University of Virginia Library

VII. PART VII.

VII. SKETCHES OF BIOGRAPHY,

AND PERSONAL ADVENTURE.

CHAPTER I.

COLONEL EBENEZER ZANE.

Biography has, with much truth, been styled the most interesting,
as well as the most entertaining species of literature.
It is the only way in which individuality can be exhibited.
What a fund of knowledge is found in Plutarch; what an
invaluable treasure to the future will be Sparks' Life and
Writings of our incomparable Washington.

Cicero has eloquently observed, that—

This, however, is unhappily not strictly true in the west. The
memories of our pioneer fathers are passing away; and unless
ome attempt speedily be made to rescue them from impending
oblivion, they will soon be forgotten. The heroes who flourished
before Agamemnon, says the great Roman lyric poet,
passed into forgetfulness for want of a recording pen. Shall
such be the fate of the gallant men, who devoted their energies
and their lives to building up, in the great valley of the
west, the noble Republican structure, now the heritage of us
all? It has long been charged upon us, that we are culpably
neglectful of the memories of our great men; that we seem

to despise glory, or despise the means of perpetuating it; and
trust to tradition for "transmitting the story of our birth,
growth, and struggle for independence." This is a severe, but
not an unmerited reflection; and henceforward we hope to
have no more cause for reproach. The character of every
man in the west, who took any active part in the settlement
of the country, contains abundant material for a most interesting
biography. What can possess more of interest to the
people of the present day, and of this particular region,
than a narrative of the toils, struggles and adventures of the
men, whose unshod feet tracked in blood the snows of the
upper Ohio; whose single-handed combats with the fierce and
relentless savage, are unsurpassed in the annals of border
warfare?

With this brief introductory notice, we shall proceed to give
a sketch of one who took no ordinary part in reclaiming and
settling North-Western Virginia.

Col. Ebenezer Zane was born October 7th, 1747, in the
county of Berkeley, Virginia. The family is of Danish origin,
but at an early day moved to France, thence to England,
and, towards the latter end of the seventeenth century, emigrated
to America. One branch of the family settled in New
Jersey, nearly opposite Philadelphia; the other in Virginia.
The subject of our notice sprung from this latter branch. The
spirit of restless energy, which so distinguished the old Norseman,
was not long in exhibiting itself in some of his Virginia
descendants. At the age of twenty-three, with no friend but
his faithful dog, and no weapons but his knife and gun, our
intrepid hero struck out into the untrodden wilderness, to
hunt himself a home, and make himself a name in the immense
regions stretching far out toward the setting sun. On a bright
morning in June, 1770, he stood upon the high bank of the
Ohio, just above the confluence of Wheeling creek, and gazing
upon the outspread landscape of island, hill and river, his enraptured
vision comprehended all, and more than realized his
most extravagant expectations. The scene before him was

one of perfect repose. The morning mist just lifted from the
bosom of the clear, calm river, was gliding slowly upward,
revealing to the lone pioneer a panorama of unsurpassed loveliness.
Not a breath of air disturbed the glittering dew drops
which hung upon the forest leaves, but all was the unbroken
stillness of nature, save when an occasional feathered songster
sent his shrill notes through the echoing vale. But our
young adventurer was not the man to look upon such a scene
with a painter or a poet's eye. He saw at a glance the great
advantage of the point, and at once resolved to make there his
home. This act showed him to be a man of much judgment
and sagacity. At that early day, he saw all the advantages
presented by the locality. He clearly realized in his mind's
eye the prophetic line of Bishop Berkeley; and that some
point on the Ohio, near where he stood, must eventually become
an important place through the trade and travel of the
west. How well that conception has been fulfilled, let the
most flourishing city in the State attest.

Building a cabin, and remaining one season on the Ohio,
Mr. Zane returned for his family, and having induced a few
resolute friends to accompany him, moved west in the spring
of 1772. Deeming it unsafe to carry his family direct to
their new abode, he left them at Redstone; and, in company
with his brothers, Jonathan and Silas, (see Note A., close of
this chapter) and two or three others, proceeded to take possession
of his rights in the west. At that time there was
not a permanent Anglo-Saxon settlement from the source to
the mouth of the Ohio. The little band at Wheeling stood
alone in the immense solitude stretching out for thousands of
of miles, now the abode of millions of freemen! What a
change in one single life-time! What miracles of beneficent
and glorious, social and political changes, have been wrought
in that interval! Seventy-nine years ago the valley of the
Mississippi, with its mighty river sweeping through an immensity
of space, was as little known as when Ponce de Leon
sought there for the fountain of perennial life, which was to

restore to his veteran limbs the vigor and freshness of youth.
Behold it now! Did the magic wand of the magician ever
work greater wonders in the kaleidoscope of his mystic art?

With their sturdy arm, the Zanes soon opened a "clearing,"
letting the sunlight into the heart of the forest, and in due time
had the satisfaction of gathering a good crop of corn. Completing
his cabin,[1] and making other preparations for the
safety of his family, Mr. Zane visited Redstone, and that fall
effected a final removal. With the opening of 1773, came
quite a number of settlers from the South-branch, and then
was permanently formed a settlement which has grown to a
city of many thousands.

Mr. Zane married Elizabeth McColloch, sister to the daring
borderers whose services on the frontier we have already had
occasion so often to mention. She bore him thirteen children,
Catharine, Ann, Sarah, Noah, John, Samuel, Hetty, Jesse,
and Daniel, with four who died early, bearing names afterwards
given respectively to some of those enumerated above. Of
this sterling matron, about whose generosity, devotion, and
zeal so much has been said, we regret that our limits will preclude
the possibility of adding more. Suffice it, her whole
life was the best commentary upon, and her children the best
illustration of, what such a wife should be.

The clearing of Col. Zane embraced about ten acres, comprehending
that portion of the present city of Wheeling, lying
along Main and Market streets, from the brow of the hill to
a point above where the Suspension Bridge crosses. It was
girdled on every side by the dark green forest, save on the
west, where swept the beautiful river.

Col. Zane's intercourse with the natives having been marked
by mildness, courtesy, and honorable dealing, his hamlet

escaped the fury of the savages, and nothing occurred to
mar the pleasure of his western life, until the fall of 1777.
Having elsewhere noticed in detail the attack on Fort Henry,
in September of that year, it will be unnecessary to say more
at this time, but pass on to the consideration of our personal
history.

Col. Zane received, from time to time, various marks of
distinction, from the Colonial, State, and National governments.
He was a disbursing officer under Dunmore, and enjoyed
under the commonwealth numerous civil and military
distinctions. He always preferred, however, the peace and
quietude of his own home to the bustle and pomp of public
place. He was as generous as brave; strictly honorable to
all men, and most jealous of his own rights. He possessed,
in an eminent degree, the constituents of a true gentleman—
the disposition to render unto all their due—the quick, delicate,
accurate perception of others' rights and others'
claims. His temperament was nervous-bilious—quick, impetuous,
and hard to restrain when excited. He was, in short,
a plain blunt man, rude of speech but true of heart, knowing
nothing of formalities, and caring about little else than his
family, his friends, and his country.

The personal appearance of Colonel Zane was somewhat
remarkable: dark complexion, piercing black eyes, huge
brows, and prominent nose. Not very tall, but uncommonly
active and athletic, he was a match for almost any man in the
settlement, and many are the incidents, in wood and field, told
of his prowess and his strength. He was a devoted hunter,
and spent much of his time in the woods. But few men
could out-shoot, and fewer still out-run him. In illustration
of his skill with the rifle, we will give an incident. About the
year 1781, some of the whites in the fort observed an Indian
on the island going through certain personal movements for
the especial benefit of those within the fort. Colonel Zane's
attention having been drawn to the indelicate performances,
declared he would spoil the sport, and charging his rifle with

an additional ball, patiently waited for the chap to re-appear.
In a moment his naked body was seen emerging from behind
a large sycamore, and commencing anew his performances,
Colonel Zane drew upon him a practised aim, and the next
instant the native harlequin was seen to go through a peculiar
gyration, believed not to have been "in the bills."

Colonel Zane was a man of true courage, as is exemplified
by his almost single-handed defence of his own dwelling, in
the fall of 1782.

The government of the United States, duly appreciating
his capacity, energy and influence, employed him by an act
of Congress, May, 1796, to open a road from Wheeling to
Limestone, (Maysville.) This duty he performed in the following
year, assisted by his brother Jonathan, and son-in-law
John McIntyre, aided by an Indian guide, Tomepomehala,
whose knowledge of the country enabled him to render
valuable suggestions. The road was marked through under
the eye of Colonel Zane, and then committed to his assistants
to cut out. As a compensation for opening this road, Congress
granted Colonel Zane the privilege of locating military
warrants upon three sections of land; the first to be at the
crossing of the Muskingum, the second at Hock-hocking, and
the third at Scioto. Colonel Zane thought of crossing the
Muskingum at Duncan's falls, but foreseeing the great value
of the hydraulic power created by the falls, determined to
cross at the point where Zanesville has since been established,
and thus secure this important power. The second section
was located where Lancaster now stands, and the third on
the east side of the Scioto opposite Chillicothe. The first he
gave principally, to his two assistants for services rendered.
In addition to these fine possessions, Colonel Zane acquired
large bodies of land throughout Western Virginia, by locating
patents for those persons whose fear of the Indians deterred
them undertaking personally so hazardous an enterprise.

After a life full of adventure and vicissitude, the subject of
our notice died of jaundice, in 1811, at the age of sixty-four.

NOTE A.

In the spring of 1771, Jonathan and Silas Zane visited the west, and made
explorations during the summer and fall of that year. Jonathan was perhaps,
the most experienced hunter of his day in the west. He was a man of
great energy of character, resolution, and restless activity. He rendered
efficient service to the settlements about Wheeling, in the capacity of spy.
He was remarkable for an earnestness of purpose, an energy and inflexibility
of will, which often manifested itself in a way truly astonishing. Few
men shared more of the confidence, and more of the respect of his fellowmen,
than Jonathan Zane. He was one of the pilots in Crawford's expedition,
and it is said, strongly admonished the unfortunate commander against
proceeding; as the enemy were very numerous, and would certainly defeat
him. He died in Wheeling, at his own residence, a short distance above the
present site of the first ward public school. He left large landed possessions,
most of which were shared by his children. The late Mrs. Ebenezer
Martin, Mrs. Wood, and Mrs. Hildreth, of Belmont county, Ohio, were
children of his; also, the late Mrs. Daniel Zane, of the island.

Of Colonel Zane's other brothers, Silas and Andrew, little can be gathered
of their personal history. The latter was killed by the Indians, while
crossing the Scioto; Isaac was a somewhat more conspicuous character. He
was taken captive when but nine years of age, and carried to the Indian
towns, where, he afterwards stated, he remained four years without seeing a
white man. He became thoroughly Indian in habits and appearance, and
married the sister of a distinguished Wyandott chief, by whom he raised a
family of eight children. He acquired, with his tawny bride, large landed
property, and became an important man in the confederacy. But, notwithstanding
all this, he remained true to the whites, and often was the means
of communicating important intelligence, which may have saved the settlements
from most bloody visitations. In consideration of these services, the
government granted him a patent for ten thousand acres of land, on Mad
river, where he lived and died.

CHAPTER II.

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.

LEWIS WETZEL.[5]

Who in the west, has not heard of Wetzel—the daring
borderer,—the brave and successful Indian hunter; the
Boone of North-Western Virginia? Within the recollectiow
of many of our readers, Lewis Wetzel was regarded by many
of the settlers in the neighborhood of Wheeling, as the right
arm of their defence. His presence was considered as a
tower of strength to the infant settlements, and an object of
terror to the fierce and restless savages who prowled about
and depredated upon our frontier homes. The memory of
Wetzel should be embalmed in the hearts of the people of
Western Virginia; for his efforts in defence of their forefathers,
were without a parallel in border warfare. Among
the foremost and most devoted, he plunged into the fearful
strife which a bloody and relentless foe waged against the
feeble colonists. He threw into the common treasury a soul
as heroic, as adventurous, as full of energy, and exhaustless
of resources, as ever animated the human breast. Bold, wary
and active, he stood without an equal in the pursuit to which
he had committed himself, mind and body. No man on the
western frontier was more dreaded by the enemy, and none
did more to beat him back into the heart of the forest, and
reclaim the expanseless domain which we now enjoy. Unfortunately
for the memory of Wetzel, no reliable account of him
has ever been published. The present generation know little

of his personal history, save as gathered from the exaggerated
pages of romance, or the scarcely less painted traditions of
the day. With many, he is regarded as having been very
little better than a semi-savage; a man whose disposition was
that of the enraged tiger, and whose only propensity was for
blood. Our information warrants us in stating that these
conceptions are all false. Lewis Wetzel was never known to
inflict unwonted cruelty upon women and children, as has
been charged upon him; and he never was found to torture
or mutilate his victim, as many of the traditions would indicate.
He was revengeful, because he had suffered deep injury
at the hands of that race, and woe to the Indian warrior who
crossed his path. Lewis Wetzel was literally a man without
fear. He was brave as a lion, cunning as a fox, "daring
where daring was the wiser part,—prudent when discretion
was valor's better self." He seemed to possess, in a remarkable
degree, that intuitive knowledge, which can alone constitute
a good and efficient hunter, added to which, he was
sagacious, prompt to act, and always aiming to render his
actions efficient. Such was Lewis Wetzel, the celebrated
Indian hunter of Western Virginia.

John Wetzel, the father of Lewis, was one of the first settlers
on Wheeling creek. He had five sons and two daughters,
whose names were respectively, Martin, Lewis, Jacob,
John, George, Susan, and Christina.

The elder Wetzel spent much of his time in locating lands,
hunting and fishing. His neighbors frequently admonished
him against exposing himself thus to the enemy; but disregarding
their advice, and laughing at their fears, he continued
to widen the range of his excursions, until finally he fell a
victim to the active vigilance of the tawny foe. He was
killed near Captina, in 1787, on his return from Middle
Island creek, under the following circumstances. Himself
and companion were in a canoe, paddling slowly near the
shore, when they were hailed by a party of Indians, and
ordered to land. This, they of course, refused, when immediately

they were fired upon, and Wetzel shot through the
body. Feeling himself mortally wounded, he directed his
companion to lie down in the canoe, while he (Wetzel) so long
as strength remained, would paddle the frail vessel beyond
reach of the savages. In this way, he saved the life of his
friend while his own was ebbing fast. He died soon after
reaching the shore, at Baker's station, and his humble grave
can still be seen near the site of that primitive fortress. The
author, anxious to ascertain with undoubted certainty, the
date of Wetzel's death, and learning from a reliable source
that the place of his burial was indicated by a stone inscribed
with the initials and year, visited the spot in the summer of
1849. With great difficulty he found the place, and identified
the grave of the elder Wetzel. A rough stone marks the
spot, bearing in rude, but perfectly distinct characters, "I.
W., 1787."

At the time of his father's death, Lewis was about twenty-three
years of age, and in common with his brothers, or those
who were old enough, swore sleepless vengeance against
the whole Indian race. Terribly did he and they carry that
resolution into effect. From that time forward, they were
devoted to the wood; and an Indian, whether in peace or war,
at night or by day, was a doomed man in the presence of
either. The name of Wetzel sent a thrill of horror through
the heart of the stoutest savage, before whom a more terrible
image could not be conjured up than one of these relentless
"long-knives." But to the personal history of Lewis.

The first event worthy of record in the life of our hero,
occurred when he was about fourteen years of age. The
Indians had not been very troublesome in the immediate
vicinity of his father's, and no great apprehensions were
felt, as it was during a season of comparative quietude.
On the occasion referred to, Lewis had just stepped from
his father's door, and was looking at his brother Jacob
playing, when suddenly turning toward the corn-crib, he saw
a gun pointing around the corner. Quick as thought, he

jumped back, but not in time to escape the ball: it took effect
upon the breast-bone, carrying away a small portion, and
cutting a fearful wound athwart the chest. In an instant,
two athletic warriors sprang from behind the crib, and quietly
making prisoners of the lads, bore them off without being discovered.
On the second day they reached the Ohio, and
crossing near the mouth of McMahon's creek, gained the
big lick, about twenty miles from the river. During the
whole of this painful march, Lewis suffered severely from his
wound, but bore up with true courage, knowing, if he complained,
the tomahawk would be his doom. That night, on
lying down, the Indians, contrary to their custom, failed to
tie their prisoners. Lewis now resolved to escape; and in
the course of an hour or two, satisfying himself that the
Indians were asleep, touched Jacob, and both arose without
disturbing their captors. Lewis, leading the way, pushed into
the woods. Finding, however, that he could not travel without
moccasins, he returned to camp, and soon came back with
two pair, which, having fitted on, Lewis said, "Now I must
go back for father's gun."[6] Securing this, the two boys started
in the direction of home. Finding the path, they travelled on
briskly for some time; but hearing a noise, listened, and ascertained
the Indians were in pursuit. The lads stepped aside,
as the pursuers came up, and then again moved on. Soon
they heard the Indians return, and by the same plan effectually
eluded them. Before day-light, they were again followed by
two on horseback, but resorting to a similar expedient,
readily escaped detection.

On the following day, about eleven o'clock, the boys
reached the Ohio, at a point opposite Zane's island. Lashing
together two logs, they crossed over, and were once more with
their friends.

As this sketch will not allow us to notice in full his various

youthful exploits, we will pass over a series of years, and take
up the thread of narrative at such points in our hero's perilous
career, as we may deem most interesting to the reader at
large. Reaching the years of manhood, this remarkable
person spent most of his time in the woods. He was truly, a
genuine child of the forest, and seemed to worship the grand
old trees with more than Pagan devotion. To him the
wilderness was full of charms, but the enjoyment of these was
not without great personal danger. A dark, insidious foe
prowled upon his track, and closely watched every opportunity
to waylay and destroy him. Wetzel roamed abroad,
delighted with every fresh grove, hill, dale, and rippling
stream. To him the swelling of the breeze, "the repose of
the leaf, the mysterious quiet of the shade, the chant of birds,
the whoop of the savage, and the long melancholy howl of the
wolf," were sights and sounds which stirred his most lively
sensibilities. Rising from his couch of leaves, by the side of
some moss-covered log, the lone hunter made his hurried
meal, and then moved on, careless of fatigue, until night again
closed around him. Such was the woodman's life; such the
fascinations which bound him to the wilderness.

Shortly after Crawford's defeat, a man named Thomas Mills,
in escaping from that unfortunate expedition, reached the
Indian Spring,[7] about nine miles from Wheeling, on the present
National road, where he was compelled to leave his horse,
and proceed to Wheeling on foot. Thence he went to Van
Metre's fort, and after a day or two's rest, induced Lewis
Wetzel to go with him to the spring for his horse. Lewis
cautioned him against the danger, but Mills was determined,
and the two started. Approaching the spring, they discovered
the horse tied to a tree, and Wetzel at once comprehended
their danger. Mills walked up to unfasten the animal, when
instantly a discharge of rifles followed, and the unfortunate

man fell, mortally wounded. Wetzel now turned, and knowing
his only escape was in flight, plunged through the enemy
and bounded off at the very extent of his speed. Four
fleet Indians followed in rapid pursuit, whooping in proud
exultation of soon overhauling their intended victim. After
a chase of half a mile, one of the most active savages
approached so close that Wetzel was afraid he might throw
his tomahawk, and instantly wheeling, shot the fellow dead
in his tracks. In early youth, Lewis had acquired the habit
of loading his gun while at a full run, and now he felt the
great advantage of it. Keeping in advance of his pursuers
during another half mile, a second Indian came up, and turning
to fire, the savage caught the end of his gun, and for a
time, the contest was doubtful. At one moment the Indian, by
his great strength and dexterity, brought Wetzel to his knee,
and had nearly wrenched the rifle from the hands of his
antagonist, when Lewis, by a renewed effort, drew the weapon
from the grasp of the savage, and thrusting the muzzle against
the side of his neck, pulled the trigger, killing him instantly.

The two other Indians by this time had nearly overtaken
him, but leaping forward, he kept ahead, until his unerring
rifle was a third time loaded. Anxious to have done with that
kind of sport, he slackened his pace, and even stopped once
or twice, to give his pursuers an opportunity to face him.
Every time, however, he looked round, the Indians tree'd,
unwilling any longer to encounter his destructive weapon.
After running a mile or two further in this manner, he reached
an open piece of ground, and wheeling suddenly, the foremost
Indian jumped behind a tree, but which not screening his
body, Wetzel fired, and dangerously wounded him. The
remaining Indian made an immediate retreat, yelling, as he
went, "No catch dat man, him gun always loaded." Our
artist has happily caught the spirit of the incident, and very
well shown it in the accompanying illustration.

In the summer of 1786, the Indians having become troublesome

in the neighborhood of Wheeling, particularly in the
Short creek settlement, and a party having killed a man near
Mingo bottom, it was determined to send an expedition after
the retreating enemy of sufficient force to chastise them most
effectually. One hundred dollars were offered to the man
who should bring in the first Indian scalp. Major McMahon
living at Beech bottom, headed the expedition, and Lewis
Wetzel was one of his men. They crossed the river on the 5th
of August, and proceeded by a rapid march to the Muskingum.
The expedition numbered about twenty men, and an advance
of five were detailed to reconnoitre. This party reported to the
commander that they had discovered the camp of the enemy,
but that it was far too numerous to think of making an attack.
A consultation was thereupon held, and an immediate retreat
determined on. During the conference, our hero sat upon a log,
with his gun carelessly resting across his knees. The moment
it was resolved to retreat, most of the party started in disordered
haste, but the commander observing Wetzel still sitting
on the log, turned to inquire if he was not going along. "No,"
was his sullen reply; "I came out to hunt Indians, and now
that they are found, I am not going home, like a fool, with
my fingers in my mouth. I am determined to take an Indian
scalp, or lose my own." All arguments were unavailing, and
there they were compelled to leave him—a lone man, in a
desolate wilderness, surrounded by an enemy vigilant, cruel,
blood-thirsty, and of horrid barbarity, with no friend but his
rifle, and no guide but the sure index which an all-wise Providence
has deep set in the heavens above. Once by himself,
and looking around to feel satisfied that they were all gone,
he gathered his blanket about him, adjusted his tomahawk
and scalping knife, shouldered his rifle, and moved off in an
opposite direction, hoping that a small party of Indians might
be met with. Keeping away from the larger streams, he
strolled on cautiously, peering into every dell and suspicious
covert, and keenly sensitive to the least sound of a suspicious
character. Nothing, however, crossed his path that day.
The night being dark and chilly, it was necessary to have a
fire; but to show a light in the midst of his enemy would be
to invite to certain destruction. To avoid this, he constructed
a small coal-pit out of bark, dried leaves, etc., and covering
these with loose earth, leaving an occasional air-hole, he
seated himself, encircling the pit with his legs, and then completed
the whole by covering his head with the blanket. In
this manner he would produce a temperature equal, as he
expressed it, to that of a "stove room." This was, certainly,
an original and ingenious mode of getting up a fire, without,
at the same time, endangering himself by a light.

During most of the following day, he roamed through the
forest without noticing any "signs" of Indians. At length,
smoke was discovered, and going in the direction of it, found a
camp, but tenantless. It contained two blankets and a small
kettle, which Wetzel at once knew belonged to two Indians,
who were doubtless out hunting. Concealing himself in the
matted undergrowth, he patiently awaited the return of the
occupants. "About sunset, one of the Indians came in and
made up the fire, and went to cooking his supper. Shortly
after, the other came in; they then ate their supper, and
began to sing and amuse themselves by telling comic stories,
at which they would burst into roars of laughter. Singing,
and telling amusing stories, was the common practice of the
white and red men, when lying in their hunting camps. These
poor fellows, when enjoying themselves in the utmost glee,
little dreamed that Lewis Wetzel was so close. About nine or
ten o'clock, one of the Indians wrapped his blanket around
him, shouldered his rifle, took a chunk of fire in his hand, and
left the camp, doubtless, with the intention of going to watch
a deer-lick. The fire and smoke would serve to keep off the
gnats and musquitoes. It is a remarkable fact, that deer are
not alarmed at seeing fire, from the circumstance of meeting it
so frequently in the fall and winter seasons, when the leaves
and grass are dry, and the woods on fire. The absence of
the Indian was a cause of vexation and disappointment to

our hero, whose trap was so happily set, that he considered
his game secure. He still indulged the hope, that the Indian
would return to camp before day, but in this he was disappointed.
There are birds in the woods which commence chirping
just before break of day; and like the cock, give notice to
the woodman that light will soon appear. Lewis heard the
wooded songsters begin to chatter, and determined to delay no
longer the work of death, for the return of the other Indian.
He walked to the camp with a noiseless step, and found his
victim buried in profound sleep, lying upon one side. He
drew his butcher-knife, and with the utmost force, impelled by
revenge, sent the blade through his heart. He said the
Indian gave a short quiver, a convulsive motion, and then
laid still in the sleep of death. Lewis scalped him, and set
out for home. He arrived at the Mingo bottom only one day
after his unsuccessful companions. He claimed, and as he
should, received his reward."

A most fatal decoy on the frontier, was the turkey-call.
On several different occasions, men from the fort at Wheeling
had gone across the hill in quest of a turkey, whose plaintive
cries had elicited their attention, and on more than one occasion
the men never returned. Wetzel suspected the cause,
and determined to satisfy himself. On the east side of the
creek hill, and at a point elevated at least sixty feet above the
water, there is a capacious cavern, the entrance to which at
that time was almost obscured by a heavy growth of vines
and foliage. Into this the alluring savage would crawl,
and could there have an extensive view of the hill front on the
opposite side. From that cavern issued the decoy of death
to more than one incautious soldier and settler. Wetzel knew
of the existence and exact locality of the cave, and accordingly
started out before day, and by a circuitous route, reached the
spot from the rear. Posting himself so as to command a view
of the opening, he waited patiently for the expected cry.
Directly the twisted tuft of an Indian warrior slowly rose in
the mouth of the cave, and looking cautiously about, sent

forth the long, shrill, peculiar "cry," and immediately sunk
back out of view. Lewis screened himself in his position,
cocked his gun, and anxiously awaited for a re-appearance
of the head. In a few minutes up rose the tuft, Lewis drew
a fine aim at the polished head, and the next instant the
brains of the savage were scattered about the cave. That
turkey troubled the inhabitants no longer, and tradition does
not say whether the place was ever after similarly occupied.

A singular custom with this daring borderer was to take a
fall hunt into the Indian country. Equipping himself, he set
out and penetrated to the Muskingum, and fell upon a camp of
four Indians. Hesitating a moment whether to attack a party
so much his superior in numerical strength, he determined to
make the attempt. At the hour of midnight, when naught
was heard, but the long dismal howl of the wolf,

he moved cautiously from his covert, and gliding through the
darkness, stealthily approached the camp, supporting his rifle
in one hand and a tomahawk in the other. A dim flicker
from the camp-fire faintly revealed the forms of the sleepers,
wrapped in that profound slumber, which, to part of them,
was to know no waking. There they lay, with their dark
faces turned up to the night-sky, in the deep solitude of their
own wilderness, little dreaming that their most relentless
enemy was hovering over them. Quietly resting his gun
against a tree, he unsheathed his knife, and with an intrepidity
that could never be surpassed, stepped boldly forward,
like the minister of Death, and quick as thought cleft the skull
of one of his sleeping victims. In an instant, a second one
was similarly served; and as a third attempted to rise, confused
by the horrid yells with which Wetzel accompanied his
blows, he, too, shared the fate of his companions, and sunk
dead at the feet of this ruthless slayer. The fourth darted
into the darkness of the wood and escaped, although Wetzel

pursued him some distance. Returning to camp, he scalped his
victims, and then left for home. When asked on his return,
what luck, "Not much," he replied. "I tree'd four Indians,
but one got away." This unexampled achievement stamped
him as one of the most daring and, at the same time, successful
hunters of his day. The distance to and from the scene of this
adventure could not have been less than one hundred and
seventy miles.

During one of his scouts, in the neighborhood of Wheeling,
our hero took shelter on a stormy evening, in a deserted cabin
on the bottom, not far from the present residence of Mr.
Hamilton Woods. Gathering a few broken boards he prepared
a place on the loft to sleep. Scarcely had he got
himself adjusted for a nap, when six Indians entered, and
striking a fire, commenced preparing their homely meal.
Wetzel watched their movements closely, with drawn knife,
determined, the moment he was discovered, to leap into their
midst, and in the confusion endeavor to escape. Fortunately,
they did not see him, and soon after supper the whole six fell
asleep. Wetzel now crawled noiselessly down, and hid himself
behind a log, at a convenient distance from the door of the
cabin. At early dawn, a tall savage stepped from the door,
and stretching up both hands in a long, hearty yawn, seemed
to draw in new life from the pure, invigorating atmosphere.
In an instant, Wetzel had his finger upon the trigger, and the
next moment the Indian fell heavily to the ground, his life's
blood gushing upon the young grass brilliant with the morning
dew drops. The report of his rifle had not ceased echoing
through the valley ere the daring borderer was far away,
secure from all pursuit.

When about twenty-five years of age, Lewis entered the
service of Gen. Harmar, commanding at Marietta. His new
duties growing distasteful, he took leave of absence, and
visited his friends in the neighborhood of Wheeling. Shortly
afterwards, however, he returned to duty, and was chiefly
employed in the capacity of scout. It was whilst thus engaged

that an affair occurred, which changed the whole current
of his life. Of the Indians who visited Marietta, was one of
some celebrity, known by the name of George Washington.
He was a large, fine-looking savage, and of much influence
in his tribe. The time we write of was one of comparative
peace, and Gen. Harmar was particularly anxious to preserve
the good feeling then subsisting. Wetzel, during one of his
scouts, met this Indian and shot him. The act was justly
regarded as an outrage, and he was accordingly arrested and
placed in close confinement at the fort.

"Wetzel admitted, without hesitation, `that he had shot
the Indian.' As he did not wish to be hung like a dog, he
requested the general to give him up to the Indians, as there
were a large number of them present. `He might place them
all in a circle, with their scalping knives and tomahawks—and
give him a tomahawk, and place him in the midst of the
circle, and then let him and the Indians fight it out in the
best way they could.' The general told him, `That he was
an officer appointed by the law, by which he must be governed.
As the law did not authorize him to make such a compromise,
he could not grant his request.' After a few days longer
confinement, he again sent for the general to come and see
him; and he did so. Wetzel said `he had never been confined,
and could not live much longer if he was not permitted some
room to walk about.' The general ordered the officer on
guard to knock off his iron fetters, but to leave on his handcuffs,
and permit him to walk about on the point at the mouth
of the Muskingum; but to be sure to keep a close watch upon
him. As soon as they were outside of the fort gate, Lewis
began to caper about like a wild colt broken loose from the
stall. He would start and run a few yards, as if he were about
making an escape, then turn round and join the guard. The
next start he would run farther, and then stop. In this way
he amused the guard for some time, at every start running a
little farther. At length he called forth all his strength,
resolution, and activity, and determined on freedom or an

early grave. He gave a sudden spring forward, and bounded
off at the top of his speed for the shelter of his beloved woods.
His movement was so quick, and so unexpected, that the
guard were taken by surprise, and he got nearly a hundred
yards before they recovered from their astonishment. They
fired, but all missed; they followed in pursuit, but he soon
left them out of sight. As he was well acquainted with the
country, he made for a dense thicket, about two or three miles
from the fort. In the midst of this thicket he found a tree
which had fallen across a log, where the brush were very
close. Under this tree he squeezed his body. The brush
were so thick, that he could not be discovered unless his
pursuers examined very closely. As soon as his escape was
announced, General Harmar started the soldiers and Indians
in pursuit. After he had lain about two hours in his place of
concealment, two Indians came into the thicket, and stood on
the same log under which he lay concealed; his heart beat so
violently he was afraid they would hear it thumping. He
could hear them hallooing in every direction, as they hunted
through the brush. At length, as the day wore away, Lewis
found himself alone in the friendly thicket. But what
should he do? His hands were fastened with iron cuffs and
bolts, and he knew of no friend on the same side of the Ohio
to whom he could apply for assistance. He had a friend who
had recently put up a cabin on the Virginia side of the Ohio,
who, he had no doubt, would lend him any assistance in his
power. With the most gloomy foreboding of the future, a
little after night-fall, he left the thicket and made his way to
the Ohio. He came to the river about three or four miles
below the fort. He took this circuit, as he expected guards
would be set at every point where he could find a canoe.
How to get across the river was the all-important question.
He could not make a raft with his hands bound. He was an
excellent swimmer, but was fearful he could not swim the
Ohio with his heavy iron handcuffs. After pausing some time,
he determined to make the attempt. Nothing worse than
death could happen; and he would prefer drowning than again
falling into the hands of Harmar and his Indians. Like the
illustrious Cæsar in the storm, he would trust the event to
fortune; and he plunged into the river. He swam the greater
part of the distance on his back, and reached the Virginia
shore in safety; but so much exhausted that he had to lay on
the beach some time before he was able to rise. He went to
the cabin of his friend, where he was received with rapture.
A file and hammer soon released him from his iron handcuffs."

Information having reached General Harmar of Wetzel's
whereabouts, he sent a party of men in a canoe to take him.
As the boat neared the Virginia shore, Wetzel, with his
friend, and several other men, posted themselves on the bank
and threatened to shoot the first man who landed. Unwilling
to venture farther, the party returned, and Lewis made his
way homeward, having been furnished by his kind friend with
gun, ammunition, tomahawk, blanket, &c.

Exasperated at the escape of Wetzel, General Harmar
offered a large reward for his apprehension, and at the same
time despatched a file of men to the neighborhood of Wheeling,
with orders to take him dead or alive. The detachment was
under the command of a Captain Kingsbury, who, hearing that
Wetzel was to be at Mingo Bottom on a certain day, marched
thither to execute his orders. We will let an eye-witness finish
the story:—

"A company of men could as easily have drawn old Horny
out of the bottomless pit, as take Lewis Wetzel by force from
the neighborhood of the Mingo Bottom. On the day that
Captain Kingsbury arrived, there was a shooting match at
my father's, and Lewis was there. As soon as the object of
Captain Kingsbury was ascertained, it was resolved to ambush
the captain's barge, and kill him and his company. Happily,
Major McMahon was present, to prevent this catastrophe, and
prevailed on Wetzel and his friends to suspend the attack till
he would pay Captain Kingsbury a visit, and perhaps he would
prevail with him to return without making an attempt to take

Wetzel. With a great deal of reluctance they agreed to
suspend the attack till Major McMahon should return. The
resentment and fury of Wetzel and his friends were boiling
and blowing, like the steam from a scape-pipe of a steamboat.
`A pretty affair, this,' said they, `to hang a man for killing
an Indian, when they are killing some of our people almost
every day.' Major McMahon informed Captain Kingsbury
of the force and fury of the people, and assured him that if
he persisted in the attempt to seize Wetzel, he would have all
the settlers in the country upon him; that nothing could save
him and his company from a massacre, but a speedy return.
The captain took his advice, and forthwith returned to Fort
Harmar. Wetzel considered the affair now as finally adjusted."

In this, however, he was mistaken. His roving disposition
never permitted him to remain long in one place. Soon
after the transactions just recorded, he descended the river
to Limestone (Maysville); and while there, engaged in his
harmless frolicking, an avaricious fellow, named Loller, a
lieutenant in the army, going down the river with a company
of soldiers for Fort Washington, landed at Maysville, and
found Wetzel sitting in a tavern. Loller returned to his boat
procured some soldiers, seized Wetzel, and dragged him
aboard of the boat, and without a moment's delay pushed off,
and that night delivered him to General Harmar at Fort
Washington, where he again had to undergo the ignominy of
having his hands and feet bound with irons. "The noise of
Wetzel's capture—and captured, too, for only killing an
Indian—spread through the country like wild-fire. The passions
of the frontiermen were roused up to the highest pitch
of fury. Petitions for his release were sent from the most
influential men to the general, from every quarter where the
story had been heard. The general at first paid but little
attention to these; at length, however, the settlements along
the Ohio, and some of the back counties, were preparing to
embody in military array, to release him by force of arms.

General Harmar, seeing the storm that was approaching, had
Wetzel's irons knocked off, and set him at liberty.

Wetzel was once more a free man. He returned to his
friends, and was caressed by young and old, with undiminished
respect. The vast number of scalps which he had taken, proved
his invincible courage, as well as his prowess in war; the
sufferings and persecutions by which he had been pursued by
General Harmar, secured for him the sympathy of the frontiermen.
The higher he was esteemed, the lower sank the character
of General Harmar with the fiery spirits on the frontier."

Had Harmer possessed a tithe of the courage, skill, and
indomitable energy of Wetzel, the gallant soldiers under his
command, in the memorable and disastrous campaign against
the Miamis, might have shared a very different fate.

Shortly after his return from Kentucky, a relative from
Dunkard Creek invited Lewis home with him. The invitation
was accepted, and the two leisurely wended their way along,
hunting and sporting as they travelled. On reaching the
home of the young man, what should they see, instead of the
hospitable roof, a pile of smoking ruins. Wetzel instantly
examined the trail, and found that the marauders were three
Indians and one white man, and that they had taken one
prisoner. That captive proved to be the betrothed of the
young man, whom nothing could restrain from pushing on in
immediate pursuit. Placing himself under the direction of
Wetzel, the two strode on, hoping to overhaul the enemy before
they had crossed the Ohio. It was found, after proceeding a
a short distance, that the savages had taken great care to
obliterate their trail; but the keen discernment of Wetzel,
once on the track, and there need not be much difficulty. He
knew they would make for the river by the most expeditious
route, and therefore, disregarding their trail, he pushed on,
so as to head them at the crossing-place. After an hour's
hard travel, they struck a path, which the deer had made, and
which their sagacity had taught them to carry over knolls in
order to avoid the great curves of ravines. Wetzel followed

the path because he knew it was in almost a direct line to the
point at which he was aiming. Night coming on, the tireless
and determined hunters partook of a hurried meal, then again
pushed forward, guided by the lamps hung in the heavens
above them, until, towards midnight, a heavy cloud shut out
their light and obscured the path. Early on the following
morning, they resumed the chase, and descending from the
elevated ridge, along which they had been passing for an
hour or two, found themselves in a deep and quiet valley,
which looked as though human steps had never before pressed
its virgin soil. Travelling a short distance, they discovered
fresh footsteps in the soft sand, and upon close examination,
the eye of Wetzel's companion detected the impress of a small
shoe with nail-heads around the heel, which he at once recognized
as belonging to his affianced. Hour after hour the
pursuit was kept up; now tracing the trail across hills, over
alluvion, and often detecting it where the wily captors had taken
to the beds of streams. Late in the afternoon, they found
themselves approaching the Ohio, and shortly after dark,
discovered, as they struck the river, the camp of the enemy
on the opposite side, and just below the mouth of Captina.
Swimming the river, the two reconnoitered the position of the
camp, and discovered the locality of the captive. Wetzel
proposed waiting until day-light before making the attack,
but the almost frantic lover was for immediate action. Wetzel,
however, would listen to no suggestion, and thus they awaited
the break of day. At early dawn, the savages were up and
preparing to leave, when Wetzel directed his companion to
take good aim at the white renegade, while he would make
sure work of one of the Indians. They fired at the same
moment, and with fatal effect. Instantly the young man
rushed forward to release the captive; and Wetzel reloading,
pursued the two Indians, who had taken to the woods, to
ascertain the strength of the attacking party. Wetzel pursued
a short distance, and then fired his rifle at random, to
draw the Indians from their retreat. The trick succeeded,
and they made after him with uplifted tomahawks, yelling at
the height of their voices. The adroit hunter soon had his
rifle loaded, and wheeling suddenly, discharged its contents
through the body of his nearest pursuer. The other Indian
now rushed impetuously forward, thinking to dispatch his
enemy in a moment. Wetzel, however, kept dodging from
tree to tree, and, being more fleet than the Indian, managed
to keep ahead until his unerring gun was again loaded, when
turning, he fired, and the last of the party lay dead before
him.

Soon after the occurrence just narrated, our hero determined
to visit the extreme south, and for that purpose engaged on
a flat-boat about leaving for New Orleans. Many months
elapsed before his friends heard anything of his whereabouts,
and then it was to learn that he was in close confinement at
New Orleans, under some weighty charge. What the exact
nature of this charge was, has never been fully ascertained,
but it is very certain he was imprisoned and treated like a
felon for nearly two years. The charge is supposed to have
been of some trivial character, and has been justly regarded
as a great outrage. It was alleged at the time of his arrest,
to have been for uttering counterfeit coin; but this being disproved,
it was then charged that he had been guilty of illicit
connection with the wife of a Spaniard. Of the nature of
these charges, however, we know but little, and it may therefore
be unsafe to say more. He was finally released by the
intervention of our government, and reached home by way of
Philadelphia, to which city he had been sent from New Orleans.
Mr. Rodefer says he saw him immediately after his
return, and that his personal appearance had undergone great
change from his long confinement. He remained but two
days on Wheeling creek after his return—one at his mother's,
and the other at Captain Bonnett's, (the father of Mrs.
Rodefer). Many of the older citizens have told us that they
saw him during this brief visit, and conversed freely with him
about the infamous manner he had been treated. Our venerable

friend, Jacob Keller, Esqr., who now owns the old
Bonnett farm, says he saw him, and gathered many particulars
of his imprisonment.

From the settlement he went to Wheeling, where he remained
a few days, and then left again for the south, vowing
vengeance against the person whom he believed to have been
accessory to his imprisonment, and in degrading his person with
the vile rust of a felon's chain. During his visit to Wheeling,
he remained with George Cookis, a relative. Our informant
says she met him there, and heard Mrs. Cookis plague him
about getting married, and jocularly asked whether he ever
intended to take a wife. "No," he replied, "there is no
woman in this world for me, but I expect there is one in
heaven."

After an absence of many months, he again returned to the
neighborhood of Wheeling; but whether he avenged his real
or imaginary wrongs upon the person of the Spaniard alluded
to, the biographer, at this time, has not the means of saying.
His propensity to roam the woods was still as great as ever,
and soon after his return an incident occurred which showed
that he had lost none of his cunning while undergoing incarceration
at New Orleans. Returning home from a hunt,
north of the Ohio, somewhat fatigued and a little careless of
his movements, he suddenly espied an Indian in the very act
of raising his gun to fire. Both immediately sprung to trees,
and there they stood for an hour, each afraid of the other.
What was to be done? To remain there during the whole day,
for it was then early in the morning, was out of the question.
Now it was that the sagacity of Wetzel displayed itself over
the child-like simplicity of the savage. Cautiously adjusting
his bear-skin cap to the end of his ram-rod, with the slightest,
most dubious and hesitating motion, as though afraid to venture
a glance, the cap protruded. An instant, a crack, and
off was torn the fatal cap by the sure ball of the ever vigilant
savage. Leaping from his retreat, our hero rapidly advanced
upon the astonished Indian, and ere the tomahawk could be

brought to its work of death, the tawny foe sprang convulsively
into the air, and straightening as he descended, fell
upon his face quite dead.

Wetzel was universally regarded as one of the most efficient
scouts and most practised woodmen of his day. He was frequently
engaged by parties who desired to hunt up and locate
lands, but were afraid of the Indians. Under the protection
of Lewis Wetzel, however, they felt safe, and thus he was
often engaged for months at a time. Of those who became
largely interested in western lands was John Madison, brother
of James, afterwards President Madison. He employed Lewis

Wetzel to go with him through the Kanawha region. During
their expedition they came upon a deserted hunter's camp, in
which were concealed some goods. Each of them helped
himself to a blanket, and that day in crossing little Kanawha
they were fired upon by a concealed party of Indians, and
Madison killed.

General Clark, the companion of Lewis in the celebrated
tour across the Rocky Mountains, had heard much of Lewis
Wetzel in Kentucky, and determined to secure his services
in the perilous enterprise. A messenger was accordingly
sent for him, but he was reluctant to go. However, he finally
consented, and accompanied the party during the first three
months travel, but then declined going any further, and
returned home. Shortly after this, he left again on a flatboat,
and never returned. He visited a relative named
Phillip Sikes, living about twenty miles in the interior from
Natchez, and there made his home until the summer of 1808,
when he died.[8]

The personal appearance of this distinguished borderer was
very remarkable. He was five feet ten inches in height, very
erect, broad across the shoulders, an expansive chest, and
limbs denoting great muscular strength. His complexion
was very dark, and eyes of the most intense blackness, wild,
rolling, and "piercing as the dagger's point;" emitting, when
excited, such fierce and withering glances, as to cause the
stoutest adversary to quail beneath their power. His hair

was of raven jetness, and very luxuriant, reaching, when
combed out, below his knees. This would have been a rare
scalp for the savages, and one for which they would at any
time have given a dozen of their best warriors.

When Lewis Wetzel professed friendship, he was as true
as the needle to the pole. He loved his friends and hated
their enemies. He was a rude, blunt man, of few words before
company, but with his friends, not only sociable, but an
agreeable companion. Such was Lewis Wetzel; his name
and fame will long survive, when the achievements of men
vastly his superior in rank and intellect, will slumber with the
forgotten past.

ANDREW POE.

A most formidable and fearful man was the vanquisher of
"Big-Foot." Every body has heard of the fight between the
huge Wyandott chief and Poe, but, unfortunately, the credit
has always been given to the wrong man. Dr. Doddridge
started the error; and every writer upon western history for
nearly thirty years, has insisted that Adam Poe killed "Big-Foot."
Unwilling to strip the laurel from the brow of any
man, but pledged to do justice to all, and give honor where
honor is due, it now devolves upon us to say that it was not
"Adam" but Andrew Poe who accomplished the wonderful
feat we are about to record.

Of those who settled at an early day on the Ohio, near the
extreme upper corner of Virginia, were two brothers, Andrew
and Adam Poe. They were born near the present town of
Frederick, Maryland, and emigrated to the west in 1774.
Adam was the elder by some five years; he lived to the age of
ninety-three, and died in 1840.

These brothers were "backwoodsmen" in every sense of the
word. They were shrewd, active and courageous, and having
fixed their abodes on the frontier of civilization, determined

to contest inch by inch with the savages, their right to the
soil, and their privilege to live. In appearance they were
tall, muscular and erect, with features indicating great
strength of character. Andrew, in the general contour of
his face, differed somewhat from that of his brother, while the
freshness of his color indicated a better degree of health than
the sallow complexion of the other. Both, however, were
endowed with an unusual degree of strength, and woe to the
man who dared engage in single combat with either. Early
in the fall of 1781, there was an occurrence on the Ohio
which stamped the character of one as a man of no ordinary
make. The place of combat was near the mouth of Tomlinson's
run, and about two miles below Yellow creek. A
few months since we visited the spot, and obtained from a
member of the family the particulars of that celebrated conflict,
which we now give.

During the summer of 1781,[9] the settlements in the region
indicated, suffered not a little from Indian depredation. At
length it was ascertained that a party of six warriors had
crossed the river and committed sundry outrages; among the
rest, killing a defenceless old man in his cabin. The people
became aroused, and it was at once determined to raise a
force and intercept the retreat of the savages.

Eight determined spirits at once volunteered, and placing
themselves under Captain Andrew Poe, as he was then called,
were ready for action in five minutes' notice. Early on the
following morning, they found the trail of the enemy, and
detected among the footprints those of a celebrated chief
called Big-Foot, who was distinguished for his daring, skill,
eloquence, and immense size. He stood, literally, like the
tall man of Tarsus, a head above his peers; for he is said to
have been nearly, or quite seven feet in height, and large in
proportion. The feet of this giant were so large as to gain

for him the name of Big-Foot. Andrew Poe, delighted at
the prospect of testing his strength with so renowned a chief,
urged the pursuit with unabated zeal, until brought within a
short distance of the enemy.

"For the last few miles, the trail had led up the southern
bank of the Ohio, where the footprints in the sand were deep
and obvious; but when within a few hundred yards of the
point at which the Indians were in the habit of crossing, it
suddenly diverged from the stream, and stretched along a
rocky ridge, forming an obtuse angle with its former direction.
Here Andrew halted for a moment, and directed his
brother and the other young men to follow the trail with proper
caution, while he still adhered to the river path, which
led through a cluster of willows directly to the point where
he supposed the enemy to lie. Having examined the priming
of his gun, he crept cautiously through the bushes until he
had a view of the point of embarcation. Here lay two canoes,
empty and apparently deserted. Being satisfied, however,
that the Indians were close at hand, he relaxed nothing of
his vigilance, and quickly gained a jutting cliff, which hung
over the canoes. Hearing a low murmur below, he peered
cautiously over, and beheld the object of his search. The
gigantic Big-Foot lay below him, in the shade of a willow,
and was talking in a low, deep tone to another warrior, who
seemed a mere pigmy by his side. Andrew cautiously drew
back and cocked his gun. The mark was fair, the distance
did not exceed twenty feet, and his aim was unerring. Raising
his rifle slowly and cautiously, he took a steady aim at Big-Foot's
breast, and drew the trigger. His gun flashed. Both
Indians sprung to their feet with a deep interjection of surprise,
and for a single second all three stared upon each
other. This inactivity, however, was soon over. Andrew
was too much hampered by the bushes to retreat, and setting
his life upon the cast of the die, sprung over the bush which
had sheltered him, and summoning all his powers, leaped
boldly down the precipice, and alighted upon the breast of

Big-Foot with a shock which bore him to the earth. At the
moment of contact, Andrew had also thrown his right arm
around the neck of the smaller Indian, so that all three came
to the earth together.

"At that moment, a sharp firing was heard among the
bushes above, announcing that the other parties were engaged,
but the trio below were too busy to attend to anything
but themselves. Big-Foot was for an instant stunned by the
violence of the shock, and Andrew was enabled to keep them
both down. But the exertion necessary for that purpose was
so great, that he had no leisure to use his knife. Big-Foot
quickly recovered, and without attempting to rise, wrapped
his long arms around Andrew's body, and pressed him to his
breast with the crushing force of a boa constrictor! Andrew,
as we have already remarked, was a powerful man, and
had seldom encountered his equal; but never had he yet felt
an embrace like that of Big-Foot. He relaxed his hold of
the small Indian, who sprung to his feet. Big-Foot then
ordered him to run for his tomahawk, which lay within ten
steps, and kill the white man while he held him in his arms.
Andrew, seeing his danger, struggled manfully to extricate
himself from the folds of the giant, but in vain. The lesser
Indian approached with his uplifted tomahawk, but Andrew
watched him closely, and as he was about to strike, gave him
a kick so sudden and violent, as to knock the tomahawk from
his hand, and send him staggering back into the water. Big-Foot
uttered an exclamation in a tone of deep contempt at
the failure of his companion, and raising his voice to its
highest pitch, thundered out several words in the Indian
tongue, which Andrew could not understand, but supposed to
be a direction for a second attack. The lesser Indian now
again approached, carefully shunning Andrew's heels, and
making many motions with his tomahawk, in order to deceive
him as to the point where the blow would fall. This lasted
for several seconds, until a thundering exclamation from Big-Foot
compelled his companion to strike. Such was Andrew's

dexterity and vigilance, however, that he managed to receive
the tomahawk in a glancing direction upon his left wrist,
wounding him deeply, but not disabling him. He now made
a sudden and desperate effort to free himself from the arms
of the giant, and succeeded. Instantly snatching up a rifle,
(for the Indian could not venture to shoot, for fear of hurting
his companion,) he shot the lesser Indian through the
body. But scarcely had he done so, when Big Foot arose,
and placing one hand upon his shoulder, and the other upon
his leg, threw him violently upon the ground. Before his
antagonist could spring upon him, he was again upon his feet,
and stung with rage at the idea of being handled so easily, he
attacked his gigantic antagonist with a fury which, for a time,
compensated for inferiority of strength. It was now a fair
fist fight between them, for in the hurry of the struggle,
neither had leisure to draw their knives. Andrew's superior
activity and experience as a pugilist, gave him great advantage.
The Indian struck awkwardly, and finding himself
rapidly dropping to the leeward, he closed in with his antagonist,
and again hurled him to the ground. They quickly
rolled into the river, and the struggle continued with unabated
fury, each attempting to drown the other. The Indian being
unused to such violent exertion, and having been much injured
by the first shock in his stomach, was unable to exert the
same powers which had given him such a decided superiority
at first—and Andrew seizing him by the scalp-lock, put his
head under water, and held it there, until the faint struggle
of the Indian induced him to believe that he was drowned,
when he relaxed his hold, and attempted to draw his knife.
The Indian, however, to use Andrew's own expression, `had
only been possoming!' He instantly regained his feet, and
in his turn, put his adversary under.

"In the struggle, both were carried out into the current beyond
their depth and each was compelled to relax his hold
and swim for his life. There was still one loaded rifle upon
the shore, and each swam hard in order to reach it, but the

Indian proved the most expert swimmer, and Andrew seeing
that he should be too late, turned and swam out into the stream,
intending to dive and thus frustrate his enemy's intention. At
this instant, Adam having heard that his brother was alone in
a struggle with two Indians, and in great danger, ran up hastily
to the edge of the bank above, in order to assist him. Another
white man followed him closely, and seeing Andrew in the
river, covered with blood, and swimming rapidly from shore,
mistook him for an Indian, and fired upon him, wounding him
dangerously in the left shoulder. Andrew turned, and seeing
his brother called loudly to him to `shoot the Indian upon the
shore.' Adam's gun, however, was empty, having just been
discharged. Fortunately, Big-Foot had also seized the gun
with which Andrew had shot the lesser Indian, so that both
were upon an equality. The contest now was who should beat
loading, the Indian exclaiming, `Who load first, shoot first!'
Big-Foot got his powder down first, but in the excitement of
drawing the ramrod out, it slipped through his fingers and fell
in the river. The noble savage now feeling that all was over,
faced his foe, pulled open the bosom of his shirt, and the next
instant received the ball of his adversary fair in his breast.
Adam alarmed for his brother, who was scarcely able to
swim, threw down his gun and rushed into the river, in order
to bring him ashore—but Andrew more intent upon securing
the scalp of Big-Foot as a trophy, than upon his own safety,
called loudly upon his brother to leave him alone, and scalp
the big Indian, who was endeavoring to roll himself into the
water, from a romantic desire, peculiar to the Indian warrior,
of securing his scalp from the enemy. Adam, however,
refused to obey, and insisted upon saving the living, before
attending to the dead. Big Foot, in the meantime, had succeeded
in reaching the deep water before he expired, and his
body was borne off by the waves, without being stripped of
the ornament and pride of an Indian warrior."

The death of Big-Foot was a severe blow to his tribe, and
is said to have thrown them all into mourning. He was an
able and noble chief, and often rendered signal service to the

whites by reclaiming prisoners from the stake, and otherwise
averting the doom which his tribe seemed determined to visit
upon their captives.

Poe recovered from his wounds, and lived until within about
twenty years. We have recently seen a gentleman, who often
witnessed Poe go through the "fight," and he declares the
scene was the most thrilling he ever beheld. He says the old
man would enter into the spirit of the conflict, and with dilated
pupil, contracted muscle, and almost choaked with
foaming saliva, go through every motion and distinct feature
of that terrible fight. He describes the appearance of these
pantomime exhibitions as most painfully interesting, and declares,
that the old man would be as much exhausted after
the performance as though the scene had been actual.

Andrew Poe was certainly an extraordinary man, and the
impress of his character is still visible in the region where he
lived. An incident is related as occurring shortly before his
death, which strongly marked the character of the man.
Among his cattle, was a fierce and powerful young bull, endangering
the life of any one who went near him. Poe,
however, then a man of advanced age, would visit his stockyard,
regardless of the animal in question, until he supposed
it knew him. On one occasion, the refractory animal made
at Poe, and before he could get out of reach, received a
severe wound from one of its horns. So exasperated was
this singular man, that he went at once to his house, armed
himself with a tomahawk, and, despite the entreaties of his
family, returned to the yard, and driving all the cattle out
but the one alluded to, faced it, and with a menacing scowl,
laid hold of the right horn. The animal plunged, and attempted
to break loose, but Poe held on, and at every favorable opportunity,
struck him with the pipe end of his tomahawk. In
this way, he repeated his blows until finally the animal sunk
dead at his feet.

Mr. Poe, during his whole life, was a most active and useful
man. He lived about one mile from Hookstown, Pa.,
where many of his descendants still reside.

CHAPTER III.

COLONEL WILLIAM CRAWFORD.

The fate of this unfortunate officer has excited, and will
continue to excite, so long as the history of the west shall be
read, the most painful interest and the liveliest sympathy.
We do not propose at this time to give a lengthy sketch of
his life and services, but simply to notice a few points in his
personal history.

Col. Crawford was a native of Berkeley county, Virginia.
He was born in 1732—a year memorable as giving birth to
Washington and Marion. He early gave promise of much
talent and energy of character. At the age of twenty-six,
he raised a company, and joined Washington's regiment in
the expedition of Gen. Forbes against Fort DuQuesne. His
fine military bearing at that time attracted the attention and
commanded the esteem of Washington. On the breaking out
of the Revolution, by his own indomitable energy, he enrolled
a regiment, and received, in consideration of his great personal
effort, a colonel's commission in the Colonial army.

His first visit to the west was in 1767, and two years after,
he removed his family. The place selected for his home was
on the Youghiogheny river, where the town of Connellsville,
Fayette county, Pennsylvania, now stands. His house
was one of the first in the valley of the Youghiogheny, and
it was always open to those who thought proper to give him a
call. His hospitality, generosity, and uniform kindness were
subjects of general remark. Of those who early shared the
hospitalities of his roof, was Washington. We find by his
journal of a tour to the west in 1770, frequent reference to
Col. Crawford, who proved one of his most devoted friends.

He seems to have enjoyed himself finely, and passed the time
most pleasantly. A sister of the gallant colonel commanded
not a little of the distinguished guest's attention, and were we
disposed, now that Time has flung his many colored veil over
all, could call upon Fancy with her pallette and brush, and
paint a scene in that western cabin, but our limits forbid.

During this visit of Washington, he remained several days,
and then, accompanied by Col. Crawford, proceeded to Fort
Pitt, thence in company with others to the Great Kanawha,
and after a pretty thorough exploration, returned to the Youghiogheny.
Most of the lands belonging to Washington in
the west were located by Col. Crawford. We have frequently
heard the old surveyors along the Ohio say that they often
met with his "corners." Some of the earliest surveys within
the present limits of Brooke, Ohio, and Marshall counties,
Virginia, were made by Colonel C.[10] We sincerely regret the
scarcity of material for a suitable memoir of this meritorious,
but most unfortunate officer. His papers and records were
never preserved; his family became scattered; "most of his
contemporaries have followed him to the land of spirits, and
very little else than a few brief stories remain to tell of his
virtues and his fame." Passing over many of his years of
usefulness to the west, we come to the fearful catastrophe.
Colonel Crawford had frequently led expeditions against the
Indians, but on the occasion of which we are about to speak,
he, at first, absolutely declined to go. It seemed as though
he had a presentiment of the fate which was to befall him. At
length, however, he yielded to the importunities of his friends,
and accompanied the men to the place of rendezvous. It is even
asserted that after his selection as commander, he was reluctant

to accept. Having noticed elsewhere the progress of the
army, and its disastrous defeat, it now alone remains to finish
the sad story by giving the particulars of the terrible death
of its commanding officer. As these have been most faithtully
narrated by Dr. Knight, the fellow-prisoner of Colonel
Crawford, and an eye-witness to the whole terrible scene, we
will follow his account. A retreat having been determined
on, the whole army moved off in the silence of the night,
hoping thereby to avoid pursuit. But the ever vigilant
enemy noticed the movement, and instantly pursuit was
given.

"We had not got a quarter of a mile from the field of action,
when I heard Col. Crawford calling for his son John, his son-in-law
Major Harrison, Major Rose and William Crawford,
his nephews, upon which I came up and told him I believed
they were before us. He asked, `Is that the doctor?' I told
him it was. He then replied, that they were not in front, and
begged of me not to leave him; I promised him I would not.

"We then waited, and continued calling for these men
till the troops had passed us. The colonel told me his horse
had almost given out, that he could not keep up with the
troops, and wished some of his best friends to remain with
him: he then exclaimed against the militia for riding off in
such an irregular manner, and leaving some of the wounded
behind, contrary to his orders. Presently there came two
men riding after us, one of them an old man, the other a lad.
We inquired if they had seen any of the above persons, and
they answered they had not.

"By this time there was a very hot firing before us, and, as
we judged, near where our main body must have been. Our
course was then nearly south-west, but changing it, we went
north about two miles, the two men remaining in company
with us. Judging ourselves to be now out of the enemy's
lines, we took a due east course, taking care to keep at the
distance of fifteen or twenty yards apart, and directing ourselves
by the north star.

"About day-break Col. Crawford's and the young man's

horses gave out, and they left them. We pursued our journey
eastward, and about two o'clock fell in with Capt. Biggs,
who had carried Lieut. Ashly from the field of action, who had
been dangerously wounded. We then went on about the
space of an hour, when a heavy rain coming up, we concluded
it was best to encamp, as we were encumbered with the
wounded officer. We then barked four or five trees, made
an encampment and a fire, and remained there all night.
Next morning we again prosecuted our journey, and having
gone about three miles found a deer which had been recently
killed. The meat was sliced from the bones and bundled up
in the skin with a tomahawk lying by it. We carried all with
us, and in advancing about one mile further, espied the smoke
of a fire. We then gave the wounded officer into the charge
of the young man, desiring him to stay behind, whilst the
colonel, the captain and myself, walked up as cautiously as we
could toward the fire. When we came to it, we concluded,
from several circumstances, some of our people had encamped
there the preceding night. We then went about roasting the
venison, and when just about to march, observed one of our
men coming upon our tracks. He seemed at first very shy,
but having called to him he came up and told us he was the
person who had killed the deer, but upon hearing us come up,
was afraid of Indians, hid in a thicket, and made off. Upon
this we gave him some bread and roasted venison, proceeded
together on our journey, and about two o'clock came upon the
paths by which we had gone out. Capt. Biggs and myself
did not think it safe to keep the road, but the colonel said the
Indians would not follow the troops farther than the plains,
which we were then considerably past. As the wounded
officer rode Capt. Biggs' horse, I lent the captain mine; the
colonel and myself went about one hundred yards in front,
the captain and the wounded officer in the centre, and the
two young men behind. After we had travelled about one
mile and a half, several Indians started up within fifteen or
twenty steps of the colonel and I. As we at first discovered
only three, I immediately got behind a large black oak, made
ready my piece and raised it up to take sight, when the
colonel called to me twice not to fire; upon that one of the
Indians ran up to the colonel and took him by the hand. The
colonel then told me to put down my gun, which I did. At that
instant one of them came up to me, whom I had formerly
seen very often, calling me doctor, and took me by the hand.
They were Delaware Indians of the Wingenim tribe. Capt.
Biggs fired amongst them, but did no execution. They then
told us, to call these people and make them come there, else
they would go and kill them, which the colonel did, but they
four got off and escaped for that time. The colonel and I
were then taken to the Indian camp, which was about half a
mile from the place where we were captured. On Sunday
evening, five Delawares, who had posted themselves at some
distance further on the road, brought back to the camp, where
we lay, Capt. Biggs and Lieut. Ashly's scalps, with an Indian
scalp which Capt. Biggs had taken in the field of action: they
also brought in Biggs' horse and mine; they told us the two
other men got away from them.

"Monday morning, the tenth of June, we were paraded to
march to Sandusky, about thirty-three miles distant; they
had eleven prisoners of us and four scalps, the Indians being
seventeen in number.

"Colonel Crawford was very desirous to see a certain Simon
Girty, who lived among the Indians, and was on this account
permitted to go to town the same night, with two warriors
to guard him, having orders at the same time to pass by the
place where the colonel had turned out his horse, that they
might, if possible, find him. The rest of us were taken as
far as the old town, which was within eight miles of the new.

"Tuesday Morning, the eleventh, Colonel Crawford was
brought out to us on purpose to be marched in with the
other prisoners. I asked the colonel if he had seen Mr.
Girty? He told me he had, and that Girty had promised
to do everything in his power for him, but that the Indians

were very much enraged against the prisoners, particularly
Captain Pipe, one of the chiefs; he likewise told me that
Girty had informed him that his son-in-law, Colonel Harrison,
and his nephew, William Crawford, were made prisoners by
the Shawanese, but had been pardoned. This Captain Pipe
had come from the towns about an hour before Colonel
Crawford, and had painted all the prisoners' faces black.

"As he was painting me, he told me I should go to the
Shawanese towns and see my friends. When the colonel
arrived he painted him black also, told him he was glad to
see him, and that he would have him shaved when he came
to see his friends at the Wyandot town. When we marched,
the colonel and I were kept between Pipe and Wyngenim,
the two Delaware chiefs, the other nine prisoners were sent
forward with a party of Indians. As we went along we
saw four of the prisoners lying by the path tomahawked
and scalped, some of them were at the distance of half a
mile from each other. When we arrived within half a mile
of the place where the colonel was executed, we overtook
the five prisoners that remained alive; the Indians had
caused them to sit down on the ground, as they did, also
the colonel and myself, at some distance from them; I was
there given in charge to an Indian fellow to be taken to the
Shawanese towns.

"In the place where we were now made to sit down, there
was a number of squaws and boys, who fell on the five
prisoners and tomahawked them. There was a certain John
McKinley amonst the prisoners, formerly an officer in the
13th Virginia Regiment, whose head an old squaw cut off,
and the Indians kicked it about upon the ground. The young
Indian fellows came often where the colonel and I were, and
dashed the scalps in our faces. We were then conducted along
toward the place where the colonel was afterwards executed.
When we came within half a mile of it, Simon Girty met us,
with several Indians on horseback; he spoke to the colonel,

but as I was about one hundred and fifty yards behind, could
not hear what passed between them.

"Almost every Indian we met struck us either with sticks
or their fists. Girty waited till I was brought up, and then
asked, Was that the doctor? I answered him Yes, and went
towards him, reaching out my hand, but he bid me begone,
and called me a damned rascal; upon which the fellow who
had me in charge, pulled me along. Girty rode up after me
and told me I was to go to the Shawanese towns.

"When we came to the fire, the colonel was stripped
naked, ordered to sit down by the fire, and then they beat
him with sticks and their fists. Presently after, I was treated
in the same manner. They then tied a rope to the foot of a
post about fifteen feet high, bound the colonel's hands behind
his back, and fastened the rope to the ligature between his
wrists. The rope was long enough either for him to sit down
or to walk round the post once or twice and return the same
way. The colonel then called to Girty, and asked if they
intended to burn him? Girty answered, Yes. The colonel
said he would take it all patiently. Upon this, Captain
Pipe, a Delaware chief, made a speech to the Indians,
consisting of about thirty or forty men, and sixty or seventy
squaws and boys.

"When the speech was finished, they all yelled a hideous
and hearty assent to what had been said. The Indian men
then took up their guns and shot powder into the colonel's
body, from his feet as far up as his neck. I think not less
than seventy loads were discharged upon his naked body.
They then crowded about him, and to the best of my observation,
cut off his ears: when the throng had dispersed a
little, I saw the blood running from both sides of his head in
consequence thereof.

"The fire was about six or seven yards from the post to
which the colonel was tied; it was made of small hickory
poles, burnt quite through in the middle, each end of the

poles remaining about six feet in length. Three or four
Indians, by turns, would take up, individually, one of these
burning pieces of wood and apply it to his naked body,
already burned black with the powder. These tormentors
presented themselves on every side of him, so that which
ever way he ran round the post they met him with the
burning fagots and poles. Some of the squaws took broad
boards, upon which they would put a quantity of burning
coals and hot embers and throw them on him, so that in
a short time he had nothing but coals of fire and hot ashes
to walk upon.

"In the midst of these extreme tortures he called to Simon
Girty, and begged of him to shoot him: but Girty making
no answer, he called to him again. Girty then, by way of
derision, told the colonel he had no gun, at the same time
turning about to an Indian who was behind him, laughed
heartily, and by all his gestures seemed delighted at the
horrid scene.

"Girty then came up to me and bade me prepare for death.
He said, however, I was not to die at that place, but to be
burnt at the Shawanese towns. He swore by G—d I need
not expect to escape death, but should suffer it in all its
extremities.

"Colonel Crawford at this period of his suffering, besought
the Almighty to have mercy on his soul, spoke very low,
and bore his torments with the most manly fortitude. He
continued in all the extremities of pain for an hour and three
quarters or two hours longer, as near as I can judge, when
at last being almost spent, he lay down on his belly; they
then scalped him and repeatedly threw the scalp in my face,
telling me `That was my great captain's.' An old squaw
(whose appearance every way answered the ideas people
entertain of the devil) got a board, took a parcel of coals
and ashes and laid them on his back and head after he had
been scalped; he then raised himself upon his feet and began
to walk round the post; they next put a burning stick to

him as usual, but he seemed more insensible of pain than
before."

Colonel Crawford was about fifty years of age, when he
suffered at the stake. His son-in-law and nephew[11] were
executed ahout the same time; John escaped. What became
of the other members of his family cannot satisfactorily be
ascertained. A daughter was raised by Colonel Shepherd, of
Wheeling creek, and married a Mr. Thornburg. At her marriage,
Col. S. gave her one hundred acres of land, lying near
the present town of Triadelphia.

The death of Col. Crawford cast a gloom over the whole
west, and cannot be contemplated, at this late day, without
an involuntary shudder.

CAPTAIN SAMUEL BRADY.

Of the many brave spirits who started into existence at
the first drum-tap of the Revolution, but few have become
better known, or more respected in the west, than the gallant
Brady, captain of the spies.

At a very early age, this devoted partizan gave indications
of future usefulness; exhibiting in all his movements a spirit
and a purpose to do and dare, which marked him as a man
of no ordinary character, and proved him fit for almost any
emergency.

Brady was emphatically the Marion of the west. Like the
Chevalier Bayard, he was "without fear and without reproach."
A bolder or braver man never drew a sword or
fired a rifle; and these marked elements of his nature rendered
him the terror of the Indian warrior, whether on the
scout or in the wigwam, for he felt himself alike insecure from
the noiseless vengeance of the "leader of the spies." No man
stood higher in the esteem of the hardy settlers, and no name

could inspire more of confidence and of safety, than that of
Samuel Brady. During the whole of the fierce, protracted,
and sanguinary war which ravaged the frontier settlements
of Virginia and Pennsylvania, from 1785 to 1794, no man
could so quiet the trembling and fear-stricken settlers as
Captain Brady. His presence, backed by the band of devoted
followers who always stepped in his footprints, was felt
as security everywhere. The fond mother, who in after years
related to her children the many thrilling incidents of frontier
life which she witnessed and passed through, never failed, as
she thanked her Heavenly Father for having protected her
little innocents from the scalping-knife and tomahawk, to
express her heartfelt gratitude to him who had been the instrumentality
of saving her all from savage barbarity.

Devoted as this man was to the interests of the west, and
sacrificing as he did, almost everything but life, it is a burning
shame that his memory should have been so long neglected,
and that some public recognition of his services has
not been made. It is a reflection upon our gratitude and
patriotism, that while whole galleries are to be found of men
whose services in behalf of their country were not to be compared
with those of Brady, live upon canvas and in marble,
not one single bust or portrait of the gallant leader of the
spies is anywhere to be found. And what is still worse, his
remains lie in an humble burial ground without even a stone,
bearing the most simple inscription to mark the spot from the
undistinguished mass around.

Samuel Brady was born at Shippensburgh, Pennsylvania,
in 1756.[12] His father, John Brady, was made a captain in the
Colonial army, for his services in the old French and Indian
wars. The family, at an early day, moved to the Susquehanna.
On the breaking out of the Revolution, Samuel
joined a volunteer company, and marched to Boston. The

patriotic fervor of the youth, prompted the commander to
offer young Brady a commission; but his father objected,
thinking he was too young, saying, "First let him learn the
duties of a soldier, and then he will better know how to act
as an officer."

"In 1776, Samuel Brady was appointed a first lieutenant.[13]
He continued with the army, and was in all the principal
engagements until after the battle of Monmouth, when he
was promoted to a captaincy, and ordered to the west under
Colonel Brodhead. On their march, he had leave to visit his
friends in Northumberland county. His father, in 1776,
had accepted a captaincy in the 12th Pennsylvania regiment,
been badly wounded at the battle of Brandywine, and was
then at home. Whilst there, he heard of his brother's death,
who had been murdered by the Indians on the 9th of August,
1778. He remained at home until 1779, and then rejoined
his regiment at Pittsburgh. During the same year, his father
was murdered by the Indians; and then it was that our hero
swore vengeance against the whole race. Terribly, too, did
he keep that vow."

In 1781, the Indians became very troublesome in the settlements
above Pittsburgh. Washington, as we have elsewhere
noticed, knew very well that the only guaranty of
safety was to strike the enemy at home. With this view, he
directed Colonel Brodhead to send some suitable person to
their towns, who could ascertain their strength, resources,
etc. Colonel Brodhead's keen military eye saw in Brady the
very man for the service, and giving him the necessary instructions,
the gallant soldier started on his perilous mission,
accompanied by John Williamson and one of the Wetzels.
These men were so completely disguised as Indians, that it
would almost have defied the skill and cunning of a genuine
chief to detect the deception. After a hurried march, they

reached the Indian town at Upper Sandusky, shortly after
dark. Brady posted his men, then entered the town, and
after a thorough reconnoitre rejoined his companions, and
commenced a rapid retreat. His keen eye had caught a lurking
suspicion in some of those whom he met, and it was deemed
important to get beyond their reach as rapidly as possible.
With scarcely a moment's intermission, the three travelled all
night, and stopping a few minutes in the morning, discovered
the Indians were in pursuit. Increasing their movements,
and adopting the precaution of travelling upon logs and
avoiding direct routes, the trio were soon beyond immediate
danger. The remainder of that day, all of that night, and
part of the third day, passed without any cause of apprehension.
Fatigued and hungry, (their sole diet since leaving
home having been parched corn and jerked venison) the party
concluded to take a rest. Williamson stood guard while the
others slept. Brady, at all times a great snorer, on this occasion
gave vent to sounds, that, in the language of Williamson,
"were enough to alarm all the Indians between here and
Sandusky." Thinking a change of position might stop the
nasal artillery, Williamson turned Brady, and then resumed
his seat by the fire. Scarcely had he seated himself, when he
detected the stealthy tread of a savage. Looking attentively
in the direction of the sound, he saw an Indian cautiously
approach, and waiting until he came nearly up, the guard took
steady aim and fired. One convulsive spring, a heavy fall,
and deep groan, were all that could be seen or heard. His
companions sprang to their feet and moved rapidly off, to
avoid an attack; but this was the only Indian, and the
three travelled on without further attempt at molestation.
According to the account furnished by one of the family, of
which we shall have occasion frequently to avail ourselves
during this notice,—

"The map furnished by General Brodhead was found to
be defective. The distance was represented to be much less
than it really was. The provisions and ammunition of the

men were exhausted by the time they had reached the Big
Beaver, on their return. Brady shot an otter, but could not
eat it. The last load was in his rifle. They arrived at an
old encampment, and found plenty of strawberries, which they
stopped to appease their hunger with. Having discovered a
deer-track, Brady followed it, telling the men he would perhaps
get a shot at it. He had gone but a few rods when he
saw the deer standing broadside to him. He raised his rifle
and attempted to fire, but it flashed in the pan. He sat down,
picked the touch-hole, and then started on. After going a
short distance the path made a bend, and he saw before him
a large Indian on horseback, with a child before and its
mother behind, and a number of warriors marching in the
rear. His first impulse was to shoot the Indian on horseback,
but as he raised the rifle he observed the child's head to roll
with the motion of the horse. It was fast asleep, and tied to the
Indian. He stepped behind the root of a tree, and waited
until he could shoot the Indian, without danger to the child
or its mother.

"When he considered the chance certain, he fired, and the
Indian, child, and mother, all fell from the horse. Brady
called to his men, with a voice that made the forest ring, to
surround the Indians, and give them a general fire. He
sprung to the fallen Indian's powder horn, but could not pull
it off. Being dressed like an Indian, the woman thought he
was one, and said `Why did you shoot your brother?' He
caught up the child, saying, `Jenny Stoop, I am Captain
Brady; follow me, and I will secure you and your child.'
He caught her hand in his, carrying the child under the other
arm, and dashed into the brush. Many guns were fired at
him, but no ball touched, and the Indians, dreading an ambuscade,
were glad to make off. The next day he arrived at Fort
M'Intosh, with the woman and her child. His men had got
there before him. They had heard his war-whoop, and knew
they were Indians he had encountered, but having no ammunition,
had taken to their heels and run off."

"The incursions of the Indians had become so frequent,
and their outrages so alarming, that it was thought advisable
to retaliate upon them the injuries of war, and carry into the
country occupied by them, the same system with which they
had visited the settlements. For this purpose an adequate
force was provided, under the immediate command of General
Brodhead, the command of the advance guard of which was
confided to Captain Brady.

"The troops proceeded up the Alleghany river, and had
arrived near the mouth of Redbank creek, now known by the
name of Brady's Bend, without encountering an enemy.
Brady and his Rangers were some distance in front of the
main body, as their duty required, when they suddenly discovered
a war party of Indians approaching them. Relying
on the strength of the main body, and its ability to force the
Indians to retreat, and anticipating, as Napoleon did in the
battle with the Mamelukes, that when driven back they would
return by the same route they had advanced on, Brady permitted
them to proceed without hindrance, and hastened to
seize a narrow pass, higher up the river; where the rocks,
nearly perpendicular, approached the river, and a few determined
men might successfully combat superior numbers."

In a short time the Indians encountered the main body
under Brodhead, and were driven back. In full and swift
retreat they pressed on to gain the pass between the rocks
and the river, but it was occupied by Brady and his Rangers,
who failed not to pour into their flying columns a most destructive
fire. Many were killed on the bank, and many more in
the stream. Cornplanter, afterwards the distinguished chief of
the Senecas, but then a young man, saved himself by swimming.
The celebrated war-chief of this tribe, Bald-Eagle,
was of the number slain on this occasion.

"The army moved onward, and after destroying all the
Indians' corn, and ravaging the Kenjua flats, returned to
Pittsburgh.

"Shortly after Captain Brady's return from Sandusky, he

was observed one evening by a man of the name of Phouts,
sitting in a solitary part of the fort, apparently absorbed in
thought. Phouts approached him, pained to the bottom of
his honest heart to perceive that the countenance of Brady
bore traces of care and melancholy. He accosted him, however,
in the best English he had, and soothingly said, `Gabtain,
was ails you?' Brady looked at him a short time without
speaking; then resuming his usual equanimity, replied, `I
have been thinking about the red skins, and it is my opinion
there are some above us on the river. I have a mind to pay
them a vist. Now, if I get permission from the general to do
so, will you go along?' Phouts was a stout thick Dutchman of
uncommon strength and activity. He was also well acquainted
with the woods. When Brady had ceased speaking, Phouts
raised himself on tiptoe, and bringing his heels hard down on
the ground, by way of emphasis, his eyes full of fire, said,
`By dunder und lightnin, I would rader go mit you, Gabtain,
as to any of te finest weddins in tis guntry.' Brady told him
to keep quiet, and say nothing about it, as no man in the fort
must know any thing of the expedition but General Brodhead.
Bidding Phouts call at his tent in an hour, he then went
to the general's quarters, whom he found reading. After the
usual topics were discussed, Brady proposed for consideration,
his project of ascending the Alleghany, with but one man
in company; stating his reasons for apprehending a descent
from that quarter by the Indians. The general gave his
consent, at parting took him by the hand in a friendly manner,
advising him how to proceed, and charging him particularly
to be careful of his own life, and that of the men or man
whom he might select to accompany him. So affectionate were
the general's admonitions, and so great the emotion he displayed,
that Brady left him with tears in his eyes, and repaired
to his tent, where he found Phouts deep in conversation with
one of his pet Indians.

"He told Phouts of his success with the general, and that,
as it was early in the light of the moon, they must get ready
and be off betimes.

"They immediately set about cleaning their guns, preparing
their ammunition, and having secured a small quantity of
salt, lay down together, and slept soundly until about two
hours before daybreak. Brady awoke first, and stirring
Phouts, each took down the `deadly rifle,' and whilst all but
the sentinels were wrapped in sleep, they left the little
fort, and in a short time found themselves deep buried in the
forest. That day they marched through woods never traversed
by either of them before; following the general course of the
river they reached a small creek[14] that put in from the Pittsburgh
side; it was near night when they got there, and having
no provision, they concluded to remain there all night.

"Next morning they started early and travelled all day; in
the evening the espied a number of crows hovering over the
tops of the trees, near the bank of the river. Brady told
Phouts that there were Indians in the neighborhood, or else
the men who were expected from Susquehanna at Pittsburgh
were there encamped, or had been some time before.

"Phouts was anxious to go down and see, but Brady forbade
him; telling him at the same time, `We must secrete
ourselves till after night, when fires will be made by them,
whoever they may be.' Accordingly, they hid themselves
among fallen timber, and remained so till about ten o'clock
at night. But even then they could still see no fire. Brady
concluded there must be a hill or thick woods between him
and where the crows were seen, and decided on leaving his
hiding place to ascertain the fact; Phouts accompanied him.
They walked with the utmost caution down towards the river
bank, and had gone about two hundred yards, when they
observed the twinkling of a fire, at some distance on their right.
They at first thought the river made a very short bend,
but on proceeding further discovered that it was a fork or
branch of the river, probably the Kiskeminetas. Brady
desired Phouts to stay where he was, intending to go himself

to the fire, and see who was there; but Phouts refused, saying,
`No, by George, I vill see too.' They approached the fire
together, but with the utmost caution; supposing it to be an
Indian encampment, much too large to be attacked by them.

"Resolved to ascertain the number of the enemy, Captain
Brady and his brave comrade went close up to the fire, and
discovered an old Indian sitting beside a tree near the fire,
either mending or making a pair of moccasins.

"Phouts, who never thought of danger, was for shooting
the Indian immediately; but Brady prevented him. After
examining carefully around the camp, he was of opinion that
the number by which it was made had been large, but that
they were principally absent. He determined on knowing
more in the morning; and forcing Phouts away, retired a
short distance to await the approach of day. As soon as it
appeared they returned to the camp, but saw nothing, except
the old Indian, a dog, and a horse.

"Brady wished to see the country around the camp, and
understand its features better; for this purpose he kept at
some distance from it, and examined about, till he got on the
river above it. Here he found a large trail of Indians, who
had gone up the Alleghany; to his judgment it appeared to
have been made one or two days before. Upon seeing this
he concluded to go back to the camp, and take the old Indian
prisoner.

"Supposing the old savage to have arms about him, and
not wishing to run the risk of the alarm the report of a rifle
might create, if Indians were in the neighborhood, Brady
determined to seize the old fellow single handed, without doing
him further `scath,' and carry him off to Pittsburgh. With
this view, both crept toward the camp again, very cautiously.
When they came so near as to perceive him, the Indian was
was lying on his back, with his head towards them.

"Brady ordered Phouts to remain where he was, and not
to fire, unless the dog should attempt to assist his master. In
that case he was to shoot the dog, but by no means to hurt

the Indian. The plan being arranged, Brady dropped his
rifle, and, tomahawk in hand, silently crept towards the old
man, until within a few feet, then raising himself up, he made
a spring like a panther, and with a yell that awakened the
echoes round, seized the Indian, hard and fast by the throat.
The old man struggled a little at first, but Brady's was the
gripe of a lion; holding his tomahawk over the head of his
prisoner, he bade him surrender, as he valued his life. The
dog behaved very civilly; he merely growled a little. Phouts
came up, and they tied their prisoner. On examining the
camp they found nothing of value, except some powder and
lead, which they threw into the river. When the Indian
learned that he was to be taken to Pittsburgh, and would be
kindly treated, he showed them a canoe, which they stepped
into with their prisoner and his dog, and were soon afloat on
the Alleghany.

"They paddled swiftly along for the purpose of reaching
the mouth of the run on which they had encamped coming up;
for Brady had left his wiping rod there. It was late when
they got to the creek's mouth. They landed, made a fire, and
all laid down.

"As soon as daylight appeared, the captain started to where
they left some jerk hanging on the evening before, leaving
Phouts in charge of the prisoner and his canoe. He had not
left the camp long, till the Indian complained to Phouts that
the cords upon his wrist hurt him. He had probably discovered
that in Phout's composition there was a much larger
proportion of kindness than of fear. The Dutchman at once
took off the cords, and the Indian was, or pretended to be,
very grateful.

"Phouts was busied with something else in a minute, and
had left his gun standing by a tree. The moment the Indian
saw that the eye of the other was not upon him, he sprung to
the tree, seized the gun, and the first Phouts knew was that
it was cocked, and at his breast. The trigger was pulled, but
the bullet whistled harmless past him, taking with it a part of

his shot-pouch belt. One stroke of the Dutchman's tomahawk
settled the Indian forever, and nearly severed the head from
his body.

"Brady heard the report of the rifle, and the yell of Phouts;
and supposing all was not right, ran instantly to the spot,
where he found the latter sitting on the body of the Indian,
examining the rent in his shot-pouch belt. `In the name of
Heaven,' said Brady, `what have you done!' `Yust look,
Gabtan,' said the fearless Dutchman, `vat dis d—d black
b—h vas apout;' holding up to view the hole in his belt.
He then related what has been stated with respect to his
untying the Indian, and the attempt of the latter to kill him.
They then took off the scalp of the Indian, got their canoe,
took in the Indian's dog, and returned to Pittsburgh, the fourth
day after their departure."

Beaver valley was the scene of many of Captain Brady's
stirring adventures. We have recently visited some of the
interesting localities celebrated as Brady's theatre of action,
and heard from many of the older citizens their accounts of his
thrilling exploits. They speak in unbounded terms of admiration
of his daring and success; his many hair-breadth escapes
by "field and flood;" and always concluded by declaring that
he was a greater man than Daniel Boon or Lewis Wetzel, either
of whom, in the eyes of the old pioneers, were the very
embodiment of dare-devilism.

The following, illustrating one of Brady's adventures in the
region referred to, we give from a published source. In one
of his trapping and hunting excursions, he was surprised and
taken prisoner by a party of Indians who had closely watched
his movements.

"To have shot or tomahawked him would have been but a
small gratification to that of satiating their revenge by burning
him at a slow fire, in presence of all the Indians of their
village. He was therefore taken alive to their encampment,
on the west bank of the Beaver river, about a mile and a half
from its mouth. After the usual exultations and rejoicings

at the capture of a noted enemy, and causing him to run the
gauntlet, a fire was prepared, near which Brady was placed,
after being stripped, and with his arms unbound. Previous to
tying him to the stake, a large circle was formed around of
Indian men, women, and children, dancing and yelling, and
uttering all manner of threats and abuses that their small
knowledge of the English language could afford. The prisoner
looked on these preparations for death, and on his
savage foe with a firm countenance, and a steady eye, meeting
all their threats with truly savage fortitude. In the midst
of their dancing and rejoicing, a squaw of one of their chiefs
came near him with a child in her arms. Quick as thought
and with intuitive prescience, he snatched it from her and
threw it into the midst of the flames. Horror stricken at the
sudden outrage, the Indians simultaneously rushed to rescue
the infant from the fire. In the midst of this confusion, Brady
darted from the circle, overturning all that came in his way,
and rushed into the adjacent thicket, with the Indians yelling
at his heels. He ascended the steep side of a hill amidst a
shower of bullets, and darting down the opposite declivity,
secreted himself in the deep ravines and laurel thickets that
abound for several miles to the west. His knowledge of the
country and wonderful activity, enabled him to elude his
enemies, and reach the settlements in safety."

From one of Brady's old soldiers—one of the noble spies,
who has not yet answered to the roll-call of death—one who
served with him three years, during the most trying and
eventful period of his life, we have gathered the facts of the
following incident. On one of their scouting expeditions into
the Indian country, the spies, consisting at that time of sixteen
men, encamped for the night at a place called "Big
Shell Camp." Toward morning, one of the guard heard the
report of a gun, and immediately communicating the fact to
his commander, a change of position was ordered. Leading
his men to an elevated point, the Indian camp was discovered
almost beneath them. Cautiously advancing in direction of

the camp, six Indians were discovered standing around the
fire, while several others lay upon the ground apparently
asleep. Brady ordered his men to wrap themselves in their
blankets, and lie down while he kept watch. Two hours thus
passed without anything materially occurring. As day began
to appear, Brady roused his men, and posted them side
by side, himself at the end of the line. When all were in
readiness, the commander was to touch with his elbow the
man who stood next to him, and the communication was to
pass successively to the farthest end. The orders then were,
the moment the last man was touched, he should fire, which
was to be the signal for a general discharge. With the first
faint ray of light, rose six Indians and stood around the fire.
With breathless expectation, the whites waited for the remainder
to rise, but failing, and apprehending a discovery, the
captain moved his elbow, and the next instant the wild wood
rang with the shrill report of the rifles of the spies. Five of
the six Indians fell dead, but the sixth, screened by a tree,
escaped. The camp being large, it was deemed unsafe to
attack it further, and a retreat was immediately ordered.

Soon after the above occurrence, in returning from a similar
expedition, and when about two miles from the mouth of
Yellow creek, at a place admirably adapted for an ambuscade,
a solitary Indian stepped forward and fired upon the advancing
company. Instantly, on firing, he retreated toward a deep
ravine, into which the savage hoped to lead his pursuers.
But Brady detected the trick, and in a voice of thunder
ordered his men to tree. No sooner had this been done, than
the concealed foe rushed forth in great numbers, and opened
upon the whites a perfect storm of leaden hail. The brave
spies returned the fire with spirit and effect; but as they were
likely to be overpowered by superior numbers, a retreat was
ordered to the top of the hill, and thence continued until out
of danger.

The whites lost one man in this engagement, and two

wounded. The Indian loss is supposed to have been about
twenty in killed and wounded.

In concluding this imperfect sketch of one who performed
no ordinary part in the settlement of the west, we regret that
our means and time have not allowed us to prepare a more
full and general biography.

Captain Brady married a daughter of Captain Van Swearengen,
of Ohio county, who bore him two children, John and
Van S., both of whom are still living. Captain Brady possessed
all the elements of a brave and successful soldier. Like
Marion, "he consulted with his men respectfully, heard them
patiently, weighed their suggestions, and silently approached
his own conclusions. They knew his determination only by
his actions." Brady had but few superiors as a woodman:
he would strike out into the heart of the wilderness, and with
no guide but the sun by day, and the stars by night, or in
their absence, then by such natural marks as the bark and
tops of trees, he would move on steadily, in a direct line
toward the point of his destination. He always avoided
beaten paths and the borders of streams; and never was
known to leave his track behind him. In this manner he
eluded pursuit, and defied detection. He was often vainly
hunted by his own men, and was more likely to find them
than they him.

Such was Brady, the leader of the spies.

GENERAL ANDREW LEWIS.

We greatly regret our inability to give in the present edition,
a comprehensive biography of this distinguished man.
We were promised through a member of the family, material
necessary to prepare the sketch proposed, but having been
disappointed, it will be impossible to do more now than present
a brief notice of the family, written by a gentleman of

the Valley, whose position and relationship enables him to
state many interesting facts of family history which otherwise
might have escaped attention.

"John Lewis was a native and citizen of Ireland, descended
from a family of Huguenots, who took refuge in that
kingdom from the persecutions that followed the assassination
of Henry IV. of France. His rank was that of an esquire,
and he inherited a handsome estate, which he increased by
industry and frugality, until he became the lessee of a contiguous
property, of considerable value. He married Margaret
Lynn, daughter of the laird of Loch Lynn, who was
a descendant of the chieftains of a once powerful clan in the
Scottish Highlands. By this marriage he had four sons,
three of them, Thomas, Andrew, and William, born in Ireland,
and Charles, the child of his old age, born a few months
after their settlement in their mountain home.

"For many years after the settlement at Fort Lewis,[15] great
amity and goodwill existed between the neighboring Indians
and the white settlers, whose numbers increased until they
became quite a formidable colony. It was then that the
jealousy of their red neighbors became aroused, and a war
broke out, which, for cool though desperate courage and
activity on the part of the whites, and ferocity, cunning and
barbarity on the part of the Indians, was never equalled in
any age or country. John Lewis was, by this time, well
stricken in years, but his four sons, who were grown up, well
qualified to fill his place, and to act the part of the leader to
the gallant little band, who so nobly battled for the protection
of their homes and families. It is not my purpose to go
into the details of a warfare, during which scarcely a settlement
was exempt from monthly attacks of the savages, and
during which Charles Lewis, the youngest son of John, is
said never to have spent one month at a time out of active

and arduous service. Charles was the hero of many a gallant
exploit, which is still treasured in the memories of the descendants
of the border riflemen, and there are few families
among the Alleghanies where the name and deeds of Charles
Lewis are not familiar as household words. On one occasion
he was captured by the Indians while on a hunting excursion,
and after travelling over two hundred miles barefooted, his
arms pinioned behind, and goaded by the knives of his remorseless
captors, he effected his escape. While travelling
along the bank of a precipice some twenty feet in height, he
suddenly, by a strong muscular exertion, burst the cords
which bound him, and plunged down the steep into the bed of
a mountain torrent. His persecutors hesitated not to follow.
In a race of several hundred yards, Lewis had gained some
few yards upon his pursuers, when, upon leaping a fallen
tree which lay across his course, his strength suddenly failed
and he fell prostrate among the weeds which had grown up
in great luxuriance around the body of the tree. Three of
the Indians sprung over the tree within a few feet of where
their prey lay concealed; but with a feeling of the most
devout thankfulness to a kind and superintending Providence,
he saw them one by one disappear in the dark recesses of the
forest. He now bethought himself of rising from his uneasy
bed, when lo! a new enemy appeared, in the shape of an
enormous rattlesnake, who had thrown himself into the deadly
coil so near his face that his fangs were within a few inches
of his nose; and his enormous rattle, as it waved to and fro,
once rested upon his ear. A single contraction of the eyelid—a
convulsive shudder—the relaxation of a single muscle,
and the deadly beast would have sprung upon him. In this
situation he lay for several minutes, when the reptile, probably
snpposing him to be dead, crawled over his body and moved
slowly away. `I had eaten nothing,' said Lewis to his companions,
after his return, `for many days; I had no fire-arms,
and I ran the risk of dying with hunger, ere I could reach
the settlement; but rather would I have died, than made a
meal of the generous beast.' During this war, an attack was
made upon the settlement of Fort Lewis, at a time when the
whole force of the settlement was out on active duty. So
great was the surprise, that many of the women and children
were captured in sight of the fort, though far the greater
part escaped, and concealed themselves in the woods. The
fort was occupied by John Lewis, then very old and infirm,
his wife, and two young women, who were so much alarmed
that they scarce moved from their seats upon the ground floor
of the fort. John Lewis, however, opened a port-hole, where
he stationed himself, firing at the savages, while Margaret
reloaded the guns. In this manner he sustained a siege of
six hours, during which he killed upwards of a score of
savages, when he was relieved by the appearance of his
party.

"Thomas Lewis, the eldest son, labored under a defect of
vision, which disabled him as a marksman, and he was, therefore,
less efficient during the Indian wars than his brothers.
He was, however, a man of learning and sound judgment,
and represented the county of Augusta many years in the
House of Burgesses; was a member of the convention which
ratified the constitution of the United States, and formed the
constitution of Virginia, and afterwards sat for the county
of Rockingham in the House of Delegates of Virginia. In
1765, he was in the House of Burgesses, and voted for
Patrick Henry's celebrated resolutions. Thomas Lewis had
four sons actively participating in the war of the Revolution;
the youngest of whom, Thomas, who is now living, bore an
ensign's commission when but fourteen years of age.

"Andrew, the second son of John Lewis and Margaret
Lynn, is the General Lewis who commanded at the battle of
Point Pleasant.

"Charles Lewis, the youngest of the sons of John Lewis,
fell at the head of his regiment, when leading on the attack
at Point Pleasant. Charles was esteemed the most skilful of
all the leaders of the border warfare, and was as much beloved

for his noble and amiable qualities as he was admired
for his military talents.

"William, the third son, was an active participator in the
border wars, and was an officer of the revolutionary army,
in which one of his sons was killed, and another maimed for
life. When the British force under Tarleton drove the legislature
from Charlottesville to Staunton, the stillness of the
Sabbath eve was broken in the latter town by the beat of the
drum, and volunteers were called to prevent the passage
of the British through the mountains at Rockfish Gap. The
elder sons of William Lewis, who then resided at the old fort,
were absent with the northern army. Three sons, however,
were at home, whose ages were seventeen, fifteen and thirteen
years. Wm. Lewis was confined to his room by sickness, but
his wife, with the firmness of a Roman matron, called them
to her, and bade them fly to the defence of their native land.
`Go my children,' said she, `I spare not my youngest, the
comfort of my declining years. I devote you all to my
country. Keep back the foot of the invader from the soil of
Augusta, or see my face no more.' When this incident was
related to Washington, shortly after its occurrence, he enthusiastically
exclaimed, `Leave me but a banner to plant
upon the mountains of Augusta, and I will rally around me
the men who will lift our bleeding country from the dust, and
set her free.'

"I have frequently heard, when a boy, an anecdote related
by an old settler, somewhat to this effect:—The white, or
wild clover, is of indigenous growth, and abounded on the
banks of the rivers, etc. The red was introduced by John
Lewis, and it was currently reported by their prophets, and
believed by the Indians generally, that the blood of the red
men slain by the Lewises and their followers, had dyed the
trefoil to its sanguine hue. The Indians, however, always
did the whites the justice to say, that the Red man was the
aggressor in their first quarrel, and that the white men of

Western Virginia had always evinced a disposition to treat
their red brethren with moderation and justice."

Andrew Lewis, with four of his brothers, were in the expedition
of Braddock, and exhibited marked courage and
caution. Samuel commanded the company, and acquitted
himself with great ability. Andrew Lewis was twice wounded
at the siege of Fort Necessity. After the amnesty, and
as the Virginians were marching off, an Irishman became
displeased with an Indian, and "cursing the copper-headed
scoundrel," elevated his gun to fire. At that moment, Major
Lewis, who, crippled, was passing along, raised his staff and
knocked up the muzzle of the Irishman's rifle, thus doubtless
preventing a general massacre.

Major Lewis was made prisoner at Grant's defeat, and his
bearing on that occasion (elsewhere noticed) on discovering the
treachery of Grant, was a true characteristic of the man.

Washington, at an early day, formed an exalted opinion of
General Lewis's ability as a military commander. On the
breaking out of the Revolution, he recommended him to Congress
"as one of the major-generals of the American army—
a recommendation which was slighted, in order to make room
for General Stephens. It is also said, that when Washington
was commissioned as commander-in-chief, he expressed a
wish that the appointment had been given to General Lewis.
Upon this slight in the appointment of Stephens, Washington
wrote General Lewis a letter, which is published in his correspondence,
expressive of his regret at the course pursued
by Congress, and promising that he should be promoted to the
first vacancy. At his solicitation, Lewis accepted the commision
of brigadier-general, and was soon after ordered to
the command of a detachment of the army stationed near
Williamsburg. He commanded the Virginia troops when
Lord Dunmore was driven from Gwynn's Island, in 1776, and
announced his orders for attacking the enemy by putting a
match to the first gun, an eighteen-pounder, himself.

"General Lewis resigned his command in 1780, to return
home, being seized ill with a fever. He died on his way, in
Bedford county, about forty miles from his own house, on the
Roanoke, lamented by all acquainted with his meritorious
services and superior qualities.

" `General Lewis,' says Stuart, in his Historical Memoir,
`was upwards of six feet high, of uncommon strength and
agility, and his form of the most exact symmetry. He had
a stern and invincible countenance, and was of a reserved
and distant deportment, which rendered his presence more
awful than engaging. He was a commissioner with Dr.
Thomas Walker, to hold a treaty, on behalf of the colony of
Virginia, with the six nations of Indians, together with the
commissioners from Pennsylvania, New York, and other
eastern provinces, held at Fort Stanwix, in the province of
New York, in the year 1768. It was then remarked by the
governor of New York, that "the earth seemed to tremble
under him as he walked along." His independent spirit despised
sycophantic means of gaining popularity, which never
rendered more than his merits extorted.' "

GENERAL DANIEL BRODHEAD.

GENERAL DANIEL BRODHEAD.

It has with much truth been said, "that the history of
the Revolution, is not written, and cannot be, till the biographies
of the men who made the Revolution are complete."
This is eminently true of the great struggle in the west.
The conflict here was with the tomahawk and scalping knife,
united to the arm of scientific warfare. It was one in which
the remorseless savage stole upon the infant settlements in the
stillness of the night, and dealt death in all the horrid forms
of his peculiar and revolting warfare. It was a war terrible
indeed to man, but more terrible still to gentle woman, and
most terrible to helpless infancy.

To defend the country against the ravages of such war,

required men of iron nerve and determined will. To lead on
these men to victory and success, demanded others of no ordinary
character. But there were men fitted to the task;
men able, ready, and willing to lead and to strike. It
was to the energy of this defence; the skill, bravery, and
consummate judgment of these able officers, and experienced
frontier soldiers, that the west was saved from the diabolical
system of subjugation, meditated by the British ministry.

One of the men most prominent in this defence, and one
who contributed greatly towards breaking down the power
of the savage, and humbling the dominion of Britain, was
Daniel Brodhead, the subject of this memoir.

Prefacing our sketch with a brief notice of Gen. Brodhead's
immediate ancestry, we will proceed to notice such of the
more important features of his history, as will be most interesting,
and come more directly within the range of our work.

Daniel Brodhead, the great-grandfather of the subject of
this notice, was born in Yorkshire, England. He was a
Captain in the service of Charles II., and by that monarch
ordered to America with the expedition under Col. Richard
Incolls. On the surrender of New Amsterdam, by Stuyversant,
he was sent to Albany, and was one of the witnesses to
the treaty with the Indians in 1664. He died in 1670, leaving
three sons, Daniel, Charles, and Richard. The last of these
was the father of Daniel Brodhead, the subject of our notice.

Daniel, or Gen. Brodhead, as we will now call him, married
Elizabeth Depue, daughter of Samuel Depue, one of the
earliest settlers in the neighborhood of Stroudsburg, Pennsylvania.
He had one son and a daughter by this marriage,
and their descendants are scattered throughout the State,
embracing some of the most extensive and respectable families
in the commonwealth.

Gen. Brodhead a second time married, the last wife being
the widow of Gen. Mifflin.

General Brodhead was a man of acknowledged ability and
great energy of character. He early gave indications of

much promise, and foreshadowed the career of honor and usefulness,
which he afterwards run. Scarcely had the news
of the battle of Lexington ceased agitating the people, ere
Captain Brodhead mustered a company, and marched to the
defence of the seaboard. He joined Sullivan, and at the
battle of Long Island, his brave "Pennsylvania Riflemen"
literally cut their way through the ranks of the enemy.

In the fall of 1777, information having been given that the
Indians meditated a united attack upon the settlements along
the upper Susquehanna, vigorous efforts were made to resist
them. In the spring of 1778, Fort Muncy was evacuated,
as well as Antis' and Horn's forts above, the inhabitants taking
refuge at Sunbury. The savages destroyed Fort Muncy, but
did not penetrate near Sunbury, their attention having been
directed to the memorable descent upon Wyoming. Shortly
after this Col. Brodhead[16] was ordered to Pittsburgh to relieve
General McIntosh, in command of the western division of the
army. His appointment was communicated in a very complimentary
letter, which is herewith in part given:

He again wrote to him, under date of 22d same month, that
an incursion into the country of the Six-nations was in preparation,
and that in connection therewith, it might be advisable
to have a force ascend the Alleghany to Kittaning, thence to
Venango, and having fortified both points, to strike the Mingoes
and Munceys on French creek, and thus greatly to aid
General Sullivan in the decisive blow which he was to give by
his march up the Susquehanna.[19] He further directed Col.
Brodhead to notify the western Indians, that in the event of
any troubles on their part, the whole force of the United States
should be turned against them. On the 21st of April, however,
these orders were countermanded, and Col. B. directed
to prepare a rod for the savages north and west of the Ohio,
and especially to learn the best time for attacking Detroit.
Whether this last advise came too late or was withdrawn again,
we have no means of ascertaining. Brodhead proceeded, as
at first directed; marched up the Alleghany, destroyed the
Indians' crops, burned their towns, etc.[20]

The immediate effect of this prompt and energetic movement
on the part of the western commander was to bring the
Delawares, Wyandotts, Shawanese, &c., to a treaty of peace
at Fort Pitt in the month of September, to which reference
has already been made.

It had long been apparent to Washington and the Board of
War, that the possession of Detroit and Niagara by the British,
enabled them to exert a controlling influence over most of the
Indian tribes occupying the north-west; and thus greatly to
annoy the frontier settlements of Pennsylvania and Virginia.

Col. Brodhead, soon after assuming the duties of commander
of the western division, clearly saw the absolute necessity of
striking an effective blow against these two strong-holds of
the British. In a letter to Washington, dated Fort Pitt,
January 23d, 1781, he writes thus: "The whole of my present
force very little exceeds three hundred men, and many
of them are unfit for such active service as is necessary here.
I hope your excellency will be pleased to enable me to take
Detroit the ensuing campaign; for until that and Niagara fall
into our hands, there will be no rest for the innocent inhabitants,
whatever sums may be expended on a defensive plan."

Previous to this, Washington, in a letter to Col. B., dated
April 21, 1779, in reply to his request to fit out such an expedition,
directed him to make the necessary preparations; but,
on the 4th of January following, wrote to countermand the
order, in consequence of the operations in South Carolina and
his inability to reinforce Fort Pitt, in case of disaster. Feb.
4th, 1780, he again declined a compliance with Colonel B.'s
renewed[21] and urgent solicitation, on the ground that his regular
troops would all be needed to co-operate with our French
allies. The want of provisions too, at that time, was greatly
felt, which Washington alluding to, adds, "You must therefore,
of necessity, confine yourself to partizan strokes, which
I wish to see encouraged. The State of Virginia is very
desirous of an expedition against Detroit, and would make
great exertions to carry it into execution. But while the
enemy are so formidable to the southward, and are making
such strides in that quarter, I fear it will require a greater
force of men and supplies to check them than we, since the
defeat near Cambden, shall be able shortly to draw together."

The desire of Col. B. to undertake the reduction of Detroit,
was thus regretfully declined by the commander-in-chief, and
the wishes of Virginia, and indeed the whole country, disappointed.

In the spring of 1781, Colonel Brodhead led an expedition
against the Indian towns on the Muskingum; a full account
of which having been elsewhere given in this volume, it will
be unnecessary to notice further now.

Near the mouth of Broken-straw creek, a tributary of the
Alleghany, stood the Indian town of Buckaloon. In 1781,
Colonel Brodhead attacked this strong-hold of the enemy, and
after a hard siege, finally routed the savages and burned the
town.

We regret our inability to notice in detail all his expeditions.
They were numerous and extensive enough to fill a volume.
No better officer could have been selected for the arduous post
of commander of the western-division of the army. It required
a man bold, cautious and sagacious, and Col. Brodhead
was the very embodiment of all these. He proved himself
admirably qualified for the most trying situations, and acquitted
himself with distinction, and to the entire satisfaction
of the commander-in-chief. In November, 1781, with the
consent of Washington, he relinquished the post into the hands
of Col. John Gibson, a gallant Virginian, who had done active
duties on the frontier.

Colonel Brodhead negotiated during his residence in the
west, two important treaties; the one was concluded July 22,
1779, with deputies of the Cherokee nation. In this treaty,
intimations were given out of a native representation in Congress,
and a new Indian confederacy with the Delawares as
the head.

Congress passed Colonel Brodhead a unanimous vote of
thanks for the highly satisfactory manner in which he had
discharged his duties on the western frontier.

General Brodhead received many marks of distinction from
the State of Pennsylvania. He was surveyor-general for many

years, and filled other places of honor and profit. He was a
large, robust man, kind, generous and amiable. He died at
Milford, Pa., November 15, 1809, at the age of seventy-three.
The portrait which accompanies this memoir is from a miniature
now in possession of his great-grandson, Henry Johnson,
Esq., a prominent member of the bar in northern Pennsylvania.

JESSE HUGHES.

One of the most active, daring and successful Indian hunters
in the mountain region of Virginia, was Jesse Hughes.
He has not inappropriately been styled the Wetzel of that
portion of the state, and, in many respects, certainly was
not undeserving of that distinctive appellation. Jesse Hughes
possessed in an eminent degree the rare constituents of
courage and energy. These qualities, so essential in those
days of savage warfare, gained for him the confidence of the
sturdy men by whom he was surrounded, and often induced
them to select him for the post of leader in their various
expeditions against the enemy. Many are the tales of adventure
which the people of West-Fork and Little Kanawha
relate of this notable personage. A few of these we have
collected and now give.

Hughes was a native of the region to which his operations
were chiefly confined. He was born on the head-waters of the
Monongahela, and grew to manhood amid the dangers and
privations which the people of that section of Virginia endured
during the long years of a border warfare. Early
learning that the rifle and tomahawk were his principal means
of maintenance and defence, he became an adept in their
use, and refused to acknowledge a superior anywhere. Passionately
devoted to the wood, he became invaluable to the
settlements as hunter and scout. A man of delicate frame,
but an iron constitution, he could endure more fatigue than

any of his associates, and thus was enabled to remain
abroad at all seasons without inconvenience or detriment.
Many were the threatened blows which his vigilance averted,
and numerous the lives of helpless settlers his strong arm
was reached forth to save. The recollection of his services
and devotion is still cherished with a lively feeling of admiration
by the people of the region with which his name is so
intimately associated.

The following incidents illustrative of his career, we derive
from sources entitled to every credit. The one which immediately
follows, is from an old and intimate friend of Hughes, (Mr.
Renick of Ohio,) to whom it was communicated by the hero
himself, and afterwards confirmed by Mr. Harness, who was
one of the expedition. The time of the incident was about
1790.

No Indian depredations had recently occurred in the vicinity
of Clarksburgh, and the inhabitants began to congratulate
themselves that difficulties were finally at an end.

"One night a man hearing the fence of a small lot, he had
a horse in, fall, jumped up and running out saw an Indian
spring on the horse and dash off. The whole settlement was
alarmed in an hour or two, a company of twenty-five or thirty
men were paraded, ready to start by daylight. They took a
circle outside of the settlement, and soon found the trail of
apparently eight or ten horses, and they supposed, about that
many Indians. The captain (chosen before Hughes joined the
company) called a halt, and held a council to determine in
what manner to pursue them. The captain and a majority of
the company were for following on their trail: Hughes was
opposed, and he said he could pilot them to the spot where
the Indians would cross the Ohio, by a nearer way than the
enemy could go, and if they reached there before the Indians,
could intercept them and be sure of success. But the commander
insisted on pursuing the trail. Hughes then tried
another argument: he pointed out the danger of trailing the
Indians: insisted that they would waylay their trail, in order

to know if they were pursued, and would choose a situation
where they could shoot two or three and set them at defiance;
and alarming the others, the Indians would out-travel them
and make their escape. The commander found that Hughes
was like to get a majority for his plan, in which event he (the
captain) would lose the honor of planning the expedition.
Hughes, by some, was considered too wild for the command,
and it was nothing but jealousy that kept him from it, for in
most of their Indian excursions, he got the honor of the
best plan, or did the best act that was performed. The commander
then broke up the council by calling aloud to the men
to follow him and let the cowards go home, and dashed off full
speed, the men all following. Hughes knew the captain's
remark was intended for him, and felt the insult in the highest
degree, but followed on with the rest. They had not gone
many miles until the trail ran down a ravine where the ridge
on one side was very steep, with a ledge of rock for a considerable
distance. On the top of this cliff two Indians lay
in ambush, and when the company got opposite they made a
noise of some kind, that caused the men to stop: that instant
two of the company were shot and mortally wounded. They
now found Hughes' prediction fully verified, for they had to
ride so far round before they could get up the cliff, that the
Indians with ease made their escape.

"They all now agreed that Hughes' plan was the best, and
urged him to pilot them to the river where the Indians would
cross. He agreed to do it; but was afraid it might be too
late, for the Indians knew they were pursued and would make
a desperate push. After leaving some of the company to take
care of the wounded men, they put off for the Ohio river, at
the nearest point, and got there on the next day shortly after
the Indians had crossed. The water was still muddy, and
the rafts that they crossed on were floatting down the opposite
shore. The men now were unanimous for returning home.
Hughes soon got satisfaction for the insult the captain had
given him: he said he wanted to find out who the cowards were;

that if any of them would go, he would cross the river and
scalp some of the Indians. They all refused. He then said
if one man would go with him, he would undertake it; but
none would consent. Hughes then said he would go and take
one of their scalps, or leave his own.

"The company now started home, and Hughes went up the
river three or four miles, keeping out of sight of it, for he
expected the Indians were watching them to see if they would
cross. He there made a raft, crossed the river, and encamped
for the night. The next day he found their trail, and pursued
it very cautiously, and about ten miles from the Ohio
found their camp. There was but one Indian in it, the rest
were out hunting. The Indian left to keep camp, in order to
pass away the time, got to playing the fiddle on some bones
that they had for the purpose. Hughes crept up and shot him,
took his scalp, and made the best of his way home."

The following characteristic anecdote goes far to illustrate
the great discernment and instantaneous arrangement of plans,
of this shrewd and skilful Virginia hunter.

It is a general belief that the Indian is exceedingly cunning;
unrivalled in the peculiar knowledge of the woods, and capable,
by the extraordinary imitative faculties which he possesses,
to deceive either man, beast, or fowl. This is true to a
certain extent; but still, with all his natural sagacity and
quick perception of a native woodman, the Indian warrior
falls short of the acquired knowledge of a well trained hunter,
as the following case serves to illustrate. Jesse Hughes was
more than a match at any time for the most wary savage in
the forest. In his ability to anticipate all their artifices, he
had but few equals, and fewer still, superiors. But, to the
incident.

"At a time of great danger from the incursions of the
Indians, when the citizens of the neighborhood were in a fort
at Clarksburgh, Hughes one morning, observed a lad very intently
fixing his gun. `Jim,' said he, `what are you doing
that for?' `I am going to shoot a turkey that I hear gobbling

on the hill-side,' said Jim. `I hear no turkey,' said
the other. `Listen,' said Jim: `there, didn't you hear it?
listen again.' `Well,' says Hughes, after hearing it repeated,
`I'll go and kill it.' `No you won't,' said the boy, `it is my
turkey; I heard it first.' `Well,' said Hughes, `but you know
I am the best shot. I'll go and kill it, and give you the
turkey!' The lad demurred but at length agreed. Hughes
went out of the fort on the side that was furthest from the
supposed turkey, and passing along the river, went up a ravine
and cautiously creeping through the bushes behind the spot,
came in whence the cries issued, and, as he expected, espied
a large Indian sitting on a chestnut stump, surrounded by
sprouts, gobbling, and watching if any one would come
from the fort to kill the turkey. Hughes shot him before the
Indian knew of his approach, took off the scalp, and went into
the fort, where Jim was waiting for his prize. `There now,'
says Jim, `you have let the turkey go. I would have killed
it if I had gone.' `No,' says Hughes, `I didn't let it go;'
and, taking out the scalp, threw it down. `There, take your
turkey, Jim, I don't want it.' The lad was overcome, and
nearly fainted, to think of the certain death he had escaped,
purely by the keen perception and good management of Jesse
Hughes."

Jesse Hughes, as we have already stated, was often of invaluable
service to the settlements along the upper Monongahela,
by advising them of the approach of Indians. On one
occasion, a considerable body of the common enemy attacked
a fort near Clarksburg, and but for the energy and fearlessness
of Hughes might have reduced the frail structure, and
massacred every one within it. This daring man boldly went
forth for succor, and succeeded in reaching a neighboring
station in safety. Immediately, a company of men left to
relieve the besieged; when the Indians, fearing the superior
numbers, retreated in haste.

Hughes' scouting expeditions were not always confined to

the extreme upper regions of the Monongahela. He often
visited the stations lower down, and spent much of his time
at Prickett's fort, also at the stockade where Morgantown
now stands, and many other settlements in the neighborhood.
He was a great favorite; and no scouting party could be complete,
unless Jesse Hughes had something to do with it. We
regret that our limits will not allow us to give more incidents
in his very eventful life.

OLD FORT AT MORGANTOWN.

A SKIRMISH.

This incident, which was inadvertantly omitted in its
proper place, is now given as not without interest to most
readers of our local history.

One of the earliest settlers below Grave creek was John
Baker. In 1775 he made an improvement on what is now
known as Cresap's bottom. During the Dunmore war, Baker,
with most of the settlers below Wheeling, resorted to the fort
erected at that point; but in 1781, the settlement having
become considerably strengthened by new additions, it was
determined to erect a place of defence in the neighborhood,
and accordingly, some additions were made to the house of
Baker, and the whole protected by a stout stockade. Into
this the settlers retreated on the renewal of hostilities in 1782.

Several years, however, passed without anything occurring
at "Baker's Station," as it was called, worthy of special
remark. At length, in 1791, an incident took place not
unworthy of notice. Indications of the enemy became manifest,
and strong apprehensions began to be entertained that
Indians were about. In order to satisfy themselves, five
experienced hunters were sent over the river to scout. These
were Isaac McKeon, John McDonald, John Bean,—Miller,
and a Dutchman, named Shopto. They crossed opposite the
station, and proceeded up to the mouth of Captina, (one mile,)
and were moving cautiously along, when a heavy fire was
opened upon them, killing Miller on the spot, and dangerously
wounding McDonald, who was made prisoner. The others ran
in the direction of the station, calling for help as they
approached; and so close upon them were the Indians, that
they shot McKeon after he had reached the beach opposite
the fort. Shopto and Bean escaped by swimming.

Of the men collected at the station was Lieutenant Abraham

Enochs, of the Ohio county militia, and he proposed at once
to head a company and go in pursuit. Eighteen men,
including all the efficient force of the station,[22] at once joined
the gallant officer, and at once left on their perilous duty.
Enochs led his men up the Virginia side to a point above the
mouth of the creek, and then crossing the river, proceeded
directly over the hill to the creek, instead of pursuing the
bottom.

As the whole party were descending to a small stream
which empties into the creek, about two miles above its mouth,
they were fired upon by a large body of Indians, and John
Baker (son of the proprietor of the station) severely wounded
in the right thigh. The men were thrown into great confusion
by this unexpected fire, and it was with the utmost
difficulty they could be rallied. But Enochs, who possessed
great intrepidity, as well as much tact as a commander,
restored something like order, and cried to his men to rout
the Indians from their covert. Leading them on with a shout
of defiance, and a cry of confident victory, the bold and gallant
officer, like Brunswick's fated chieftain,

He received at the first onset a rifle ball in his breast, and
fell dead on the spot.

The death of their leader, and a simultaneous outbreak of
a new body of Indians, so disconcerted the rest of the men,
that they gave but one fire, and then broke in a disordered
and general rout, amid the shouts and terrible war-whoops
of the savage. Every man retreated for himself, most of
them making their way to Grave creek.

Of those wounded, was George McColloch, who received a
rifle ball in his ancle. Ray Vennam one of the party, took
him on his shoulder and carried him some distance, but

McColloch, finding that they would be overtaken, entreated
the other to take care of himself. Vennam concealed McColloch
behind a log, and made his way to the fort. That night a
man's plaintive cry was heard from the opposite shore, and
on Vennam saying it was George McColloch, those in the fort
said no, it was an Indian. Vennam, however, was firm in his
opinion that it was his friend, and accordingly went over in a
canoe to get McColloch. He had made his way that far on
one foot.

On the following day a body of men from Grave creek,
with most of the fugitives from the battle, went over to the
scene of disaster. Baker, who had crawled under a rock,
was dead, and, together with Enochs, scalped. Their remains,
together with those who fell in the morning, were carried to
the fort and decently interred. They lie in the rude burial
place at the head of Cresap's bottom.

Of the men engaged in this affair, it is impossible to collect
any other names than those of Enochs, Baker, McColloch,
Hoffman, Bean, Sutherland, Dobbins, Vennam and McArthur.
The latter, Duncan McArthur, afterwards Governor of Ohio,
then a young man, had but recently gone to the station. He
thus early evinced much of that true courage and great energy
of mind and character which afterwards so distinguished him.

According to Mr. McIntyre, young McArthur cried out, as
they ascended the bank, to "surround them," but the Indians
having the advantage, spread themselves and would have prevented
this even had the whites kept together.

NOTE A.

The original way of spelling this name was Whetzell, or Whitzell. The pronunciation
was Whet-zell. We have several signatures of Jacob Wetzel,
who was sheriff of Ohio county, all of which are spelt with an "h." Considerable
difficulty was created in the Virginia Legislature, at the time of
forming the county of "Wetzel," as to the proper orthography. An examination
of the files in the land office, induced the committee to adopt that
followed by ourselves.

In this decision they were clearly correct. During the past summer, the
author, after examining various papers in possession of friends of the family,
was shown an old account book, belonging to Mr. John Rodefer, Sr., an
aged and respectable citizen of Belmont county, Ohio, and by marriage, a
relative of the Wetzels. This account book is in the hand-writing of Mr.
Rodefer, and was made at the time he lived in the neighborhood of the
Wetzels, on Wheeling creek. There are a number of entries in the name of
"Wetzel," or in German, as it is written, "Watzal." He said that was
the manner in which the family wrote it, and that for some time after
coming to the west, noticed the name in various places upon old books and
papers in possession of the family, and that it was invariably written,
"Watzal," or in English, Wetzel. Regarding this as conclusive, we have
adopted the style.

The signatures of Jacob Wetzel, to which allusion has been made, were not
executed by that person, as we are informed by Mr. Rodefer, but by a
deputy. This is doubtless correct, as we notice the name spelled differently,
in different places.