Anderson and Osterhout

Just before the beginning of the Revolution, there was a tavern kept at Lackawack by a widow lady. This was frequented by Indians as well as white men. The widow had a son by her first husband, whose name was Caleb Osterhout. Either Caleb or a friend of his, George Anderson, had at one time offended the Indians by advising her not to sell them any more liquor, and the latter determined on revenge. Awaiting a favorable opportunity when these men were both at this tavern over night, some Indians entered, took them prisoners, and carried them off in triumph. While the struggle was going on, the woman fled from the house with no other covering than her night clothes; she was out all night in the woods and in a shower of rain. The next day she made her way to Wawarsing and gave the alarm, when a party was sent off in pursuit.

George Anderson could understand the Indian dialect, and he gathered from their conversation that they had determined to scalp Osterhout, as he was in poor health and not able to travel fast. They said his scalp would fetch more than he would be worth alive. Anderson made known this decision to his companion, and endeavored to nerve him to the point of making a desperate effort to escape. That night, providentially, an opportunity offered. The Indians had partaken of their supper, secured the prisoners for the night, and had lain down by the side of the camp-fire. A knife had been accidentally dropped by the savages, which Anderson surreptitiously covered with leaves. The knife was missed, and search was made for it; but not finding it readily the search was given up. Fatigued by the day's march, the Indians were soon wrapped in a deep sleep.

This was their opportunity. By the faint light of the flickering embers, Anderson found the knife and cut the thongs that bound his fellow-prisoner, and was in turn freed from his fastenings; the next thing was to dispatch the Indians, and each took a hatchet and prepared for the work. Anderson commenced, but he was in such haste that he only partially stunned his first victim, who rose up and fell into the fire. His next blow killed the second Indian instantly. Osterhout had failed in his attempt upon the third Indian, and Anderson crossed over to the other side of the fire and dispatched him. In the meantime Osterhout had pulled the first Indian out of the fire, instead of killing him. His conduct can only be explained in that he was, for the moment, unnerved and excited by the circumstances in which they were situated.

Two squaws were with the Indians; they were awakened by the noise, ran off and made the woods resound with their frantic yells.

One tradition of this event says, it was agreed between Osterhout and Anderson that the former should kill the squaws and the latter the Indians. Could this have been effected, it would have rendered the position of the white men more secure. As it was, they were well aware the squaws would waste no time in informing other Indians who were lurking in the vicinity. They would soon be upon their track like veritable bloodhounds; and should they be so unfortunate as to fall into the hands of the wages after having murdered three of their number, they were well aware that the most fearful torture that savage ingenuity could invent would speedily be visited upon them.

Incited by this reflection to the most strenuous efforts, and encouraged by what they had already accomplished, they speedily made their preparations for returning home. They first appropriated the provisions of the slaughtered Indians, and other articles that might prove useful to them in their journey. As their route lay through an unbroken wilderness, traversed by bands of hostile Indians, the utmost circumspection was necessary on the part of the escaping captives.

Continued

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