University of Virginia Library

MAJOR SAMUEL M'COLLOCH.

The story of McColloch's ride, is as familiar to most
readers as that of Putnam's, or the famed leap of Curtius;
but very few beyond the neighborhood where he lived, know
anything of his personal history. Indeed, until very recently,
it was a question of doubt who the rider was,—which
of the Major McColloch's. It is to supply this desideratum,
as well as to do justice to the memory of a brave and meritorious
man, that the present memoir has been prepared.

At the time of issuing our prospectus, we believed that
Major John McColloch was the person who accomplished this
wonderful feat; but soon after learned that the true hero
was Major Samuel, (an elder brother of the other.) We
were led into this error by injudicious friends of the first
named officer, whose opportunities for knowing the facts we
supposed were abundant, and whom we presumed would not
attempt to warp history for selfish purposes. The mistake
we shall now attempt to rectify.

Most writers on the border history of the west, have given
the credit of this achievement to the younger brother, for the
reason, perhaps, that the first was killed at a very early day,
and the other was long known as "Major McColloch."

Unfortunately for the annals of the west, but few written
memoranda were made by the first settlers, and these are
so vague and unsatisfactory as to be of little service to the
biographer or historian. Very few of the old pioneers were
able to commit their thoughts to paper; and those who could,
did not deem the daily occurrences of life of sufficient importance

to place upon record. This, doubtless, would at
that time, have been regarded as a most extravagant waste
of stationery. Thus it was, that no permanent records were
made; and thus it is, we have but little tangible means at
command to work upon. The want of such reliable records,
is one of the greatest difficulties in the way of the historian.

Major John McColloch, as we have learned from some
members of his family, kept a regular journal of his personal
movements; but this cannot now be found, and the presumption
is, it was destroyed. The family were long under the
impression that the record had fallen into the hands of Dr.
Doddridge, who was a brother-in-law to Major McColloch.
Learning this, we addressed a note of inquiry to a member of
Dr. D.'s family, and received in reply the information that no
such paper could be found.

The McColloch family was one of the earliest that settled
on Short creek, where different branches of it still continue
to reside. There were originally three brothers, Abraham,
Samuel and John, and two sisters. The men were brave,
active and generous; the sisters in every respect worthy of
such brothers. Colonel Ebenezer Zane married Elizabeth,
whose whole life was a model of gentleness, virtue and love.
Of the brothers, no men were more respected by their neighbors,
or more dreaded by the Indians. Abraham was the
elder, Samuel next, and John the third.

At a very early age, the hero of our sketch distinguished
himself as a bold and efficient borderer. As an "Indian
hunter," he had few superiors. He seemed to track the wily
red man with a sagacity as remarkable as his efforts were
successful. He was almost constantly engaged in excursions
against the enemy, or "scouting" for the security of the settlements.
It was mainly to these energetic operations that
the frontier was so often saved from savage depredation, and
by cutting off their retreat, attacking their hunting camps,
and annoying them in various other ways, he rendered
himself so great an object of fear and hatred. For these

they marked him, and vowed sleepless vengeance against the
name.

In consideration of his many very efficient services, Samuel
McColloch was commissioned Major in 1775. The daring
feat to which allusion has been made, and an account of which
we have elsewhere said should be given, was performed September
2d, 1777. The circumstances connected with this
remarkable achievement, having been noticed in an account
of the first siege of Wheeling, it now alone remains to give
the sequel, as then promised. The Indians, it will be remembered,
drove the gallant major to the summit of a lofty hill,
which overhangs the present city of Wheeling. Knowing
their relentless hostility toward himself, he strained every
muscle of his noble steed to gain the summit, and then escape
along the brow in direction of Van Metre's fort. At length
he attained the top, and galloping ahead of his pursuers,
rejoiced at his lucky escape. As he gained a point on the
hill near where the Cumberland Road now crosses, what should
he suddenly encounter but a considerable body of Indians,
who were just returning from a plundering excursion among
the settlements.

In an instant, he comprehended the full extent of his danger.
Escape seemed out of the question, either in the direction of
Short creek or back to the bottom. A fierce and revengeful
foe completely hemmed him in, cutting off every chance of
successful retreat or escape. What was to be done? Fall
into their hands, and share the most refined torture savage
ingenuity could invent? That thought was agony, and in an
instant the bold soldier, preferring death among the rocks
and bramble to the knife and fagot of the savage, determined
to plunge over the precipice before him.[2] Without a

M'COLLOCH'S LEAP.

moment's hesitation, for the savages were pressing upon him,
he firmly adjusted himself in his saddle, grasped securely the
bridle with his left hand, and supporting his rifle in the right,
pushed his unfaltering old horse over! A plunge, a crash,—
crackling timber and tumbling rocks were all that the wondering
savages could see or hear. They looked chagrined but
bewildered, one at another; and while they inwardly regretted
that the fire had been spared its duty, they could not but
greatly rejoice that their most inveterate enemy was at length
beyond the power of doing further injury. But, lo! ere
a single savage had recovered from his amazement, what
should they see but the invulnerable major on his white
steed, galloping across the peninsula. Such was the feat of
Major McColloch, certainly one of the most daring and successful
ever attempted. The place has become memorable as
McColloch's leap, and will remain, so long as the hill stands,
and the recollections of the past have a place in the hearts of
the people. Our engraver has given a very effective and
correct representation of this "leap."

It is to us a matter of great regret, that more of the stirring
incidents in this man's life have not been collected and preserved.
We have heard of many daring feats of personal
prowess, but they come to us in such a mixed and unsatisfactory
form, as to render their publication, at this time, unsafe.
We trust, however, to embody many new incidents in a future
edition.

We come now to the most painful duty of the biographer
—the catastrophe—the death of his hero. Towards the
latter end of July, 1782, indications of Indians having been
noticed by some of the settlers, Major McColloch and his
brother John, mounted their horses, and left Van Metre's fort,
to ascertain the correctness of the report. They crossed Short
creek, and continued in the direction of Wheeling, but
inclining towards the river. They scouted closely, but cautiously,
and not discovering any such "signs" as had been
stated, descended to the bottom at a point on the farm now

owned by Alfred P. Woods, about two miles above Wheeling.
They then passed up the river to the mouth of Short creek,
and thence up Girty's Point[3] in the direction of Van Metre's.
Not discovering any indications of the enemy, the brothers
were riding leisurely along, (July 30, 1782,) and when a short
distance beyond the "point," a deadly discharge of rifles took
place, killing Major McColloch instantly. His brother escaped,
but his horse was killed. Immediately mounting that of his
brother, he made off, to give the alarm. As yet no enemy
had been seen; but turning in his saddle, after riding fifty
yards, the path was filled with Indians, and one fellow in the
act of scalping the unfortunate Major. Quick as thought,
the rifle of John was at his shoulder, and an instant more, the
savage was rolling in the agonies of death. John escaped to
the fort unhurt, with the exception of a slight wound on
his hip.

On the following day, a party of men from Van Metre's
went out and gathered up the mutilated remains of Major
McColloch. The savages had disemboweled him, but the
viscera all remained except the heart. Some years subsequent
to this melancholy affair, an Indian, who had been one of the
party on this occasion, told some whites that the heart of Major
McColloch had been divided and eaten by the party! This was
done, said he, that "We be bold, like Major McColloch."[4] On
another occasion, an Indian, in speaking of the incident,
said, "The whites (meaning John McColloch) had killed a

great captain, but they (the Indians) had killed a greater
one."

Before closing this hasty sketch, it may, perhaps, be well
enough to advert again to the question of identity.

In the first place, then, it seems generally conceded that
the person who accomplished the feat was Major McColloch;
and the year of its occurrence 1777. Well, Samuel McColloch
was commissioned major in 1775, John not until 1795.
Let the candid reader say which could have been the man.
But, further; in 1775-6-7, etc., Samuel McColloch was one
of the most active and distinguished borderers in Virginia—
the pride of the settlements, and a terror to the savages. John
was born in 1759, and, therefore, in 1777 was only eighteen
years of age;—quite too young a man to have rendered himself
so odious to the fierce old Shawanee warriors. But there
need be no necessity for depending upon doubtful conjecture,
or uncertain data. Without one single exception, all the older
citizens agree in saying that it was Major Samuel. The late
Colonel Woods said so, unhesitatingly; and we believe, stated
very positively, that Major John never claimed the credit,
although he (W.) often talked to him of the exploit.

The story in favor of Major John is clearly of modern
origin; the result of a mistake in a writer of romance, who
gave the credit without knowing the facts.

Major John McColloch was, perhaps, quite as brave and true
as his brother. He did ample service in the cause of our long
struggle for independence, and a more devoted patriot could
not be found. He filled many important posts of honor and
trust, and was greatly respected. The early records of Ohio
county show that he acted a conspicuous part on the bench
and otherwise.

The death of Major Samuel McColloch occurred at the most
unfortunate period of our history. It was in the summer of
that year, (1782,) so memorable in the annals of the west.
The united tribes of the north and west were meditating an
attack upon the frontier posts of Virginia, and many feared

some of the weaker ones might yield. Amid such perilous
scenes as these, the death of such men as Major McColloch
could not but be greatly deplored.

Major McColloch married a Miss Mitchell, and had only
enjoyed the wedded life six months at the time of his death.
His widow married Andrew Woods.