In 1709, a secret expedition funded by Spanish interests set off up the Susquehanna Valley. Their mission? Map out an inland waterway between the Atlantic seaboard and New Spain. The route was to be up the Susquehanna, then through the Great Lakes, or by some Utopian canal to the Spanish possessions in the West. As the ownership of the vast central territory was not fully decided in 1709, much less Pennsylvania west of Chester County, the ultimate intentions of Spain can be judged according to one’s point of view.
Disguised as harmless traders, the elaborately outfitted party, departed from Philadelphia and journeyed overland through what would one day become Lancaster County, eventually reaching the Susquehanna River north of the Conewago Falls. From there, they sailed up the ancient waterway to a point near the present town of Duncannon, where they transferred their equipment into bateaux (shallow-draft, flat-bottomed boats) and canoes. With indigenous guides, they continued up the river, everything running smoothly until they camped for a night on a tiny island a dozen miles below the Shawnee metropolis of Shamokin.
This is not to be confused with present-day Shamokin, Pennsylvania, located to the east. The name Shamokin is a word in the Delaware language meaning “Eel Creek.” This multi-ethnic Native American trading village on the Susquehanna River was located partially within the limits of the modern city of Sunbury.
Although the guides were Shawnees and intentions of the Spaniards friendly, the chief from Shamokin led a midnight surprise attack on the campers. All the Spaniards and their guides were killed or left for dead. The canoe, which contained a chest of gold coins, purportedly to be given to some high officials in the Southwest, had been hidden in a dense willow thicket. The marauders had overlooked it, carrying away all else, even stripping the corpses of their clothing.
A man whose name has been lost in the maelstrom of history was scalped and thrown on a pile with the other victims. The Spaniard suffered unspeakable agonies until lapsing into merciful unconsciousness. When he recovered his senses, he was shivering with the cold, a fit subject for river fever or malaria. Dragging himself to the water’s edge, he drank copiously, which steadied his nerve. Then he thought of the hidden canoe with its chest of gold. Limping to the spot, he was surprised to find it untouched.
However, he had not gone far when the canoe sprung a leak, and water began gushing in. He was able to make shore on another island, where he worked for the balance of the day repairing the craft. But it had been weakened by the heavy weight of the chest. The thought of abandoning the treasure, such as few men could earn in a lifetime, was abhorrent to him. He pushed off a second time but was barely able to beach on another islet to avoid being completely swamped.
The man had two choices: build a new boat or temporarily abandon the treasure. Building a new boat was impossible. He had no tools, not even a pocket knife. Indians were moving all over the river in canoes. Sooner or later, he would be caught and murdered if he lingered. There was nothing left to do but abandon the chest. The canoe would carry his weight; he felt sure of that.
He broke off the top of the chest with a heavy stone and took several handfuls of gold pieces. Then he replaced the lid and buried the chest on dry ground in the island’s center near Selinsgrove. He hoped to one day return when hostilities with the Indigenous populations receded.
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He put the money he had taken in the bottom of the canoe and re-embarked. It was a perilous position, though, as the canoe soon started leaking again, and he saw hostile Native Americans in the distance.
After considerable effort, he reached shore. Despite being May, it was a cold night. Nevertheless, he removed his cloak and fashioned it into a sack to carry his money.
The Spaniard was now starving, not having eaten for forty-eight hours. His scalped head stung and smarted like a fiery cauldron, his teeth chattered, and his ribs shook with cold. Yet he meant to save the money at any cost.
There was a trail along the river’s west bank, and he followed it toward what would one day become Duncannon.
He walked all night and all day the next day. He was so hungry that he resolved to surrender himself at the first Indian camp he encountered to exchange his bag of gold for a square meal.
Toward nightfall, he saw someone in a canoe midriver opposite the mouth of Armstrong’s Creek. Stepping out on a rock near the shore, the hungry man called out to him. The river was wide at that point, but at length, the Indian heard the outcry. Heading his canoe toward the stranger, he rapidly paddled to him. The man, a member of the Saponi tribe, was amazed at what he saw. The scalped, naked, unshaven Spaniard made a motion that he was hungry and, shaking the bag so that the coins rattled, signified that he would give him some of the contents in return.
The Saponi signaled to get into the canoe, and it looked as if the unfortunate adventurer’s troubles were over for a time.
At the camp, the women were barbecuing a buffalo calf. It was a pretty sight, the fire shining bright against the darkening sky. Though the intentions of the rescuing Saponi were probably the best, the chief was at once suspicious of the newcomer’s scalped head.
He first ordered the naked man to be clothed and fed but then had him bound and his bag of gold taken from him.
The Spaniard was so grateful to get the meal that he showed no resentment. He could stand anything on a full stomach. All summer and all winter, he remained a captive with the Saponi. He helped them sow and harvest crops and accompanied them on hunting expeditions. Toward the end of the winter, he was trusted to go about unaccompanied. He soon stole a gun and a bag of shots and made his escape.
Somehow or other, his lucky star followed him, and he managed to reach Philadelphia.
He had barely arrived and was wandering aimlessly along the docks when he saw a boat preparing to sail for Spain. A crew was needed, and he allowed himself to be impressed and thus returned to his native land. With his earnings, the Spaniard had acquired a luxuriant back wig, so he was not the unpresentable-looking individual who had been left for dead on the secluded island below Shamokin.
Over the years, he made several trips back to Philadelphia, always stopping at a particular boarding place on the riverfront, eventually marrying the landlady’s daughter.
He told his wife about the buried treasure, even drew her a map. He said that someday he would go after it. However, while on a ship bound for the West Indies, the Spaniard’s luck finally ran out, and he never returned from that voyage. If the man’s tale is true, that chest of gold still waits to be found on that Susquehanna island.
Adventure Awaits!
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