University of Virginia Library

Your note of this day I have duly received, and with sincere
pleasure proceed to comply with your requisitions; especially, as the facts
will have a more fitting and enduring place of record, than if stated in a
public print—which it was my intention to have done, had you not presented
a superior vehicle.

Though not offered as material to the historical facts, I preface my recollections,
with a statement of my position at the time of their occurrence,
and my age when brought on the theatre. I was born on the 14th August,
1775, and arrived with my parents on the ground where Washington, Pennsylvania,
now stands, December 25th, 1781, of course in my seventh year.
Though so young, I very distinctly remember such striking circumstances
as attended Indian war, and to which I was either an ear or eye-witness.

In the summer previous to the removal of his family, my father came to
Washington county, and built a cabin, and made a crop on William Wolf's
farm, on one of the head branches of Buffalo, about five miles west of where
the borough of Washington now stands. We had come out, and were living
in the cabin, when early in 1782, the Indians committed some murders, and
the people took refuge in their block-houses, and we, with others, were,
through part of February and March, forted in Jacob Wolf's block-house.
The Great Western road traverses the site of this once rude fortress,[50] in
which, sixty-eight years past, the writer of these words was sheltered from
the fury of savages.

Simultaneous with the above stated circumstances, was planned and carried
into effect, the campaign under the nominal command of Colonel David
Williamson, and which led on to the deplorable massacre of the Moravian
christianized Indians, on the Tuscarawas. In after life, I personally knew
several men who participated in this affair, and particularly Colonel Williamson;
and am now constrained to express my full conviction, that the

fatal issue was not premeditated, but the effect of some momentary impulse.
You will have, no doubt, means more ample than any in my power to supply,
to set this part of frontier history in correct points of view.

As the season or summer of 1782 advanced, another, and much more important
expedition against the Indians was planned, and mustered under the
joint commands of Colonels David Williamson and William Crawford. This
little army penetrated the Indian country, was met, and utterly defeated.
Colonel Crawford was made captive, and burned by the savages. In the
very neighborhood where I was then living, about two miles from Catfish,
(Washington). John Campbell, William Nimmons, William Huston, and William
Johnston, never returned, though their individual fate was, I believe,
never revealed. I mention the facts from their tendency to fix their
memory on my mind; the more, as they influenced all my after life. My
parents never returned to their cabin near Wolf's fort. Through 1782, and
into 1783, we resided on land as already stated. In 1783, 1784, and into 1785,
we resided on the land long known as Officers' farm, then owned by James
Brownlee. Early in 1785, my father purchased from Thomas Goudy, the
farm, afterwards long owned by Benedict Reynolds, and on which my parents,
with their children, resided from early in 1785 to 1793.

In my father's first visit to the west, and before the removal of his family,
of the many persons he made acquaintance with, one was Mr. Becham, and
a second, Mr. Crow, the fathers of the victims whose fate you have to record.
I do not remember to have seen the former, but the latter was frequently at
our house on the Reynold farm, and spent great part of a day with us,
only a few days before the murder of his two daughters, and the astonishing
escape of his other daughter, Christina, as you have found stated by Colonel
Lewis Bonnett.

I had a half-brother, five years older than myself, and while life remains,
I must remember his return home, and communicating to his parents, the
murder of two sons, and the scalping and tomahawking of a third, named
Thomas, who survived; the children of Mr. Becham. I had then never been,
or expected to be, west of our long-deserted cabin on Buffalo. The year, I
cannot attempt to state, but can decidedly say, it was not later than 1788,
and I think was in 1787.

My first residence on Wheeling waters, was commenced early in 1793, in
the Bonnett, Wetzel, Keller, Mercer, &c. neighborhood, about five or six
miles above Shepherd's fort, now Mrs. Cruger's farm. Amongst other persons,
I became acquainted with in this neighborhood, was George Tush, who
resided with his family near Bonnetts and Wetzels.

Late in 1793, I went to, and opened a school in the then very small, but
as on the extreme frontier, the very important village of Wheeling; in
which, and in its immediate neighborhood, I remained until 1795. Thus, I
was there, during the important year of 1794, important in an especial manner
to the long distressed frontier on the Ohio. The power of the savages was

broken; fear of their inroads was in great part effaced; but the lapse of
time was too brief to permit the horrors of their inroads to be forgotten.
The confidence of safety was still felt, and it was in this state of mind, that
the people of Wheeling received the fearful news of the murder of Mrs. Tush
and her children. The wounded and still bleeding husband and father was
brought to our midst, and placed under the care of George Cookis and his
wife. I have already stated that I had a previous personal acquaintance
with Tush; and by a curious coincidence, the Becham murder, the Crow murder,
and other similar tragedies acted years before, were all brought up to
our most vivid remembrance, and we had, beside the Tush family, other
events to give activity to our recollections. * * *

In conclusion, I must say, that if any one more than another, desires
complete success to your work, I am that man. The deepest fountains of
my heart are opened, when mentally scanning the scenes of former years—
of days long gone by. You will have the credit of aiding in the preservation
of names of persons, the value of whose services in life, the present generation
can but faintly estimate. They were the heroes and martyrs who
braved the danger, and endured the hardships of a savage frontier—they
prepared the way which led to the smiling country which now blooms in
plenty and peace. When in my old age I can, by the exercise of a sacred
duty, have my name associated with those you will place on record, I must
sincerely thank Eternal Power for the greatest of earthly favors. My path
through life has yet had strewn along it more thorns than roses; but your
book, when I receive it, will cure the pain of many sharp thorns, and
sweeten the remaining years of a long and changeful existence. Such reading
will recall deeds of heroism, and manly traits of character which no
other section of earth can give examples to excel. With sentiments of sincere
gratitude for your confidence, and hope of your success,