"Yes, I come here often to rest in the evening, especially in the summer time."

"Tell me," he questioned, "how did you get your nickname of Ollie the Wildcat?"

"You should not have been surprised by that name after seeing what you did today; however, as it is part of my story, I will tell you. One time after a similar incident, I overheard one man ask another, 'What is her name?'" She was silent for a few steps, "My name is Olive Martin, my father was Timothy Martin. In the conversation already mentioned, the man gave my name as 'Ollie Martin'; the other man said, 'Hell no, she's no marten, she's a wildcat', and the name stuck. It's not my fault that I have no father or brother to defend me against the vile insults of low-down drunkards. As you saw today, I always aim for the mouth. I have a book in which I read, 'Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaketh.' Some of these men must have mighty black hearts." They wlaked a little while in silence. What comment could be made to this assertion, coming from a girl, who, by necessity, had to fight her own battles. She continued, "Some years ago my younger brother and I, with father and mother were living on a creek which flows into the west side of the Delaware River. This creek was known as 'Martin's Creek' because of our living there. One day my mother became nervous, said she had heard a turkey gobble where she had never heard on before. So, she sent me and my brother to tell father to come home, and cautioned us to be careful, as she always did. She had been brought up in the settlements and always was afraid of the wilderness. Not knowing exactly where father was, my brother and I separated, he went downstream while I went upstream. Not far from the path my brother and I had, some time before, found a large soft-maple tree that was hollow. We had cut notches on the inside to a height of about twenty feet. We had then cut a small hole on each side of the tree trunk which enabled us to see the house, and in the other direction we could see quite a distance upstream. I decided to slip up our 'inside ladder' as we called it to see if I could see father or get an idea of his whereabouts. Almost as soon as I looked out, I saw father approaching, and as he came through a thicket I saw four Indians jump from hiding. Two of them raised their guns and fired from close range. Father was hurt bad, but attempted to fight back. It was hopeless, for within a minute they had killed and scalped him. At almost the same time three Indians attacked mother in front of our cabin, killing her on the spot and scalping her. These savages took what they pleased from the cabin and then set fire to it. Nothing except the fact that I had climbed up inside our tree saved my life. I dared not come down before dark. During the night I started to run to the nearest neighbor who lived five miles down the river; it was nearly noon the next day before I reached there. The following day a small party went back to our home; they found and buried father and mother. No trace of my brother was ever found. It was generally thought that the Indians had captured him, taking him back to their country. SOme men said that this group of Indians were from away up north. I was sick for several days, and wished many times that I would die; however, I lived. I stayed with those people for some time. When I became fifteen years of age it was thought necessaryfor me to go to work. They heard about this place here at Van's, so arrangements were made and I came here. I worked free the first year getting nothing except food and a place to sleep. Later I got my clothes and one shilling a week, although not many clothes. I got by without being bothered by men until I became eighteen, since then I have had to defend myself the best way that I could. I have been here five years. My mother was a smart person, she taught me to read and write and to have pride in myself. She said, 'If you have no pride in yourself there is little for you,' this I have found to be true. It's been, at times, a tough battle but I still am on top." During the telling of this story she had at times wiped a tear from her eyes. John had walked at her side with mixed emotions: sorrow for her sorrow, humiliation that he had ever found fault with trivial annoyances in his life, respect and admiration for her as she had waged a fight against such odds, and there was rapidly developing another feeling, one which he had no way of understanding because it was so new. As she had neared the end of her story they had stopped at the bank of the river where a tall pine tree cast its shadow. He turned to her, and said, "I am sorry your life has held so much sadness." He placed his hand upon her shoulder, and added, "You poor girl." It could not have been the words alone, it might have been the hand upon the shoulder, it probably was that something that defies explanation; for in the next instant he had taken her within his arms. After one full embrace he said, "We will wed tomorrow." It was not a question; however, he became very happy as she slowly but surely nodded her head and whispered "Yes."

When they resumed their walk toward the inn she inquired, "But how? There's no churchman within days of travel."

"Yes, there is," he replied. "No more than a full day will allow us to reach a new place called Mt. Bethel, not far from the Delaware Water Gap. A church has been establishe dthis past summer, and only last week I was within a few miles of the place. A preacher was there then." They entered the tavern, and finding it empty, went on into Van Paulluns' private living room. The girl's presence occasioned no surprise, but Mrs. Van Paulluns was quite surprised to see this man, who to her, was a complete stranger. Olive turned to Van and said, "This man, whose name is John Tidd, has something to say to you."

"Yes, yes," he answered and turned to John.

"Mister and Madame Van Paulluns," began John, "I have come to tell you that tomorrow Olive and I are to be married."

"No! No!" expostulated both Van and his wife.

"Yes, it's true," said Olive, "and we must leave early in the morning. Good night all." And with that she left the room. Above the bar-room a bed was provided for John.

Early dawn found John carrying the canoe to the river and making ready for the departure. Immediately after breakfast Olive appeared with a bundle containing her belongings. Mrs. Van Paulluns kissed Olive and wished her, "God's blessings" while pressing into her hand a small package, saying, "for you." Van shook hands with both and wished them "Goot luck." As the early sun cleared the eastern hills, John and Olive began the westward journey that would soon bring them to the Delaware.

Little was said on this phase of the trip. John dug his paddle deeply to aid the current for he knew that upon reaching the big river their journey would the be up stream. They reached the confluence of the Pequest River and the Delaware before noon, and landing, ate dinner given to them by the Van Paulluns. While eating, Olive said, "We haven't talked much about future plans."

"No, we haven't," replied John. "I have been thinking that after our marriage, I would take you to my father's place below Easton. You are sure to like him and my mother. The winter will not be too long. I will come to you then, and we can decide what to do at that time."

She had listened without moving even so much as her hand; however after John's statement had been finished, she raised her eyes to his and said slowly and positively, "If I have a husband today, or tomorrow, or any day thereafter, I go where he goes, I stay where he stays."

"But Olive, you don't realize how lonely and dangerous it would be for you to be by yourself much of the time."

"It would be no more lonely for me than for you. After all, I know how to handle a rifle." He looked at her as though seeing a different person. His admiration was obvious.

"I hope you have not misunderstood me," he said. "I suggested going to my father's place because I could think of nothing else."

Her only answer was, "Then it's settled."

The trip up river, although arduous, was accomplished by late afternoon. Mt. Bethel Church was reached by dark. The preacher was found and told of the desire for marriage. He and his wife and three children lived in a new log cabin, near the church. It was decided to have the ceremony performed in the minister's own dwelling due to the fact that no candles were available to give light in the church, while in the home, the sevice could be performed by the light of the fireplace. Two neighbor women had been informed, and preparations were underway to have something extra for the supper to follow. Soon all was in readiness, a solemn hush fell on the group as the service was read and Olive Martin became the wife of John Tidd in November, 1738. Hearty congratulations were expressed by the simple people of Mt. Bethel, and a few presents were given to the bride. After supper it was learned that they ahd no place to go for the night and, the hour being far too late to prepare a camp in the woods, the minister's wife strongly insisted that the couple remain for the night. Her husband supported her in his invitation by saying, "John and I will take to the loft and you and Olive and the children can have the bed." The amusing part of it was that there was no loft; nothing except a partial platform at the end of the cabin under the eaves. Olive saw the situation in its humorous light and quickly accepted the hospitality offered by her new friend, the minister's wife.

During the evening the minister told of their difficulties traveling through Massachusetts and failing to find the hospitality extended that they had expected; and how they had gone into New York State along the Hudson River, finally to go into northern New Jersey and to their present location on the Delaware.

The plans of John were that they would go on to the trading post at Old Fort Penn. This was the northernmost of the chain of forts stretching from the upper Delaware to Chesapeake Bay. This particular location was built upon by Col. Stroud, and although the fort itself had ceased to be used, the place was known as Old Fort Penn until finally, although much later became known as Stroudsburg.

With the blessings and best wishes of the few people living at Mt. Bethel, the Tidds resumed their journey the next morning, with the expectation of reaching the post before mid-day. A second paddle had been secured, due to the insistance of Olive, which aided materially to their progress up the Delaware River. Not long after their departure, Olive turned her head and said to John, "I am now married. You are my protector. I have no further need for this." As she spoke, she took from her pocket something wrapped in a small piece of cloth, and holding her hand out over the water, she dropped the object into the river. The rapidity with which it sank proved that it was metal of some kind.

"What was that?" asked John.

"That," came the reply, "was my 'friend'. If you remember the other evening you told of sometimes needing the help of you friend 'Betty'. Well, I never gave my 'friend' a name; nevertheless, on occasion, it was my 'friend'. The rest of the secret is mine." She resumed her paddling. Soon John veered the canoe into the mouth of a stream called Analomink Creek, this stream received the waters of Pocono Creek just above Fort Penn. After a few miles they landed at the trading post. John had met the man in charge of the store on several previous occasions. Added to the list of staple food items there must be ample supplies of lead, powder, flints, and steels. At least two extra blankets and additional clothing must be gotten. A large supply of wool yarn and knitting needles were added. Then came the task of buying a new rifle. The supply offered included the regular size bore. Finally the propietor brought out a beautifully finished rifle of the size desired.

"What is the price of this gun?" John asked.

"[pounds symbol] 5," was the answer.

"I am not an Indian," stated John. "The price should be [pounds symbol] 3 1/2."

"What it should be and what it is might be different," replied the trader.

"Do you have any bullet molded?" asked John. For answer the man untied a small bag, took out some flints, a bullet mold, and several bullets. John took the rifle, bullets, a flint, and powder and walked out. Soon a shot was heard and later another sounded. John returned, laid the rifle on the table and said, [pounds] 4, and not another pence."

"[pounds symbol] 5," was the answer.

"Do you remember two years ago the Shawanese Indian that I warned you about, and later you said that had it not been for the warning you probably would have been burned out?"

The trader thought a moment; laid beside the rifle, the bullet mold, several flints and steels, a two pound bag of powder, and a very nice powder horn. Turning to John, he said "You win, [pounds] 4."

Soon all was in readiness. "We travel about five miles by water, then we take to the trail for over twenty miles," remarked John.

"Good luck, see you next spring," said the trader, as he carried part of the supplies to the canoe. The current of the creek proved more difficult as they advanced. Before the five miles were covered, it became plain that camp must be made for the night. They landed in a small grove of pines. Several small saplings were bent and tied together at the top and covered with large pine boughs thus providing a good shelter. Arm loads of smaller boughs with the blankets spread over them made a good bed. Soon a fire was burning and supper was in preparation which was to consist of boiled beef, and cornmeal mush sweetened with small pieces of maple sugar. After supper, while sitting by the fire, John turned to his bride and asked, "Are you happy?"

She laid her hand on his arm and replied, "John, I am happy, and I am going to be happy. I am now free--for the first time in my life I am free. You, who have always been free, cannot understand the meaning of freedom. This new feeling which has just come to me called love, I do not understand yet, but I will."

John stood up and placed his hand on her head for a moment, then he stepped into the shelter and came out with the new rifle which was a thing in beauty. He said, "Olive, I, too, am happy and I am going to be happy with you. This rifle I give to you as a wedding present. It is the most accurate rifle that ever I saw put to a shoulder."

John Tidd and his wife Olive went on to their trapping grounds. John ran his trap lines and was away every other night at the far end of the line. Each cautioned the other to extreme vigilance. No unusual incident happened to mar their daily living. The Indian resentment occasioned by the infamous "Walking Purchase of 1737" had not yet been whipped up to its later fury. John often talked to Olive of this outrage and how the Whites had tricked the friendly Indians in making a treaty for certain lands. The extent of the lands to be determined by the distance that a person could travel in one and one half days from a certain point, the understanding was that the person was to walk , and follow the course of the river; however, the white man doing the measuring started at the given point, but went at right angles to the river, and instead of wlaking he ran most of the time. Thus a very large tract of land was claimed and held by the whites. One prominent historian of the period writes, "The alienation of the Delaware Indians was the cause that led directly to the fearful years of bloodshed and strife. With the Delawares went also the Shawanese and Senecas of the West. This alienation started with the nefarious Walking Purchase of 1737, by which the peaceful Delawares lost their most prized lands." John said more than once that "for every acre of land obtained in this fraud, an extra white scalp would hang from a warrior's belt."

The trapping season had been good. As the pack of furs grew, their plans kept pace. His desire now was to establish a home for his wife and promised family. April found them ready to break camp and begin the trip out of the Pocono mountains. They stopped at the trading post and stayed over night. While visiting during the evening the trader remarked, "Looks like I am going to have competition soon."

"How is that?" asked John.

"A fellow by the name of Brodhead, who claims to have a trading permit from old William Johnson himself, is moving in a little ways down the creek. Also claims he bought several thousand acres on both sides of the Anolomink and reaching almost to Du Puys."

"Well, that's news," said John. "Started work yet?"

"Yes, just begun a clearing opposite where Chessnick Creek flows in. Has a few men helping him. You interested?"

"Could be."

The next morning, soon after leaving the trading post, John and his wife saw several men working on the left bank of the Anolomink. Two log cabins were being built and land was being cleared. They landed and walked toward the group. A large man somewhat past forty years of age, stepped out to meet them.

"Welcome, strangers," he said as he extended his hand. "My name is Daniel Brodhead. I am preparing to establish a settlement here, and am on the lookout for people that might want to move in. What do you do besides trapping?"

"Glad to meet you. How did you know that I am a trapper?"

"The trader said last week that a young trapper would soon be coming through," and he nodded his head in the direction of the post. "What else can you do, young man?"

"I am a blacksmith. I make harth-irons, hinges, bake ovens, and most anything else needed."

"Good," said Brodhead, "I'd like mightly well to have you join us in this settlement."

"Do you own here?" asked John.

To this question Brodhead made careful reply.

"I am a trader holding license issued by Sir William Johnson, the Commissioner of Indian Affairs. I have leased a considerable area here, with right of purchase, from the Penn family. This lease includes the right to sub-lease or sell portions of this area as soon as the surveys are completed. The area covered by this lease lies on both sides of the Anolomink Creek back about five miles, and on the east, extends to Du Puys."

"Does any of this lease fall within the Walking Purchase?"

"I don't really know, mister," answered Brodhead.

"It might pay to find out. There is a small tract of land lying on the Osoconnick Brook which flows into the Anolomink from the west that I have always liked the looks of," said John.

"I am of the opinion that would be just beyond my limits, sir, but I'd be mightly glad to have you for a neighbor. What did you say your name was?"

"My name is John Tidd, and this is my wife. Later I may wish to see you again." Brodhead acknowledged the introduction to Olive with a bow, and shook hands again with John.

Daniel Brodhead was born in Ulster County, New York, in 1693. He engaged in the Indian trade, and sometime later, held a trading license from Sir William Johnson. Between 1735 and 1738 he negotiated for, and secured the lease already mentioned. He settled at the junction of McMichaels Creek and Anolomink Creek in what later became Northampton County. He called his settlement Dansbury, but it became known as Brodhead Manor, and upon a portion of it now stands East Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania. Part of Brodhead's Manor lay within what became Lower Smithfield township.

John and wife Olive proceded down the Anolomink. They had not gone far before John pointed to where the Du Puys had settled. Soon they were on the Delaware which, at this season, was a mighty stream of water. They stopped for a short visit with the minister and his wife at Mt. Bethel. Early on the second day of their travel down river they arrived at Easton. John disposed of his furs, and with the bounties paid for wolves and panthers, he received nearly 30 pounds. After making several purchases,

A feeling of depression had settled upon John. His brother Benjamin, living in that isolated valley with his wife and eight children, had not gotten to Brodheads. Every moment their fate seemed more certain. Also his youngest brother James was nowhere to be found. William and his wife and children were here. The battle raged. It looked as though a hundred Indians were in the attacking force. They hid behind trees--damn those trees that had been left too close--also the outbuildings were used as shelter for the howling savages. Another bullet had crashed through a weak spot; another man lay on the floor of a back room covered with a blanket. The beautiful rifle, which brought back memories of better days, spoke at times and when it did there was one less Indian to fear. It soon became evident that at least during the daylight hours, the horde could be held at bay. But what of the night? Could enough guns be ready to resist a concentrated rush in the dark? Some degree of order had been brought about following the early confusion. It was decided that five men with ten rifles be held in readiness to move quickly to any part of the house where the attack was hottest. Just before dark an attempt was made to storm the front. This was good, for the largest number of loopholes were on this side. The Indians had to cross thirty yard of space without cover. A telling fire was poured into their number as the attempt was made. More than a dozen Indians met their death in this rash move. The rest fell back to protected positions. "I'm sure glad they tried that before dark," one man remarked. Later in the evening the barn was fired. It did not stand near enough to the house to endanger the latter, but it did furnish enough light to enable the men to shoot with deadly accuracy.

The concentrated attack on Brodhead's house lessened somewhat as the Indians turned their attention elsewhere. Soon glowing spots appeared all over the settlement. With a shout of anguish the besieged saw their homes going up in flames. Individual glows of light could be recognized and identified. It did not need a later count to show that Benjamin Tidd's house, Culver's saw and grist mill, Atkin's house, McNabb's house, William Tidd's house, and many others were destroyed. John Tidd watched in two directions, a faint glow appearing where his brother Benjamin lived gave proof that his house was burning. But what of Benjamin? Sometime later another faint glow showed against the north-western sky. His cabin was going up in flames. Young Martin had also been watching in that direction. He came to his father and said, "Father, it's burning."

John laid his hand on his shoulder and answered, "Yes, son, it's burning. Let's be thankful that we are here," and then he continued "Martin, if anything should happen to me, you must look out for John and little Olive--yes, for little Olive."

"Yes, father," he answered.

The Indians, apparently surfeited with their gory occupation of the day and night, withdrew early the next day, taking their dead and wounded with them. By noon it appeared safe to venture outside. Then the full story of the horrible butchery became known. Every cabin in the settlement was in smouldering ashes. The families living in isolated places had not been warned. John Rush, wife and two children, dead. Benjamin Tidd, wife and eight children, dead. And so the records piled up until finally it was learned that seventy-eight persons had been killed that afternoon and night, and over thirty houses had been burned. Later reports showed that Brodhead's settlement was not the only one that suffered. Almost every settlement on the upper Delaware was wiped out. The following extract of a letter written at Easton and reprinted in the "Pennsylvania Journal" is indicative of the situation. "The country all above this town for fifty miles is chiefly ruined except the neighborhood of the Du Puys and a few families that stood their ground there. The people that are left are mostly fleeing into the Jerseys; taking with them what few things remain. The enemy have taken but few prisoners-murdering almost all that have fallen into their hands of both sexes." A few additional words will tell what happened to James Tidd, younger brother of John. James Tidd, Henry Dysart, and Job Babkorn, were at Culver's mill when sometime before noon many shots were heard in the direction of Brodheads. This group with the Culvers and a few others, went quickly to McMichael's house which stood on higher ground. From there they could see what looked like a hundred Indians, attack Brodhead's house. Realizing what their fate would be, this group immediately set out for the trail that led to Easton. When they reached the top of the mountain and looked back they saw Culver's mill and other houses in flames. From this distance it looked as though Brodhead's place was still being ably defended. They turned and fled to Easton.

Samuel Du Puy sent word to the survivors at Brodhead that all should come to his place for greater safety. Several thought that because of their recent success against the Indians they would be safe where they were. Improvements were made that would enable them to better defend themselves. The nearby trees which had provided such good protection to the Indians were cut and drawn away. All cattle that had eluded the maruders were slaughtered and the meat stored for food. Scouts kept the survivors informed as to the proximity of Indian war parties A period of anxious waiting came. John Tidd had visited his home. The cabin was completely burned. The shop had been broken into, its contents in disorder, but he collected some of his best tools to take with him. He stood for a moment beside the little mound which had now become completely covered with short grass, and said, "Olive, these are trying times but I'll do my best to protect our children."

Some of the guns at Brodheads needed repair, flints and steels needed adjustment, and many other tasks must be completed. John kept himself busy. Soon word came of Indians on the move. Near the beginning of January another attack was made, but was easily stopped. Soon, however, it became plain that they were to be besieged and not just attacked. A messenger was sent to Du Puys telling of the situation. Du Puy sent word to the officers of some Jersey troops across the river. Due to increased numbers

END