would say. "Some of them I do not remember, as I was a baby when they transpired, but my mother (Moyer) told me that often she would wake up in the middle of the night and the sound of a horn, and a man's voice crying out 'To arms! to arms!' Father would run for his musket, and mother would take me in her arms and, with my two brothers clinging to her dress, start for her shelter in the woods. All the farmers had some place of safety for their families to run to in case of an alarm. Ours was a hollow place in the woods between some trees. It was just big enough for us to lie down in, and the boughs and underbrush at the sides had been arranged to hide it from the savage eye. One night we had gained the place in safety, our way to the woods being lighted by fires from burning hay-stacks and buildings. I had been ill and I moaned and cried, while my brothers lay down as close to mother's side as possible. All at once we heard soft foot falls on the leafy ground; then an Indian passed quickly with a lighted torch, then another and another; how many was never known for we could see them so plainly through the boughs placed over us, that we closed our eyes in tear and scarcely breathed. Yes 'we,' for I ceased crying and nestled close on mother's breast. How long did we lie there? We never knew. Measured by what we endured it was ages before we heard father's voice calling, 'All right, come out,' and what must mother have suffered? Every gun shot might be the death call of her husband; every footfall and quick passing shadow, be death personified for her. And when the footfall ceased near her hiding place and the shadow remained stationary, when one cry of the baby in her arms or the children at her side were messengers of instant and horrible death; when at last the shadow started and the feet gave a headlong bound, and a fearful whoop rang out upon the stillness about her; what wonderful control of her nerves she must have had, not to betray her presence by the least movement, and how well we learned, even to the baby to sustain a rigid silence."

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