University of Virginia Library

THE TUSH MURDER.

The valley of Wheeling creek, one of the most beautiful
and productive in the state, was the theatre of many a painful
and bloody drama. Scarcely a quiet bend, or a surrounding
hill, or a rippling tributary, that is not memorable as connected
with the wars of the Indians. To one unacquainted with its
tragic history, it would indeed be difficult to imagine that
these clear waters were once tinged with the blood of helpless
women and children, and these stern old hills ever echoed to
the terrible whoop of the savage. Such, however, is the
melancholy fact, as our pages abundantly attest. The case
which we are about to detail was, perhaps, the most dreadful
that occurred in the settlement of the valley.

Of those who settled at an early day in this region, was
George Tush. His residence was about twelve miles from the
river, on the farm now owned by Mr. Albert Davis. The
family consisted of himself, wife, and five children. During
the spring and summer of 1794, the settlements on Wheeling
creek had been almost entirely exempt from Indian visitation,
and many of the inhabitants began to console themselves with
the reflection, that day was about to dawn upon their long
night of terror. But, alas, their fondly imagined security was
soon to be dispelled. On the evening of Saturday, September
6th, (1794,) as George Tush was in the act of feeding his hogs,
in a sty close to his cabin, he was fired upon by three savages,
who had concealed themselves, and waited until he should
leave the house. A ball struck him transversely upon the
breast, cutting a deep gash, and inflicting a serious and painful
wound, as it carried off a portion of the bone. It lodged in
the shoulder blade. Tush, losing entirely his presence of
mind, or, in all charitableness, we may allow that his pain

deprived him of self-control, rushed madly by his own door,
in direction of the forest, leaving his helpless family to the
mercy of relentless savages. The next moment the Indians
were in the house. The mother was instantly made prisoner,
and in powerless but quivering agony, compelled to witness
the horrid butchery of her innocent children. In an instant
the youngest born was dashed against a tree, and the other
four fell beneath the reeking tomahawk. Pillaging the house
of such articles as they could carry off, a hurried retreat
was made, lest the escaped husband should follow in pursuit.
The feeble woman was brutally urged on before them. But,
alas, the scenes which she had just witnessed, together with
her own situation, rendered her movements both slow and painful.
Fearing discovery, the wretches tomahawked their helpless
victim, and left her at a point about eight miles from the
place of captivity. Her remains were found some years
afterwards by her husband, while hunting. He recognized
them by the bones of an infant with which she was at the
time largely enceinte.

Of the children tomahawked and scalped, one, a little girl
of four years, recovered, and the infant, whose brains were
supposed to have been dashed out, was found alive on the
following day, lying upon its dead sisters and brothers.
That child still lives, and is the wife of George Goodrich,
residing near Shelbyville, Ia. The children had, a few days
before, gathered a quantity of acorns, which, it is supposed,
prevented the hogs disturbing the remains.

Tush, in his fright, ran some distance, and jumped from a
ledge of rocks fifteen feet in height. This so disabled him
that he could not get to Jacob Wetzel's house, which was
just across the creek, until late at night. He was taken to
Wheeling a day or two after, and there remained until his
wound was healed. (See letter of Mr. Darby, in a Note at
the end of present chapter, for some interesting facts connected
with this case.)