the learn family massacre

I believe this is by a third or fourth cousin of mine. I share it here for its value first as a bit of family history, but also for its account of a man's search for his roots.

The Learn Family Indian Massacre
By Paul Learn

"No Stone Left Unturned," an article by freelancer Ned T. Sooy in South Jersey Living (November 27, 1977) pointed up the fun of tracing your ancestors. It described the research of genealogist Ed Sherry, a Millville native who brooms the dusty tombstones of South Jersey cemeteries in search of his ancestral roots.

Genealogy has become the second-most popular hobby in the Nation, because the pursuit of your distant biogenetic past is for the most part entertaining. Sometimes, however, it can be disturbing and even downright embarrassing.

My absorption with tracing my family history had its seed on the farm of my great-uncle, Phillip Learn, in a village named Pond Creek in the hard-coal region of Pennsylvania. I was 7 years old, and I was standing on the porch of Uncle Phillip's farmhouse.

My Uncle Harvey Learn, father of Wayne Learn of Northfield and Arlene Clemens of Pleasantville, said with a laugh:

"Did you know that some of your Learn ancestors were killed by Indians? Your great-great-great-grandfather, Jake Learn, survived the Learn massacre by hiding in a haystack."

That wasn't very heroic of him, I thought. No wonder my cousin Buddy calls me a sissy. It's in my genes.

"Your great-great-great-great-grandfather, John Learn, was scalped."

"You also have an ancestor who I was hanged for murder," Uncle Harvey said, and laughed again.

Revelation that there was a Learn Massacre -- it's noted on a large mural giving historic events of Pennsylvania in the Penn-Stroud Hotel in Stroudsburg, Pa. -- fascinated me. In my child's mind, I envisioned the Learn wagon train being surrounded by whooping Indians and their fighting to the death to protect their women and their young.

It launched me on my years-long search for my roots: My search for heroes and heroic legend with which I could identify.

It was ego-satisfying to learn from The Pennsylvania Archives that when the John Learn family settled in Tannersville, Pa., in Monroe County outside Stroudsburg, it was the farthest northern white penetration into the Pennsylvania wilderness at that time. They were on the "point," so to speak.

My genealogical search through the Pennsylvania Archives revealed this account of the Learn Indian Massacre, which I'll paraphrase. It destroyed my childhood illusions of a John Wayneish fight to the death against insuperable odds behind the wheels of a wagon train.

The Indians who killed my kinfolk were known to them. The Learn murders were not the work of strange marauders lurking in the bushes who suddenly attacked. The archives do not spell out what lay behind the tragedy. There is a hint, however, that the Indians had been drinking liquor sold to them by whites. One Indian even is named in the archivist's account.

On July 5, 1781, the Indians attacked the Learn farming settlement and killed and scalped John Learn, the family patriarch, and killed his son, George; George's wife, and their baby.

The history records, but notes that the story is apocryphal, that either Jake Learn, my great-great-great grandfather, or his brother, John Jr., was chased by an Indian. The Learn boy hid in the bushes while the Indian stalked him.

During those days one-shot muskets were used, and after one shot was fired, the guns required reloading. Taking advantage of this, the Learn boy hiding in the bushes put his hat on a fallen tree branch, and (just like in the movies!) held it aloft to attract the Indian's musket fire. The ruse succeeded: The Indian fired, and while reloading his gun, my ancestor stood up and shot him dead.

His father wasn't so lucky. My scalped patriarch, according to the archivist, was shot and killed after he fired at his killer -- and missed. The Indian killed him while he was attempting to reload his musket.

After the slayings, Jake Learn and his brother, John Jr., went to Stroudsburg eight miles away to report the deaths and to get help. A posse was organized under the leadership of Colonel Jakob Stroud, after whom the City of Stroudsburg is named and whose equestrian statue is in the middle of the town square of Stroudsburg.

It seems that there was bad blood between the Learns and the Strouds. The colonel had accused the Learns of being Tories during the American Revolution, which perplexes me, because I have found the names of Learns in the Northumberland Militia, which fought on George Washington's side.

This Learn-Stroud feud may have been behind Colonel Stroud allowing the posse that was raised to carry along two jugs of booze on the chase. That was the mistake, the archivist indicates.

Riding their horses out of Stroudsburg, the posse followed the Indians' trail, along which they chanced on John Learn's scalp, and caught up with the Indians. But by this time almost all of the posse were drunk, and the archivist writes that when the whites attacked, there was "so much whooping and hollering" that the whites lost the element of surprise and the Indians escaped.

The posse's chase had turned into a drunken party, so the two Learn youths, disgusted, took off by themselves after the Indians.

They caught up with two of them asleep under a tree. Quietly, they approached them, shot and killed them, and, in revenge, hung their bodies upside down on a tree limb and mutilated them.

Later the Learn clan brought a lawsuit against Colonel Stroud, charging him with libel, but my search of the archives so far has failed to uncover the result of the court case.

Colonel Stroud, whose heroic equestrian statue stands in the city square, with pigeons doing their "thing" on it, was court-martialed for a variety of derelictions, including his conduct during the Learn Massacre and his pilfering of Army stores during the War. The court reprimanded him.

When I was a boy on the Pond Creek farm I had envisioned the Learn Massacre as a bloody battle in which hundreds had died, and for years I indicated such to my children when telling them about this family history.

I was therefore somewhat dismayed last year when my cousin, Wayne Learn, whose hobby also is genealogy, said, "As far as I can find, only four Learns were killed in the massacre, as church records show that John Learn's wife, Katerina, lived on long after."

Taken off guard, I cried, "Only four were killed? What kind of a massacre is that?"

Since Wayne's disclosure my son, Michael, disparagingly refers to the Learn Massacre as the Learn Mugging.

* * *

In our family history, too, has always been the story that one of our ancestors, Peter Learn, was killed in the War of 1812, shot off his horse while leading a cavalry charge.

I have always felt uneasy about that story, as I had never read of any cavalry charges in the War of 1812.

Wayne's genealogical research cleared up that story: The truth is that Peter Learn was killed while trying to stop a horsethief from making off with his farm animal.

* * *

One day, browsing through the archives in search of my roots, I came across it in an index. It. read: "Werkheiser, Karlos, execution of."

The sound of my Uncle Harvey's voice on the long ago farm echoed in my mind: "You also have an ancestor who was hanged for murder."

Karlos Werkheiser (another family name) was hanged in the public square of Stroudsburg on June 21, 1783.

Like John Learn Sr., he also was the pioneer of his family, coming over from the German Palatinate after Henry of Navarre had devastated the land.

He immigrated with his wife and eight children.

Since spotting that line in an archive index, I found two more references to his execution. One was Governor William Penn's rejection of the plea for clemency, filed by his friends.

I have not been able to find out whom my other great-great-great-great-grandfather murdered, or why.

What annoys me about the two meager references is that his name is spelled two ways: Werkheiser and Workheiser. How ignoble it is to have your name, which is an important part of your identity, misspelled at your execution! Poor Great-Great-Great-Great-Granddaddy, I thought.

In my pursuit of more information on the Werkeiser Execution, my wife, Connie, has said, "You better let that ghost lie. He might come back to haunt you."

"I'm trying to clear his name. Perhaps he was innocent, or perhaps he killed a man in a duel while defending his mistress's honor."

"A likely story," she scoffed.

I'm still going to pursue why my Great-Great-Great-Great-Granddaddy was hanged in the public square of Stroudsburg.

I just hope he wasn't a horsethief.