320 



HISTORY OF STEUBEN COUNTY, NEW YORK. 



their indomitable energy they overcame every obstacle, and 

 carried their precious freight safely to " Newtown." But 

 the victory was not then half won ; it was then, as now, 

 much easier to go with the current than against the cur- 

 rent (whether the stream be water or corrupt public senti- 

 ment) ; but energy and will generally succeed, and so did 

 our energetic pioneers. These journeys " to mill" occupied 

 weeks of exhausting toil. We may well imagine that the 

 new mills were hailed with joy, and that their owner was re- 

 garded as a benefactor, as he truly was in more respects 

 than one. He was a man of great energy of character, and 

 grappled heroically with the difficulties of frontier life. He 

 had always a helping hand to extend to the struggling poor. 

 It is said of him that at a time of great scarcity of grain, 

 when he had about all there was within twenty miles in 

 every direction, a man of considerable wealth came to him 

 and asked him if he had grain to sell. '' Yes," said the 

 Judge, ''have you got the money to pay for it?" The 

 man somewhat indignantly replied, "Fes, sir P' "Well, 

 then," said the Judge, " take your money and go where 

 they have it to sell ; I must keep mine for poor men who 

 cannot go away after it." 



For seventeen years, Judge Hornell was the life of the 

 settlement and the embodiment of its history. Endowed 

 with a liberal mind, and a kind and generous heart, he was 

 a good citizen, a warm friend, and an honorable man. He 

 was called by the people to fill many important trusts, and 

 was one of the associate judges of the county. He died 

 and was buried on the eminence just west of and overlook- 

 ing the village, leaving a " name and a memory that his 

 friends will not willingly let die." His widow survived him 

 nearly thirty years. A plain marble slab, reared by the 

 loving hand of a daughter (whose kindness in sickness and 

 trouble many can never forget, and who has herself passed 

 from earth), marks their resting-place. It bears the fol- 

 lowing inscription : 



"aEORGE AND MARTHA HORNELL, 



"pioneers and founders of hornellsville. 

 "They spread their tent in the wilderness, 1794, and built them a 

 vineyard, but the Master called them home ere they gathered the 

 fruit." 



A writer adds this comment : 



" As we stand on that eminence and look far off over the 

 broad valley of the Canisteo, with its busy thousands, and 

 hear the rush of the locomotives, as they speed by on either 

 hand, jarring the sacred resting-place of the pioneers, and 

 watch the breezes waving the ripening grain of their de- 

 scendants, while from the old mill to the river in the distance 

 comes up the hum of the busy mart now peopled with 

 strangers, we cannot but repeat, ^^Ere they gathered the 

 fruity 



THE INDIANS. 



The Indians had cleared here and there a small spot all 

 along the Canisteo Valley. There was scarcely a farm on 

 the flats but had some portion bearing marks of Indian 

 cultivation. Old corn-hills, although covered with a thick 

 sward of grass, were plainly to be seen by the early settlers. 

 They did not, however, at the time of which we are speak- 

 ing, cultivate the lands, but still kept possession of their old 



hunting- and fishing-grounds. They were quite as fond of 

 dignity and titles as were their pale-faced brothers. There 

 were Col. Shongo, of Wyoming notoriety. Tall Chief, and 

 Tall John, Clump Foot, and Yankee John, who called 

 himself " Capt. John," the Jamesons, sons of the white 

 woman captive, and a great many other celebrities. These 

 sons of the forest had acquired a fondness for the " fire- 

 water" of the pale-face, and under its influence had become 

 so much the counterpart of their instructors, that their 

 presence was neither agreeable nor safe. But there was 

 one feature in their drunken revels which it would have 

 been well for their professedly more civilized neighbors to 

 have adopted. They invariably kept one or more of their 

 number sober, who generally succeeded in saving them from 

 fines and lock-ups, and their white neighbors from serious 

 injury. 



In 1812 and 1813 there was great dread of the Indians. 

 They had a great many warriors in the valley of the Gen- 

 esee, and it was greatly feared they might be induced to 

 take up the hatchet against their intruding white neighbors, 

 but they finally embarked in our cause and became our 

 allies. It was in this service that the chief Shongo ob- 

 tained the title of colonel. This chief had borne an active 

 part in the Wyoming raid, and was well known by many of 

 the settlers in this valley. Aunt Olive Stephens (mother 

 of Mrs. Dr. Olin) was a captive among them. Her mother 

 was shot down by her side, and she herself escaped death 

 almost miraculously. None knew Shongo better than Maj. 

 Van Campen, of Angelica, father of Mrs. Eev. Robert 

 Hubbard, the late Mrs. George Lockhart, and the late Mrs. 

 Samuel Mulhollen. Van Campen could not forget the 

 horrors and sufi'erings of Wyoming, where men, women, 

 and children were the victims of savage barbarity, and he 

 retained a deadly hostility towards the perpetrators, many 

 of whom he recognized as they roamed over their hunting- 

 fields of the Allegany and Steuben forests. Shongo and 

 the major were foes by mutual consent, and were each on 

 the watch for the other, especially on their hunting excur- 

 sions. It happened in one of these tours that each discov- 

 ered the other at about the same moment, and each availed 

 himself of the shelter of a large tree as a fortress behind 

 which to fight. They both stood for a few moments, neither 

 daring to expose himself to the sure shot of his antagonist's 

 rifle, when the major finally resorted to a ruse to bring out 

 his savage foe. He very carefully slipped his ramrod under 

 his hat and quietly carried the hat out till the keen eye of 

 the savage caught sight of it. Instantly a ball from 

 Shongo's rifle struck the hat, and Shongo jumped from his 

 hiding-place, but only to find himself a victim of the supe- 

 rior cunning of the white man. He as speedily sprang 

 behind his fortress and commenced reloading his rifle ; in 

 this act he dropped something and thoughtlessly stooped 

 to pick it up. Now was Yan Campen's opportunity, and a 

 bullet from his rifle convinced the savage chief that his foe 

 was a sure shot. The ball struck the fleshy part of the 

 Indian's thigh, and, although not fatal, it extorted a terri- 

 ble savage yell with which the discomfited chief beat a 

 hasty retreat into the thick woods. Van Campen did not 

 choose to pursue him. 



Deacon Thacher, from whose " Reminiscences" most of 



