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in a newspaper, stating that an unpaid warrant on the treasury has been presented to

Sou, dated February 14, 1793, for $17.45, bearing 6 per cent interest, in favor of Jos. ourse, and that there was something for claimants. Mr. Nourse has brought the family records, showing that he is a direct descendant from Rebecca Nourse or Nurse, who was condemned and executed as a witch at Salem, Mass., July 19,1690, and among her descendants are Jos. Nourse, from whom J. H. Nourse and his brother, Orsenius Nourse, are descended, according to family history. Will it be too much trouble to send me a copy of said warrant for investigation?

Very respectfully,

Samuel D. Irwin.

Hunting Adventures and Casualties.*—As early as 1820 two hunters were encamped on the Tionesta, near the spot now occupied by Newtown Mills. The men had come less for the purpose of hunting than to see the country, to examine the streams, to search for pine timber and ascertain what facilities there were for getting it to market. The only settler in that region then, above Oldtown, was Kingsley. Hezekiah May lived at Oldtown, three miles above the mouth of the Tionesta. It was at or near Kingsley's shanty where these men had their camp. One bright moonlight night, one of the hunters, a young man of twenty-three years, concluded to have a little pastime on skates, of which exercise he was very fund. A severe cold snap had made three or four inches of smooth, solid ice, and Smith, the young explorer in question, had not forgotten his skates among his other traps. On this bright December night he calculated to have a little sport all by himself. After a few preliminary flourishes in front of his camp to see that his skates were securely fastened, he started for a run of a few miles up the creek. In telling his own story, as I heard it shortly after the occurrence, he said: "I had gone perhaps two miles up the large stream. The night was almost as light as day and very calm. I could hear the echo of the ring of my steel skates on the shore as I passed swiftly along. Coming to the mouth of a smaller stream on my right, I concluded to explore it a short distance. It was very crooked. In going up it some threequarters of a mile, I think, I must have traveled fully two miles. Its average width was about sixty feet. Both banks of the stream were heavily timbered, principally with hemlock, and the branches interlocked, forming a complete canopy over my head, making it quite dark in comparison with the broad creek I had just left. How long I might have enjoyed the delight of the exercise and the beautiful scenery of this little stream I can not tell. I was unpleasantly interrupted by a strange sound which I supposed at first was the hooting of an owl. As I listened the conclusion came to me that the noises came from wolves, and boded me no good. Keeping my presence of mind, I started on the back track for the mouth of the creek, I had not gone far before I heard the howls unpleasantly near. In my race for safety I had to follow the course of the windings of the stream, while my pursuers traveled not more than half the distance that I was forced to get over. It was a race on my part for life, and for supper on the part of the wolves. To make a meal for a gang of those savage animals is not a pleasant prospect. At about forty yards from the mouth of the little creek they tried to head me off from the big stream. The bank was quite a bluff, and I could see them on shore ready to spring upon me as I passed. I bent my head and brought every nerve in play in the effort to pass this point of danger. As I passed under full headway they jumped at me, but miscalculating my speed they struck the ice quite a distance behind. I glided out on the broad Tionesta, and felt relieved, but the race was not over. They followed me on down the stream. I was perfectly at home on skates, but all my fleetness and skill were necessary to enable me to escape their fangs. When they came so near that I could hear their pattering on the ice I would

* D. Harrington.

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wheel to the right or left and gain upon them, for they could not turn as short as I could, but were compelled to keep on for several rods before they could change their course. By this manoeuvre of frequent tacking I kept out of their reach until our camp was in sight. We had two dogs chained up in the shanty, and when they began to bark and raise an uproar the wolves turned back, and I was safe. How long the race lasted I do not know. It seemed an age, but was probably not more than an hour—perhaps not so long as that. Had one of my skates got loose or had I tripped on a stick, this story would have never been told by me." From Smith's description of the little stream and its zigzag course near its mouth, he undoubtedly went up Salmon creek. It empties into the Tionesta fourteen miles from its mouth and two miles above Newtown.

In the winter of 1836-37 a woman by the name of Appleton, some fifty-five years old, started from her home on what was known as the Hoffman place, at the foot of Oldtown bottom, one mile and a half above the mouth of the Tionesta. She wished to visit some friends in Washington township (now Clarion county) and by going through the woods a mile and a half she could save about three miles' travel. So she crossed the creek on the ice at the big eddy. There had been a thaw, and the surface of the snow had frozen hard enough to bear her weight. She therefore left no trail by which she could be followed. In two weeks after her departure her husband received information that she had not reached her destination. Search was immediately made for the missing woman, but the search was in vain. At that time the woods were full of raveuous wolves and other wild animals. Did they devour her, or did she perish by the lingering death of starvation? She perhaps crept into some hollow log or into some crevice in the rocks, but where or how she died remains a mystery to this day. The contemplation of being devoured by hungry wolves is not pleasant. They would not wait for their victim to lose consciousness, but would tear him from limb to limb. Facts are sometimes stranger than fiction, and this is a case in which it is not necessary to draw on the imagination to make the reality more horrible. None but the All-seeing Eye can explain the mystery of this poor woman's disappearance—a disappearance so complete that not a vestige of her remains or clothing has ever been found. It is said murder can not be concealed; that it will not stay buried, but will some day rise to confront the perpetrator of the deed. But this was not a murder, it was one of those casualties for which nobody was to blame, and in which no law of the land was violated.

The second casualty was the death of Ernest Quartier, a young Frenchman whose home was in Philadelphia. He had been visiting friends in Youngstown, Ohio, and came with a party of hunters to the head waters of Salmon Creek. On the 23d of November, 1857, he started out with the party to hunt, and parted company with one of them at about 2 o'clock in the afternoon. He had not returned to headquarters at dark, and the usual signal guns were fired to guide him if he should be within hearing distance. His companions supposed he had gone to Mr. Blood's house, as he had been told, if he got lost or bewildered, to follow the creek down to Blood's. The next day he was still absent. Search was made for him by all hands, but with no result. The following day the whole neighborhood was aroused and turned out to find his trail. He was found, frozen stiff, about half a mile from Brockway's clearing. He had apparently become exhausted, sat down to rest, and fallen backward, never to rise again. His gun, a six-shooter, was lying across his neck with four loads discharged. His revolver, fully loaded, and his watch and compass were outside of his pocket, hanging by the guard. Mr. Quartier was quite young, not twenty years old, and unaccustomed to the woods. Knowing his inexperience, the usual particulars of the locality and directions had been given him by his companions, better versed in woodcraft. He had been urged to come in early in the day, but refused to do so. There had been a heavy rain, followed by a hard freeze. It is supposed that he became bewildered, which in any wilderness is the beginning of danger. His tracks showed that he had time and again in his wanderings been close to the road which would have lead him to safety. He was supplied with matches, and was fully equipped. An experienced woodsman would have been able to build a fire and take care of himself in such a position, but poor Ernest Quartier lost his life through his inexperience, and his neglect to follow the advice that had been given him. His case was one of the saddest incidents that ever occurred in Forest county. For the particulars of the above history I am indebted to the courtesy of Hon. S. F. Rohrer and his wife. Mrs. Rohrer is a daughter of the late Judge Blood.

About the year 1848 a German, named Henry Klinestiver, settled on Balltown road, at Klinestiver hill, where the road commences its descent to Ross run. The road was made in an early day, when it was thought that the shortest way over a hill was over the highest pinnacle. No man or woman, a little short of breath, who ever traveled up and down that hill, would fail to remember it after the discovery was made that the distance around the base of a hill was no greater than that over the top. The old road was evacuated and a new one was made of easier grade. Klinestiver was by trade a blacksmith. He farmed and did custom work for his neighbors when custom came. During the oil craze he sold his farm, and with his wife went to live with his son George, who had purchased a farm on Whig hill. At about this time Mrs. Klinestiver's mind began to fail, and she soon became insane and unable to take care of herself. One morning in October, the old gentleman arose about 4 o'clock and went to the cellar to get some potatoes for breakfast, leaving the old lady in bed. When he returned to the room she was gone. Eli Berlin, Esq., says that he had commenced the day before to move a building, and had got it into the middle of the highway, when the news came of Mrs. Klinestiver's disappearance, and the call for men to form a searching party. As soon as he got the building clear of the road, Squire Berlin and all the neighbors round joined in the hunt for the lost woman. They searched for a week or more, and people came far and near to join them. It is estimated that on some days over five hundred persons were searching the woods for the lost woman. Tracks were found leading from Whig hill to the watering trough between the two branches of Ross run, and about a mile and a half distant from the house., But beyond that all trace was lost. From Whig hill to Bob's creek, with two exceptions, the whole way was woods—a primeval wilderness. The search was thorough, but all in vain. Squire Berlin rode on horseback down Tionesta creek to its mouth, searching every bend and deep hole where a body might be concealed, but no sign could be discovered. The fate of poor old Mrs. Klinestiver is as much of a mystery to-day as the Everhart murders. There are ledges of rocks, with fissures, into one of which she may have crept, and where her bones would remain undiscovered till the sea gives up its dead.

One of the pioneers, when firing at a duck, killed young Range, who was standing at his door....Two sad events occurred in the early days of the settlement. One was the death of a man named Shoup. Shoup and a man named Taylor came homeward together from Clarington, and parted company at the corners or cross-roads, Taylor going toward Blood's and Shoup to his own bome. Taylor met a neighbor, and while the two stood talking they heard the report of a gun. Soon after Mr. Blood's family was startled by Taylor, a man named Parker and others, running into the house. Parker exclaimed, "Oh! I have shot Shoup! Oh! dear, I have shot Shop." "No, you have not," said Mr. Blood, "for I saw him at the creek to-day." Parker insisted that he had shot Shoup; Mr. Blood, Mr. Hunt and all the men around there took lanterns—it was a dark, rainy night—and went up the road to investigate the matter. Shoup was found sitting against a tree, with a bullethole in his breast, and his dog lying by him. They raised him up, and he said, "Let me die here." Mr. Blood asked him if he blamed Parker for shooting him. Shoup replied, UI forgive him as I hope God will forgive me. Be kind to my wife and children.'' Mr. Blood and Mr. Hunt went back to the house for a mattress and stretcher, but before they returned the poor fellow was dead. The explanation of the affair is this: Shoup was very superstitious. Some months before he had declared that he heard mysterious noises, and persons talking at the particular spot where he was killed. As Parker came up the road it is supposed that Shoup heard him, and being afraid, he crouched down by a tree, holding the dog under his arm. It was quite dark, and as Parker approached the dog growled. Parker said he thought it was a wolf, and he fired. The bullet cut through the hair on the dog's back and passed into Shoup's breast. Had Shoup got behind the tree, instead of at the side, he would have been safe.

About fifty years ago a stranger was drowned from a raft floating on the Tionesta, between Fox's mills and Balltown. A man named William Sutley was running the raft. The stranger was knocked overboard by being struck by an oar stem. The raft floated away from him, and it was impossible to save him. The men on the raft said that they saw him standing on his feet before they got out of sight. None of them knew who the man was or where he came from. The body was found on Dead Man's Island—which took its name from this occurrence. The island is situated at the mouth of Minister creek, a mile and a half above Balltown. I saw the grave often while passing the spot, when it was quite new. Elijah Kingsley found the body and buried it. Of course he was coroner, coroner's jury and undertaker, all combined. Yet no doubt the unfortunate stranger sleeps as peacefully in that lonely grave as he would in the most thickly populated cemetery. William Sutley, the pilot of the raft from which the unfortunate man was drowned, was a son of George Sutley, who lived on a farm on French creek, just below the mouth of Sugar Creek. William Sutley died of consumption some thirty years ago.. . Daniel Burkett, an old resident of Kingsley township, was found frozen to death on Newtown hill, November 29, 1876, by George Hindman. .

In 1857 an accident happened near East Hickory, on the Allegheny river. Mr. Partridge, of Jamestown, N. Y., was running a flatboat loaded with furniture and farming implements, which he sold along the river on his way down stream. At the bow of the boat there was only one plank on top of the end gunwale, to make it convenient to step over in going on or off the boat. The boat was fastened by a line to a tree that leaned over the river, with her bow up stream. Early in the morning the tree turned out of root and fell upon the plank at the bow, breaking it to pieces and sinking the boat. The tree also crushed in the roof, right over where Mr. and Mrs. Partridge had been sleeping a few minutes before it fell. They made a narrow escape. The furniture and agricultural implements floated out of the sunken craft, and were scattered all over the river. Some pieces were found as far down as Pittsburgh, .... In 1857 or 1858, Ben Chilson perished in the woods. He was a hunter and had a camp on the Beaver valley, a branch of East Hickory creek. He was returning from a hunt, on his way to his camp, when he suddenly became ill and unable to walk. He sat down and leaned back against a tree. There was a slight snow on the ground—not over three or four inches. He was evidently not lost, for he crawled some distance on his hands and knees toward his camp. He was found dead the next day. He had no doubt been attacked by heart disease. He was a single man. His remains were brought to Tionesta and buried.

McCollum, one of the pioneers, might have been called a chronic litigant, for he frequently had lawsuits with his neighbors, and seldom lost a case. He could prove almost anything he wanted to prove. It seemed as if he had his witnesses hired by the month, to be always in readiness, and that his cases were prepared a year before they came on, so ready was he to prove every point necessary to his success. I once witnessed a first-class fight between McCollum and another man. Like many great wars, the fight was about a woman. The battle took place at the mills belonging to Kinnear, Stockberger & Noyes, on Bear creek. The two combatants were under a shed that had been put up to protect the millwrights from the sun while repairing the mills, and the weapons used were the tools lying around, which they threw at each other. Hammers, handsaws, adzes, planes, everything they could seize, were flying through the air. Each appeared to be too much afraid of the other to come to close quarters. At last Mose succeeded in landing a goodly sized stone on the other man's head, which knocked him senseless. Mose jumped onto his prostrate foe, but before he could strike, Mr. Noyes interfered by telling him to "never strike a man when he's down," and Mose desisted. While the man was lying senseless Mr. Noyes volunteered the remark that it was a pity that Moses hadn't knocked out his brains. As soon as the man recovered—which was several minutes—he repeated the friendly remark of Mr. Noyes, which showed that, although motionless, he was conscious of what was said around him.

In 1857 occurred what is known to old settlers as the Shreve and Hilands fight. John Shreve had married Mary, a daughter of James Hilands. Mr. Hilands was an aristocratic man, who thought that the Hilands blood was a little better than common, and that Mary had married beneath her station, although Shreve was a well-doing and industrious man. He (Shreve) owned the farm below the mouth of Tionesta, now occupied by Dithridge, and had just built the best dwelling house in Tionesta upon it. Shreve blamed Jacob Hilands, brother of Mary, for making trouble between him and his wife. One day, on going home, Shreve looked through the house for his wife, and could not find her. The child told him that she had gone down to "The Rocks." It occurred to Shreve that she had gone there to destroy herself. He immediately sent to the village for men to come over and look for her. Some four or five answered the call, and went down to "The Rocks." They found Mrs. Shreve sitting there, and prevailed on her to go home. Then Shreve shouldered his rifle, and went to the hotel kept by John Hilands. Jacob Hilands was expecting Shreve, and had armed himself with a double-barreled shot-gun, one barrel of which was loaded with ball, and the other with small shot. As Shreve was passing the door Jacob came out. Shreve jerked his gun to his face, and Hilands jumped behind the door. Shreve fired and missed him. Then it was Hilands' turn, and he emptied his barrel, loaded with shot, into Shreve's legs. Shreve then jumped over the river bank, six or seven feet high, but Hilands followed him up and fired the rifle barrel at him. Shreve turned to face Hilands, and seeing him about to shoot, held his empty gun in front of him. Hilands' ball

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