Moses Van Campen lived along the West Branch of the Susquehanna River at the time of the American Revolution (1776-1783). He served as a frontier ranger. Here's his harrowing story (Sherman Day, 1843, Historical collections of the State of Pennsylvania):

My first service was in the year 1777 . . . stationed at Big Island on the West branch of the Susquehanna. . . . In Feb. 1781, I was promoted to a lieutenancy and entered upon the active duty of an officer by heading scouts, and as Captain Robinson was no woodsman nor marksman, he preferred that I should encounter the danger and head the scouts. . . . In the summer of 1781, a man was taken prisoner [by Indians] in Buffalo valley [west of Lewisburg] but made his escape. He came in and reported there were about 300 Indians on Sinnemahoning, hunting and laying in a store of provisions and would make a descent on the frontiers; that they would divide into small parties and attack the whole chain of the frontier at the same time, on the same day. Col. Samuel Hunter selected a company of five to reconnoitre . . . [including] myself. The party was called the Grove party. We carried with us three weeks’ provisions and proceeded up the West Branch with much caution and care. We reached Sinnemahoning, but made no discovery except old tracks. We marched up the Sinnemahoning so far that we were satisfied it was a false report. We returned and a little below the Sinnemahoning, near night, we discovered a smoke. We were confident it was a party of Indians, which we must have passed by, or they got there some other way. We discovered there was a large party – how many we could not tell – but prepared for the attack.

As soon as it was dark we new-primed our rifles, sharpened our flints, examined our tomahawk handles, and all being ready, we waited with great impatience till they all lay down. The time came, and with the utmost silence we advanced, trailed our rifles in one hand and the tomahawk in the other. The night was warm. We found some of them rolled in their blankets a rod or two from their fires. Having got amongst them, we first handled our tomahawks. They rose like a dark cloud. We now fired our shots and raised the war-yell. They took to flight in utmost confusion, but few taking time to pick up their rifles. We remained masters of the ground and all their plunder and took several scalps. It was a party of 25 or 30 which had been as low down as Penn’s Creek and had killed and scalped two or three families. We found several scalps of different ages which they had taken, and a large quantity of domestic cloth which was carried to Northumberland and given to the distressed who had escaped the tomahawk and knife. . . .

The unit was then ordered to Reading and given charge of Hessians that had been captured as prisoners of war. By April 1782, they were back on the West Branch at Bald Eagle creek, where they were attacked on the morning of April 16^th.

. . . we were attacked by 85 Indians. It was a hard-fought battle. Esq. Culbertson and two others made their escape. I think we had nine killed and the rest of us were made prisoners. We were stripped of all our clothing excepting our pantaloons. When they took my off my shirt, they discovered my commission. Our commissions were written on parchment and carried in a silk case hung with a ribbon in our bosom. Several got hold of it and one fellow cut the ribbon with his knife and succeeded in obtaining it. They took us a little distance from the battleground and made the prisoners sit down in a small ring, the Indians forming another around us in close order, each with his rifle and tomahawk in his hand. They brought up five Indians we had killed, and laid them within their circle. Each one reflected for himself – our time would probably be short, and respecting myself, looking back on the year 1780, at the party I had killed, if I was discovered to be the person, my case would be a hard one. Their prophet, or chief warrior, made a speech. As I was informed afterwards by the British lieutenant who belonged to the party, he was consulting with the Great Spirit what to do with the prisoners – whether to kill us on the spot or spare our lives. He came to the conclusion that there had been blood enough shed, and as to the men they had lost, it was the fate of war, and we must be taken and adopted into the families of those whom we had killed. We were divided amongst them according to the number of fires. Packs were prepared for us and they returned across the river at Big Island in bark canoes. They then made their way across hills and came to Pine Creek above the first forks, which they followed up to the third fork and took the most northerly branch to the head of it, and thence to the waters of the Genesee river.

On arriving at the Indian village of Caneadia, on the Genesee,

We were prepared to run the Indian gauntlet. The warriors don’t whip – it is the young Indians and squaws. They meet you in sight of their council house where they select the prisoners from the ranks of the warriors, bring them to the front, and when ready the word joggo is given. The prisoners start, the whippers follow after. If they outrun you, you will be severely whipped. I was placed in the front of my men. The word being given, we started. Being then young and full of nerve, I led the way. Two young squaws came running up to join the whipping party. When they saw us start they halted and stood shoulder to shoulder with their whips. When I came near them I bounded and kicked them over. We all came down together. There was considerable kicking amongst us, so much so that they showed their under-dress which appeared to be of a beautiful yellow color. I had not time to help them up. It was truly diverting to the warriors. They yelled and shouted till they made the air ring.

They halted at that village for one day, and thence went to Fort Niagara where I was delivered to the British. I was adopted, according to the Indian custom, into Col. Butler’s family, then the commanding officer of the British and Indians at that place. I was to supply the loss of his son, Capt. Butler, who was killed late in the fall of 1781 by the Americans. In honor to me as his adopted son I was confined in a private room and not put under British guard. My troubles soon began. The Indians were informed by the Tories that knew me that I had been a prisoner before and had killed my captors. They were outrageous and went to Butler and demanded me to be given up to them, and that his colonel wished to know the fact. I observed, “Sir, it is a serious question to answer. I will never deny the truth. I have been a prisoner before and killed their party and returned to the service of my country. But, sir, I consider myself to be a prisoner of war to the British and I presume you will have more honor than to deliver me up to the savages. I know what my fate will be, and please to inform your colonel that we have it in our power to retaliate.” He left me and in a short time returned and stated that he was authorized to say to me that there was no alternative for me to save my life but to abandon the rebel cause and join the British standard. That I should take the same rank in the British service as I did in the rebel service. I replied, “No, sir, no. Give me the stake, the tomahawk or the scalping knife before a British commission. Liberty or death is our motto.” He then left me.

Some time after a lady came to my room, with whom I had been well acquainted before the revolution. We had been schoolmates. She was then married to a British officer, a captain of the Queen’s rangers. He came with her. She had been to Col. Butler and she was authorized to make me the same offer as the officer had done. I thanked her for the trouble she had taken for my safety but could not accept the offer. She observed how much more honorable would it be to be an officer in the British service. I observed that I could not dispose of myself in that way. I belonged to the Congress of the United States and that I would abide the consequence. She left me and that was the last I heard of it. A guard was set at the door of my apartment.

I was soon afterward sent down Lake Ontario to Montreal whence a British ship brought me to New York. In the month of March 1783 I was exchanged and had orders to take up arms again. I joined my company in March at Northumberland . . . until November 1783. Our army was then discharged and our company likewise. Poor and penniless, we retired to the shades of private life. (Day 1843: 235-6, 248)