During the year 1794, William Dick, William Gill, Thomas Ray, William Jones, Thomas Rallyea and others, some of them with their families, arrived at the settlement. The Meads, Randolphs, Van Hornes, Lords, and a few others had arrived previously. On the 10th of August of this year an event occurred which will cause the name of James Dickson always to be associated with the early history of our city. For some time there had been rumors of an Indian attack. It had been stated that the Cornplanter Indians had threatened to drive the settlers from French Creek, if they were not at once removed by the government. On the day named Mr. Dickson was walking out north of the town with his gun in hand, for in those days no one went into the woods unarmed. He had reached a point near the intersection of Spring street and Terrace, a short distance south of Athens' Mills, when he heard a sound which he supposed to be made by a deer. He stood still for an instant, thus making himself an easy mark, and heard three shots fired simultaneously by as many Indians. Each bullet struck him--one passed through his left hand, splitting the little finger from the others. A second struck him in the breast, and lodged between the breast bone and shoulder blade, where it ever afterward remained. The third shot took effect in the left hip and lamed him slightly. Instinctively Mr. Dickson brought his gun to his shoulder and prepared to fire, but no enemy was to be seen. All that appeared was a rifle pointed at him, and knowing that there must be a head behind it, he took aim along the barrel. But before he could fire the rifle was discharged; the bullet cut his cap, but did not touch him. This roused his Scotch blood, and he called to the savages, "Come out, ye cowards, and give me fair play!" Two showed themselves, running from tree to tree, till one was on each side of him. Mr. Dickson was about to seek the shelter of a tree, when it occurred to him that he was surrounded, and that as the guns of his enemies were empty, he must act promptly. Accordingly he pointed his gun toward the Indian who was between him and the fort, and he drove him from his shelter. Then with his finger on the trigger, and walking backward, he kept the Indians in check till he reached Samuel Lord's log cabin, near the present residence of William Reynolds. By this thime one of his pursuers had reloaded, and another shot wa fired at him, but he was not again struck. The Indians then bounded out of sight, going down towards the creek. The wounded man made his way as rapidly as possible towards the block house. When near the location of Red Mill he met Samuel Lord, John Wentworth, Luke Hill and a friendly Indian named Flying Cloud, going out to his relief. They passed on and followed the trail of the attacking party across the creek, but owing to the thickness of the underbrush on the other side, they did not think it prudent to continue the pursuit. It was supposed that the attack on Mr. Dickson was intended for a feint to draw the men away from the fort, when another party would attack the unprotected women and children. But no such attack was made, and as soon as the news of Wayne's victory reached the Indians all who were unfriendly at once disappeared. Mr. Joseph Dickson's recollection of the scenes of that day was very clear. In company with the other children of the settlement, he was playing on the bank of the creek immediately in the rear of Mr. McFarland's house. Suddenly a man came running down and hurried them all inside of the stockade. Shortly after this his father came in, gun in hand, and covered with blood. He was very much excited. Mrs. Dickson was of course alarmed, and, running towards her husband, who, having seen his family safelly housed was about to go out again, said, "Stop; let me wash your wounds." His Scotch blood was still up, and he ran out into the yard saying: "Let me alone! I'll have rvenge on the yellow rascals." The wounds never had a surgeon's care, though they were dressed as carefully as the circumstances would permit, and they soon healed. In the excitement which followed the attack on Mr. Dickson, every one in the settlement who could use a fire-arm was enrolled for service. Robert Dickson, the eldest son, then but 9 years old, had his station at a loop-hole, and was ready to fight if it had been necessary. For this service, performed when a child, he afterwards received a pension from the State. Transcribed from the Centennial Edition of the Daily Tribune-Republican of Saturday morning, May 12th, 1888 p. 91 thru 96 Tribune Publishing Company, Printers, Publishers, and Binders Meadville, Pennsylvania Sandy Roche Schroeder (SamiWV) slschroe@intrepid.net Volunteer for Random Acts of Genealogical Kindness http://www.rootsweb.com/~tnraogk/index.htm