University of Virginia Library

[270] CHAPTER XVI.

The treaty of peace between the United States and
Great Britain, which terminated so gloriously the war of
the revolution, did not put a period to Indian hostilities.[1]
The aid which had been extended to the savages, and
which enabled them so successfully to gratify their implacable
resentment against the border country, being
withdrawn, they were less able to cope with the whites
than they had been, and were less a hindrance to the population
and improvement of those sections of country
which had been the theatre of their many outrages. In
North Western Virginia, indeed, although the war continued
to be waged against its inhabitants, yet it assumed
a different aspect. It became a war rather of plunder,
than of blood; and although in the predatory incursions
of the Indians, individuals some times fell a sacrifice to
savage passion; yet this was of such rare occurrence, that
the chronicles of those days are divested of much of the
interest, which attaches to a detail of Indian hostilities.
For several years, scarce an incident occurred worthy of
being rescued from oblivion.

In Kentucky it was far otherwise. The war continued
to be prosecuted there, with the wonted vigor of the savages.—The
General Assembly of Virginia having, at the
close of the revolution, passed an act for surveying the
land set apart for her officers and soldiers, south of Green
river, the surveyors descended to the Ohio, to explore the
country and perform the duties assigned them. On their
arrival they found it occupied by the savages, and acts of

hostilities immediately [271] ensued. In December, 1783,
the Legislature likewise passed an act, appropriating the
country between the Scioto and Miami rivers, for the purpose
of satisfying the claims of the officers and soldiers, if
the land previously allotted, in Kentucky, should prove
insufficient for that object. This led to a confederacy of
the many tribes of Indians, interested in those sections of
country, and produced such feelings and gave rise to such
acts of hostility on their part, as induced Benjamin Harrison
the Governor of Virginia, in November, 1784, to recommend
the postponement of the surveys; and in January,
1785, a proclamation was issued, by Patrick Henry, (successor
of Gov. Harrison) commanding the surveyors to desist
and leave the country. A treaty was soon after concluded,
by which the country on the Scioto, Miami, and
Muskingum, was ceded to the United States.[2] In this interval
of time, North Western Virginia enjoyed almost
uninterrupted repose. There was indeed an alarm of Indians,
on Simpson's creek in 1783, but it soon subsided;
and the circumstance which gave rise to it (the discharge
of a gun at Major Power) was generally attributed to a
white man.

In 1784, the settlement towards the head of West Fork,
suffered somewhat from savage invasion. A party of Indians
came to the house of Henry Flesher, (where the town
of Weston now is) and fired at the old gentleman, as he
was returning from the labors of the field. The gun discharged
at him, had been loaded with two balls, and both
taking effect, crippled his arm a good deal. Two savages
immediately ran towards him; and he, towards the door;
and just as he was in the act of entering it, one of them
had approached so closely as to strike at him with the butt
end of his gun. The breech came first in contact with the
facing of the door, and descending on his head, seemed
to throw him forward into the house, and his wife closing

the door, no attempt was made by the savages to force it
open. Still, however, they did not feel secure; and as
soon as they became assured that the savages were withdrawn,
they left the house and sought security elsewhere.
Most of the family lay in the woods during the night,—
one young woman succeeded in finding the way to Hacker's
creek, from whence Thomas Hughes immediately departed
to find the others. This was effected early next
morning, and all were safely escorted to that settlement.

[272] The foregoing event happened in September, and
in a few days after, as Daniel Radcliff was proceeding to
the Brushy Fork of Elk creek on a hunting expedition,
he was shot (probably by the Indians who had been at
Flesher's,) tomahawked and scalped in a shocking manner.

In 1785, six Indians came to Bingamon creek, (a branch
of the West Fork) and made their appearance upon a farm
occupied by Thomas and Edward Cunningham. At this
time the two brothers were dwelling with their families
in separate houses, but nearly adjoining, though not in a
direct line with each other. Thomas was then on a trading
visit east of the mountain, and his wife and four children
were collected in their room for the purpose of eating
dinner, as was Edward with his family, in their house.
Suddenly a lusty savage entered where were Mrs. Thomas
Cunningham and her children, but seeing that he would
be exposed to a fire from the other house, and apprehending
no danger from the woman and children, he closed
the door and seemed for a time only intent on the means
of escaping.

Edward Cunningham had seen the savage enter his
brother's house, and fastened his own door, seized his gun
and stepping to a small aperture in the wall next the
house in which was the Indian, and which served as well
for a port hole as for the admission of light, was ready to
fire whenever the savage should make his appearance.
But in the other house was a like aperture, and through it
the Indian fired at Edward, and shouted the yell of victory.
It was answered by Edward. He had seen the aim
of the savage only in time to avoid it,—the bark from the
log close to his head, was knocked off by the ball and flew

into his face. The Indian seeing that he had missed his
object, and observing an adze in the room, deliberately
commenced cutting an aperture in the back wall through
which he might pass out without being exposed to a shot
from the other building.[3]

Another of the Indians came into the yard just after the
firing of his companion, but observing Edward's gun pointing
through the port hole, he endeavored to retreat out of
its range. He failed of his purpose. Just as he was about
to spring over the fence, the gun was fired and he fell forward.
The ball however only fractured his thigh bone,
and he was yet able to hobble over the fence and take
shelter behind a [273] coverlet suspended on it, before Edward
could again load his gun.

While the Indian was engaged in cutting a hole in the
wall, Mrs. Cunningham made no attempt to get out. She
was well aware that it would draw down upon her head
the fury of the savage; and that if she escaped this, she
would most probably be killed by some of those who were
watching around, before the other door could be opened
for her admission.—She knew too, that it was impossible
for her to take the children with her, and could not brook
the idea of leaving them in the hands of the savage monster.
She even trusted to the hope that he would withdraw,
as soon as he could, without molesting any of them.
A few minutes served to convince her of the fallacy of this
expectation. When the opening had been made sufficiently
large, he raised his tomahawk, sunk it deep into
the brains of one of the children, and throwing the scarcely
lifeless body into the back yard, ordered the mother to
follow after. There was no alternative but death, and she
obeyed his order, stepping over the dead body of one of
her children,[4] with an infant in her arms and two others

screaming from horror at the sight, and clinging to her.
When all were out he scalped the murdered boy, and setting
fire to the house, retired to an eminence in the field,
where two of the savages were, with their wounded companion,—leaving
the other two to watch the opening of
Edward Cunningham's door, when the burning of the
house should force the family from their shelter. They
were disappointed in their expectation of that event by
the exertions of Cunningham and his son. When the
flame from the one house communicated to the roof of the
other, they ascended to the loft, threw off the loose boards
which covered it, and extinguished the fire;—the savages
shooting at them all the while, and their balls frequently
striking close by.

Despairing of accomplishing farther havoc, and fearful
of detection and pursuit, the Indians collected together
and prepared to retreat. Mrs. Cunningham's eldest son
was first tomahawked and scalped; the fatal hatchet sunk
into the head of her little daughter, whom they then took
by the arms and legs, and slinging it repeatedly against a
tree, ended its sufferings with its life. Mrs. Cunningham
stood motionless with grief, and in momentary expectation
of having the same dealt to her and her innocent infant.
But no! She was [274] doomed to captivity; and with her
helpless babe in her arms, was led off from this scene of
horror and of wo. The wounded savage was carried on a
rough litter, and they all departed, crossing the ridge to
Bingamon creek, near which they found a cave that afforded
them shelter and concealment.[5] After night, they
returned to Edward Cunningham's, and finding no one,
plundered and fired the house.

When the savages withdrew in the evening, Cunningham

went with his family into the woods, where they remained
all night, there being no settlement nearer than
eight or ten miles. In the morning, proceeding to the
nearest house, they gave the alarm and a company of men
was soon collected to go in pursuit of the Indians. When
they came to Cunningham's and found both houses heaps
of ashes, they buried the bones which remained of the boy
who was murdered in the house, with the bodies of his
brother and little sister, who were killed in the field; but
so cautiously had the savages conducted their retreat that
no traces of them could be discovered, and the men returned
to their homes.

Some days after, circumstances induced the belief that
the Indians were yet in the neighborhood, and men were
again assembled for the purpose of tracing them. They
were now enabled to distinguish the trail, and pursued it
near to the cave, where from the number of rocks on the
ground and the care which had been taken by the Indians
to leave no vestige, they could no longer discover it. They
however examined for it in every direction until night
forced them to desist. In thinking over the incidents of
the day; the cave occurred to the mind of Major Robinson,
who was well acquainted with the woods, and he concluded
that the savages must be concealed in it. It was
examined early next morning, but they had left it the preceding
night and departed for their towns. After her return
from captivity, Mrs. Cunningham stated, that in time
of the search on the day before, the Indians were in the
cave, and that several times the whites approached so near,
that she could distinctly hear their voices; the savages
standing with their guns ready to fire, in the event of their
being discovered, and forcing her to keep the infant to her
breast, lest its crying might point to the place of their concealment.[6]

In consequence of their stay at this place on account
of their wounded companion, it was some time before they

arrived [275] in their own country;[7] and Mrs. Cunningham's
sufferings, of body as well as mind were truly great.
Fatigue and hunger oppressed her sorely,—the infant in
her arms, wanting the nourishment derived from the due
sustenance of the mother, plied at the breast for milk, in
vain—blood came in stead; and the Indians perceiving
this, put a period to its sufferings, with the tomahawk,
even while clinging to its mother's bosom. It was cast a
little distance from the path, and left without a leaf or
bush to hide it from beasts of prey.

The anguish of this woman during the journey to the
towns, can only be properly estimated by a parent; her
bodily sufferings may be inferred from the fact, that for
ten days her only sustenance consisted of the head of a
wild turkey and three papaws, and from the circumstance
that the skin and nails of her feet, scalded by frequent
wading of the water, came with her stockings, when upon
their arrival at a village of the Delawares, she was permitted
to draw them off. Yet was she forced to continue
on with them the next day.—One of the Indians belonging
to the village where they were, by an application of
some sanative herbs, very much relieved the pain which
she endured.

When she came to the town of those by whom she
had been made prisoner, although receiving no barbarous
or cruel usage, yet everything indicated to her, that she
was reserved for some painful torture. The wounded Indian
had been left behind, and she was delivered to his
father. Her clothes were not changed, as is the case when
a prisoner is adopted by them; but she was compelled to
wear them, dirty as they were,—a bad omen for a captive.
She was however, not long in apprehension of a wretched
fate. A conference was soon to take place between the
Indians and whites, preparatory to a treaty of peace; and

witnessing an uncommon excitement in the village one
evening, upon inquiring, learned that the Great captain
Simon Girty had arrived. She determined to prevail with
him, if she could, to intercede for her liberation, and seeing
him next day passing near on horseback, she laid hold on
his stirrup, and implored his interference. For a while he
made light of her petition,—telling her that she would be
as well there as in her own country, and that if he were disposed
to do her a kindness he could not as his saddle bags
were too small to conceal her; but her importunity at length
prevailed, and he whose heart had been so long steeled
[276] against every kindly feeling, every sympathetic impression,
was at length induced to perform an act of generous,
disinterested benevolence. He paid her ransom,
had her conveyed to the commissioners for negotiating
with the Indians, and by them she was taken to a station
on the south side of the Ohio.[8] Here she met with two
gentlemen (Long and Denton) who had been at the treaty
to obtain intelligence of their children taken captive
some time before, but not being able to gain any information
respecting them, they were then returning to the interior
of Kentucky and kindly furnished her a horse.

In consequence of the great danger attending a journey
through the wilderness which lay between the settlements
in Kentucky and those on the Holstein, persons
scarcely ever performed it but at particular periods of the
year, and in caravans, the better to defend themselves
against attacks of savages. Notice of the time and place
of the assembling of one of these parties being given, Mrs.
Cunningham prepared to accompany it; but before that time
arrived, they were deterred from the undertaking by the
report that a company of travellers, stronger than theirs
would be, had been encountered by the Indians, and all
either killed or made prisoners. Soon after another party

resolved on a visit to Virginia, and Mrs. Cunningham was
furnished a horse belonging to a gentleman on Holstein
(which had escaped from him while on a buffalo hunt in
Kentucky and was found after his return,) to carry her
that far on her way home. Experiencing the many unpleasant
circumstances incident to such a jaunt, she reached
Holstein, and from thence, after a repose of a few days,
keeping up the Valley of Virginia, she proceeded by the
way of Shenandoah, to the county of Harrison.[9] Here
she was sadly disappointed in not meeting with her husband.
Having understood that she had been ransomed
and taken to Kentucky, he had, some time before, gone on
in quest of her. Anxiety for his fate, alone and on a journey
which she well knew to be fraught with many dangers,
she could not cheerily partake of the general joy excited
by her return. In a few days however, he came back. He
had heard on Holstein of her having passed there and he
retraced his steps. Arriving at his brother Edward's, he
again enjoyed the satisfaction of being with all that was
then dear to him on earth. It was a delightful satisfaction,
but presently damped by the recollection of [277] the
fate of his luckless children—Time assuaged the bitterness
of the recollection and blessed him with other and more
fortunate children.[10]

In October 1784, a party of Indians ascended Sandy
river and passing over to the head of Clynch, came to the
settlement near where Tazewell court house is now located.
Going first to the house of a Mr. Davisson, they killed him
and his wife; and setting fire to their dwelling, proceeded
towards the residence of James Moore, sr. On their way
they met Moore salting his horses at a lick trough in the
woods, and killed him. They then went to the house and
captured Mrs. Moore and her seven children, and Sally

Ivens, a young lady who was there on a visit. Fearing
detection, they immediately departed for Ohio with the
prisoners; and in order to expedite their retreat, killed
John Moore, jr. and the three younger children.

Upon their arrival at the Shawanee town on the Scioto
(near the mouth of Paint creek) a council was held, and it
was resolved that two of the captives should be burned
alive, to avenge the death of some of their warriors who
had been killed on the Kentucky river. This dreadful
doom was allotted to Mrs. Moore and her daughter Jane,—
an interesting girl about sixteen years of age. They were
tied to a post and tortured to death with burning splinters
of pine, in the presence of the remaining members of the
family.

After the death of his mother and sister, James Moore
was sent to the Maumee towns in Michigan, where he remained
until December 1785,—his sister Mary and Sally
Ivins remaining with the Shawanees. In December 1786,
they were all brought to Augusta county in conformity
with the stipulations of the treaty of Miami, and ransomed
by their friends.[11]

In the fall of 1796, John Ice and James Snodgrass were
killed by the Indians when looking for their horses which
they [278] had lost on a buffalo hunt on Fishing creek.
Their remains were afterwards found—the flesh torn from
the bones by the wolves—and buried.

In a few days after Ice and Snodgrass left home in
quest of their horses, a party of Indians came to Buffalo
creek in Monongalia, and meeting with Mrs. Dragoo and
her son in a corn field gathering beans, took them prisoners,
and supposing that their detention would induce
others to look for them, they waylaid the path leading

from the house. According to their expectation, uneasy
at their continued absence, Jacob Strait and Nicholas
Wood went to ascertain its cause. As they approached
the Indians fired from their covert, and Wood fell;—Strait
taking to flight was soon overtaken. Mrs. Strait and her
daughter, hearing the firing and seeing the savages in
pursuit of Mr. Strait, betook themselves also to flight, but
were discovered by some of the Indians who immediately
ran after them. The daughter concealed herself in a
thicket of bushes and escaped observation. Her mother
sought concealment under a large shelving rock, and was
not afterwards discovered by the savages, although those
in pursuit of her husband, passed near and overtook him
not far off. Indeed she was at that time so close, as to
hear Mr. Strait say, when overtaken, "don't kill me and I
will go with you;" and the savage replying "will you go
with me," she heard the fatal blow which deprived her
husband of life.

Mrs. Dragoo being infirm and unable to travel to their
towns, was murdered on the way. Her son (a lad of seven)
remained with the Indians upwards of twenty years,—he
married a squaw, by whom he had four children,—two of
whom he brought home with him, when he forsook the
Indians.

In 1787 the Indians again visited the settlement on
Buffaloe, and as Levi Morgan was engaged in skining a
wolf which he had just taken from his trap, he saw three
of them—one riding a horse which he well knew, the other
two walking near behind—coming towards him. On first
looking in the direction they were coming, he recognized
the horse, and supposed the rider to be its owner—one of
his near neighbors. A second glance discovered the mistake,
and he siezed his gun and sprang behind a large
rock,—the Indians at the same instant taking shelter by
the side of a large tree.—As soon as his body was obscured
from their view, he turned, and seeing the Indians looking
towards the farther end of the [279] rocks as if expecting
him to make his appearance there, he fired and one of
them fell. Instantly he had recourse to his powder horn
to reload, but while engaged in skinning the wolf the stopper

had fallen out and his powder was wasted. He then
fled, and one of the savages took after him. For some
time he held to his gun; but finding his pursuer sensibly
gaining on him, he dropped it under the hope that it would
attract the attention of the Indian and give him a better
chance of escape. The savage passed heedlessly by it.
Morgan then threw his shot pouch and coat in the way, to
tempt the Indian to a momentary delay. It was equally
vain,—his pursuer did not falter for an instant. He now
had recourse to another expedient to save himself from
captivity or death. Arriving at the summit of the hill up
which he had directed his steps, he halted; and, as if some
men were approaching from the other side, called aloud,
"come on, come on; here is one, make haste." The Indian
not doubting that he was really calling to some men
at hand, turned and retreated as precipitately as he had
advanced; and when he heard Morgan exclaim, "shoot
quick, or he will be out of reach," he seemed to redouble
his exertion to gain that desirable distance. Pleased with
the success of the artifice, Morgan hastened home; leaving
his coat and gun to reward the savage for the deception
practised on him.[12]

In September of this year, a party of Indians were
discovered in the act of catching some horses on the West
Fork above Clarksburg; and a company of men led on by
Col. Lowther, went immediately in pursuit of them.[13] On
the third night the Indians and whites, unknown to each
other, encamped not far apart; and in the morning the
fires of the latter being discovered by Elias Hughes, the
detachment which was accompanying him fired upon the
camp, and one of the savages fell. The remainder taking

to flight, one of them passed near to where Col. Lowther
and the other men were, and the Colonel firing at him as
he ran, the ball entering at his shoulder, perforated him,
and he fell. The horses and plunder which had been taken
by the savages, were then collected by the whites, and they
commenced their return home, in the confidence of false
security. They had not proceeded far, when two guns
were unexpectedly fired at them, and John Bonnet fell,
pierced through the body. He died before he reached
home.[14]

[280] The Indians never thought the whites justifiable
in flying to arms to punish them for acts merely of rapine.
They felt authorized to levy contributions of this sort, whenever
an occasion served, viewing property thus acquired as
(to use their own expression) the "only rent which they received
for their lands;" and if when detected in secretly
exacting them, their blood paid the penalty, they were
sure to retaliate with tenfold fury, on the first favorable
opportunity. The murder of these two Indians by Hughes
and Lowther was soon followed by acts of retribution,
which are believed to have been, at least mediately, produced
by them.

On the 5th of December, a party of Indians and one
white man (Leonard Schoolcraft) came into the settlement
on Hacker's creek, and meeting with a daughter of Jesse
Hughes, took her prisoner. Passing on, they came upon
E. West, Senr. carrying some fodder to the stable, and
taking him likewise captive, carried him to where Hughes'
daughter had been left in charge of some of their party.—
Here the old gentleman fell upon his knees and expressed
a fervent wish that they would not deal harshly by him.

His petition was answered by a stroke of the tomahawk,
and he fell dead.

They then went to the house of Edmund West, Jun.
where were Mrs. West and her sister (a girl of eleven
years old, daughter of John Hacker) and a lad of twelve,
a brother of West. Forcing open the door, Schoolcraft
and two of the savages entered; and one of them immediately
tomahawked Mrs. West. The boy was taking
some corn from under the bed,—he was drawn out by the
feet and the tomahawk sank twice in his forehead, directly
above each eye. The girl was standing behind the door.
One of the savages approached and aimed at her a blow.
She tried to evade it; but it struck on the side of her neck,
though not with sufficient force to knock her down. She
fell however, and lay as if killed. Thinking their work of
death accomplished here, they took from a press some
milk, butter and bread, placed it on the table, and deliberately
sat down to eat,—the little girl observing all that
passed, in silent stillness. When they had satisfied their
hunger, they arose, scalped the woman and boy, plundered
the house—even emptying the feathers to carry off the ticking—and
departed, dragging the little girl by the hair, forty
or fifty yards from the house. They then threw her over the
fence, and scalped her; but as she evinced symptoms of
life, Schoolcraft observed "that is not enough," when immediately
one of the savages thrust a knife into her side,
and they left her. Fortunately the point of the knife
came in contact with a rib and did not injure her much.

Old Mrs. West and her two daughters, who were alone
when the old gentleman was taken, became uneasy that he
did not return; and fearing that he had fallen into the
hands of savages (as they could not otherwise account for
his absence) they left the house and went to Alexander
West's, who was then on a hunting expedition with his
brother Edmund. They told of the absence of old Mr.
West and [281] their fears for his fate; and as there was
no man here, they went over to Jesse Hughes' who was
himself uneasy that his daughter did not come home.
Upon hearing that West too was missing, he did not
doubt but that both had fallen into the hands of Indians;

and knowing of the absence from home of Edmund West,
Jun. he deemed it advisable to apprize his wife of danger,
and remove her to his house. For this purpose and accompanied
by Mrs. West's two daughters, he went on.
On entering the door, the tale of destruction which had
been done there was soon told in part. Mrs. West and the
lad lay weltering in their blood, but not yet dead. The
sight overpowered the girls, and Hughes had to carry
them off.—Seeing that the savages had but just left them;
and aware of the danger which would attend any attempt
to move out and give the alarm that night, Hughes guarded
his own house until day, when he spread the sorrowful intelligence,
and a company were collected to ascertain the
extent of the mischief and try to find those who were
known to be missing.

Young West was found—standing in the creek about
a mile from where he had been tomahawked. The brains
were oozing from his head; yet he survived in extreme
suffering for three days. Old Mr. West was found in the
field where he had been tomahawked. Mrs. West was in
the house; she had probably lived but a few minutes after
Hughes and her sisters-in-law had left there.—The little
girl (Hacker's daughter) was in bed at the house of old
Mr. West. She related the history of the transactions at
Edmund West's, Jun. and said that she went to sleep when
thrown over the fence and was awaked by the scalping.
After she had been stabbed at the suggestion of Schoolcraft
and left, she tried to re-cross the fence to the house,
but as she was climbing up she again went to sleep and
fell back. She then walked into the woods, sheltered herself
as well as she could in the top of a fallen tree, and remained
there until the cocks crew in the morning.

Remembering that there was no person left alive at
the house of her sister, awhile before day she proceeded
to old Mr. West's. She found no person at home, the fire
nearly out, but the hearth warm and she laid down on it.
The heat produced a sickly feeling, which caused her to
get up and go to the bed, in which she was found.—She
recovered, grew up, was married, gave birth to ten children,
and died, as was believed, of an affection of the

head, occasioned by the wound she received that night.
Hughes' daughter was ransomed by her father the next
year, and is yet living in sight of the theatre of those savage
enormities.

In March 1789, two Indians came to the house of Mr.
Glass in the upper end of Ohio (now Brooke) county. They
were discovered by a negro woman, who immediately exclaimed,
"here are Indians." Mrs. Glass rose up from
her spinning wheel, ran to the door, and was met by an
Indian with his gun presented. She laid hold on the muzzle
and turning it aside, begged that he would not kill,
[282] but take her prisoner. He walked into the house
and when joined by another Indian with the negro woman
and her boy, about four years old, they opened a chest,
took out a small box and some articles of clothing, and
without doing farther mischief, departed with the prisoners,—Mrs.
Glass and her child, two years of age, the negro
woman and boy and her infant child. They had proceeded
but a short distance when a consultation was held,
and Mrs. Glass supposing from their gestures and frequent
pointing towards the children they were the subject of deliberation,
held forth her little boy to one of the savages
and begged that he might be spared—adding, "he will
make a fine little Indian after awhile." He signed to her
to go on. The other savage then struck the negro boy
with the pipe end of his tomahawk, and with the edge
gave him a blow across the back of the neck, and scalped
and left him.

In the evening they came to the Ohio river just above
Wellsburg, and descended it in a canoe about five miles,
to the mouth of Rush run. They drew the canoe some
distance up the run and proceeding between one and two
miles farther encamped for the night.—Next morning they
resumed their march and about two o'clock halted on Indian
Short creek, twenty miles farther.

When the savages came to the house of Mr. Glass he
was at work in a field some few hundred yards off, and
was ignorant that any thing extraordinary had occurred
there, until in the afternoon.—Searching in vain for his
wife, he became satisfied that she had been taken by the

Indians; and proceeding to Well's fort prevailed on ten
men to accompany him in quest of them. Early next
morning they discovered the place where the Indians embarked
in the canoe; and as Mr. Glass readily distinguished
the impression made by Mrs. Glass' shoe on the
sand, they crossed the river with great expectation of being
able to overtake them. They then went down the river
to the mouth of Rush run, where the canoe was found
and identified by some of Mr. Glass' papers, purposely
left there by Mrs. Glass. From this place the trail of the
Indians and their prisoners was plainly visible, and pursuing
it, the party arrived in view of the smoke from
their fire on Short creek, about an hour after the Indians
had halted. Crossing slyly forward, when rather more
than one hundred yards off they beheld the two savages
attentively inspecting a red jacket which one of them
held, and Mrs. Glass and her little boy and the negro
woman and her child a few paces from them.—Suddenly
the Indians let fall the jacket, and looked towards the
men. Supposing they were discovered, they discharged
their guns and rushed towards the fire. One of the Indians
fell and dropped his gun, but recovering, ran about
one hundred yards when a shot aimed at him by Major
McGuire brought him to his hands and knees.—Mrs. Glass
informing them that there was another encampment of
Indians close by, instead of following the wounded savage,
they returned home with all speed.

[283] In August five Indians on their way to the settlements
on the waters of the Monongahela, met with two
men on Middle Island creek, and killed them. Taking
their horses they continued on their route until they came
to the house of William Johnson on Ten Mile, and made
prisoner of Mrs. Johnson and some children; plundered
the house, killed part of the stock, and taking with them
one of Johnson's horses, returned towards the Ohio.
When the Indians came to the house, Johnson had gone
to a lick not far off, and on his return in the morning, seewhat
had been done, and searching until he found the trail
of the savages and their prisoners, ran to Clarksburg for
assistance. A company of men repaired with him immediately

to where he had discovered the trail, and keeping
it about a mile, found four of the children lying dead in
the woods. The savages had tomahawked and scalped
them, and placing their heads close together, turned their
bodies and feet straight out so as to represent a cross. The
dead were buried and farther pursuit given over.

Other Indians, about the same time, came to the house
of John Mack on a branch of Hacker's creek. He being
from home, they killed all who were at the house. Two
of the children, who had been sent into the woods to hunt
the cattle, returning, saw a little sister lying in the yard
scalped, and directly fled, and gave the alarm. In the
morning some men assembled and went to ascertain the
extent of the mischief. The house was no longer to be
seen,—a heap of ashes was all that remained of it. The
little girl who had been scalped in the yard, was much
burned, and those who had been murdered in the house,
were consumed with it. Mrs. Mack had been taken some
distance from the house, tomahawked, scalped, and stripped
naked. She was yet alive; and as the men approached, a
sense of her situation induced her to exert her feeble
strength in drawing leaves around her so as to conceal
her nakedness. The men wrapped their hunting shirts
about her, and carried her to a neighboring house. She
lived a few days, gave birth to a child and died.

Some time after the murder of Mack's family, John
Sims, living on a branch of Gnatty creek, seeing his horses
come running up much affrighted, was led to believe that
the Indians had been trying to catch them. In a few minutes,
the dogs began to bark furiously in the corn field adjoining,
and he became satisfied the savages were approaching.
Knowing [284] that he could offer no effectual resistance,
if they should attack his house, he contrived an artifice
to deter them from approaching. Taking down his
gun, he walked around the house backward and forward,
and as if speaking to men in it, called out, "Be watchful.
They will soon be here, and as soon as you see them, draw
a fine bead;" Mrs. Sims in a coarse tone of voice and with
feigned resolution, answering as she had been advised,
"Never fear! let them once shew their yellow hides, and

we'll pepper them." He would then retire into the house,
change his garments, the better to support the deception,
and again go forth to watch and give directions to those
within. He pursued this plan until night, when he withdrew
with his family to a place of safety. The Indians had
actually been in the cornfield, and near enough to have
shot Sims,—the place where they had been sitting being
plainly discernible next morning. Sims' artifice no doubt
drove them off, and as they were retreating they fired
the house of Jethro Thompson on Lost creek.

In the spring of 1790, the neighborhood of Clarksburg
was again visited by Indians in quest of plunder, and
who stole and carried off several horses. They were discovered
and pursued to the Ohio river, when the pursuers,
being reinforced, determined to follow on over into the Indian
country. Crossing the river and ascending the Hockhocking,
near to the falls, they came upon the camp of the
savages. The whites opened an unexpected fire, which
killing one and wounding another of the Indians, caused
the remainder to fly, leaving their horses about their
camp.—These were caught, brought back and restored to
their owners.

In April as Samuel Hull was engaged in ploughing a
field for Major Benjamin Robinson, he was discovered by
some Indians, shot, tomahawked, and scalped. The murder
was first ascertained by Mrs. Robinson. Surprised
that Hull did not come to the house as usual, to feed the
horses and get his own dinner, she went to the field to see
what detained him. She found the horses some distance
from where they had been recently at work; and going on,
presently saw Hull lying where he had been shot.