That Dark and Bloody River

by Allan Eckert

  At the same time the Shawnees, Wyandots, Delawares and Mingoes struck with unparalleled fury in raids against settlers all along the frontiers of Pennsylvania, Maryland and Virginia; the raids were led by such chiefs as Hokolesqua, Pucksinwah, Shemeneto, Black Wolf, Monakaduto, Wingenund, Wolf, Pimoacan and others. Eighty Shawnees under Hokolesqua and Black Wolf swept up the Kanawha and devastated new settlements in the valleys of Muddy Creek, the Greenbrier River, the Jackson Valley River, the New River, and the Shenandoah River. A similar Delaware party under Chief Wolf struck in the valleys of the Youghiogheny and Monongahela. His 20 warriors struck the little settlement established by Col. William Clapham, 25 miles southeast of Fort Pitt, and killed five, including Clapham himself, one of his men, two women and a child. Similar raids were occurring elsewhere, many with combined parties of Shawnees and Delawares, leaving a bloody swath through the valleys of the Susquehanna, Juniata, Sherman and Tuscarawas Creek, while combined Senecas and Susquehannocks fell upon Connecticut settlers in the Wyoming Valley of northeastern Pennsylvania.

  Pucksinwah’s Shawnees and some Delawares under Chief Wolf placed Fort Pitt under a brief siege, but they broke it off when word came that Col. Henry Bouquet with 460 soldiers was on the march against them. Pucksinwah immediately led his 95 warriors to Edge Hill, 26 miles east of Fort Pitt, and set up an ambush. Striking Bouquet’s force from under cover, rarely exposing themselves and making their shots count, they quickly killed and wounded eight British officers and 116 men. Bouquet was able to save his force from sure disaster only by effecting a clever counterambush, at which the Indians retreated after losing 22 men, including chiefs Kittiskung and Wolf. This was the Battle of Bushy Run on August 5, which Bouquet declared a victory for the whites, then continued his march to Fort Pitt without further loss.

  At last, to the intense relief of everyone, Sir Jeffrey Amherst was recalled on November 17, 1763, and his place as commander in America was taken over by Gen. Thomas Gage.101 Even more gratifying, the British Board of Trade finally took the advice of Sir William Johnson and issued the Royal Proclamation of 1763, negating the boundaries of the Lancaster Treaty of 1744 insofar as settlement by whites was concerned and creating a hard and fast boundary between the whites and Indians. The proclamation made the crest of the Alleghenies the dividing line, with the words

  everything west of the heads of the streams that ultimately empty into the Atlantic are to be, for the present and until our further pleasure be known, reserved for the tribes.

  While it helped, this did not entirely end the frontier conflicts, which continued until October 1764, when Bouquet gathered up his force and marched on an expedition into the Ohio country, determined to bring the Indians to their knees. The upshot was that the tribes sued for peace and met with Bouquet at the Forks of the Muskingum. There, at Goschachgunk, they surrendered all their prisoners—eventually a total of 310.102 Among the surrendered prisoners were the three Girty brothers, Simon, James and George, who soon became interpreters at Fort Pitt.

  An official treaty was to be drawn up the following summer, based on the Proclamation of 1763, but now, with the prisoners released and Bouquet prepared to return to Fort Pitt, it was Hokolesqua who expressed to Bouquet the stance of the combined tribes, saying: “When you first came among us, you came with hatchet raised to strike us. We now take it from your hand and throw it to Moneto, that He may now do with it that which shall seem good in His sight. We hope that you, who are a brave warrior, will take hold of the chain of friendship we now extend to you. We, who are also brave warriors, will take hold as you do, and in pity for our women and children and our old people, we will think no more of war.”

  The formal peace treaty was concluded with Sir William Johnson during the summer of 1764, and for the first time in many years, the frontiers were safe, but this was a situation that did not last. Almost as if it had never been drawn up, the Royal Proclamation of 1763 was ignored. Thousands of immigrants were coming to America from England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland, and there was an even greater need than before to extend westward expansion. Would-be settlers flowed over the Alleghenies in alarming numbers, spilling into the fertile valleys beyond, each seeking the place that particularly appealed to him and then making his mark on boundary trees—called tomahawk improvements—and claiming the land as his own.103

  Even though trade was still tightly controlled and only licensed fur agents were able to pursue the practice without fear of imprisonment, the unorganized settlers had only their own needs and desires to consider, and it was virtually impossible to keep them from settling ever deeper in the interior. In essence, this situation, after all these many years of travail, was right back where it had been, with the Indians once again seeing their lands encroached upon and stolen, their game herds slaughtered, their fields and forests burned and the great beauty of their pristine lands horribly desecrated. So when continued appeals to British authorities failed to curtail the invasion and oust the intruders, the Indians took matters into their own hands, and small parties again launched raids against the least protected settlers and settlements, especially in the valleys of the Monongahela and Kanawha, whose tributaries funneled the growing flow of settlers toward the Ohio Valley. These attacks quickly escalated, yet ever more settlers came, and with good reason.

  The Ohio River Valley, still devoid of white settlement, was beckoning like a ripe plum ready for the picking—but there were nests of red hornets close to that plum, and their stings were deadly; whatever plum was plucked would not be taken without utmost peril. The country bordering the long serpentine course of the Ohio River was a land fraught with almost unimaginable danger.

  The stage was now set. It was a territory very soon to be termed “that dark and bloody land,” and the principal highway into that region was the 1,000-mile-long stream called the Ohio—that dark and bloody river.

  Chapter 1

  [July 16, 1768 —Saturday]

  Simon Girty stood silently in the dense cover fringing the area of the hunting camp, his garb blending so well with the underbrush about him that it would have required a keenly trained eye to pick him out and, even then, the eye would have to know exactly where to focus. His head turned slowly from side to side, cocking now and again as he listened intently for anything that might indicate the danger still existed.

  A man of slightly less than average height, Girty was of a chunky, muscular build. His hair was black and flowed free to his shoulders, his features were well formed, and many of the women he encountered considered him quite handsome. But those features could harden into fierce, harsh lines at times, and now was one of those occasions. His expression was set in grim lines, making him look rather older than his 27 years, and his dark gray eyes probed deeply into the dappled foliage, searching as intently as his ears were listening. A jay scolded briefly from a nearby tree and his gaze flicked instantly to the source, then moved away and his head swiveled slightly when a trio of crows cawed raucously from the uppermost bare branches of a dead tree some 300 yards upriver.

  To the west, the distant opposite shore of the Shawanoe showed no signs of movement. The river itself issued only a faint hissing gurgle as it slid past, heading for its junction with the Tennessee some 20 miles downstream and then, ultimately, with the Ohio another 25 miles below that.104 Girty let his gaze move back to the scene before him, and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he studied the jumbled bodies more closely. He could not decide from this distance whether anyone of the party was missing, but he knew he would find out soon enough.

  He had known from the beginning that it was a mistake coming here; Shawnees did not take lightly to white hunters trespassing on their Kan-tuck-kee hunting grounds. The others had not listened to his warnings, however, and despite the presentiment that had risen in him, he had allowed himself to be talked into it.

  They had left Kaskaskia on this hunt just two weeks earlier in two large canoes, each towing a sturdy piroque behind for transporting their take. All 19 in the p
arty were traders or hunters associated with the Baynton, Wharton and Morgan Company. Not one of them had ever met either John Baynton or Samuel Wharton—those two, in recent years, rarely left the firm’s headquarters in Philadelphia—but all were fiercely devoted to George Morgan, field superintendent for the company. Morgan, some years ago, had become a partner in the firm, not because he had married the beautiful Molley, Baynton’s daughter, but because he was a man of consummate ability in his position, a man whose diminutive size belied his toughness and sagacity, and who somehow had the knack of extracting the utmost in loyalty from his men. It was that very devotion, in fact, that now drove Girty to make the extra effort to go back to Kaskaskia and tell Morgan what had happened here, rather than move on to Fort Pitt, as he would have much preferred doing.

  Remaining in place in the underbrush, Girty felt a welling of mixed anger and pity for these men who had been slain. How short a time ago they had been filled with life; laughing, joking and raising a purse among them as a prize to go to the best hunter. They had paddled down the Mississippi from Kaskaskia to the mouth of the Ohio and then upstream on the latter, not doing any real hunting until reaching the Shawanoe. And what hunting they had discovered here! They had found this secluded little bottom along the riverbank and made their camp, and over the succeeding ten days of actual hunting, they had delightedly competed and bagged nearly 100 deer and 39 bears, along with a number of wolves, a few buffalo and three elk. Their evenings in camp had been busy, relating their tales of the hunt as they skinned the animals, bundled the hides, quartered and salted down the meat and rendered the bear fat to oil. One of the piroques was already two-thirds full of bear oil, and the other one was half full with the meat and hides.

  The hunting had been markedly less fruitful yesterday, and last night, working about the camp and discussing whether to continue the hunt or return, they had decided to ascend the river perhaps another 20 miles to hunt a few more days and fill the boats to capacity before starting back. Then, just as they were starting to load their gear into the boats at dawn this morning, a barrage of 30 or more shots had come, and most of Girty’s companions had fallen where they stood. Two besides himself had managed to leap away, rifles in hand, but one of these was downed in a few steps. Girty had no idea what happened to the other since he was himself being pursued by four. He raced away downriver through the woodland at all the speed he could muster. Two of the Shawnees had quickly been outdistanced, but one had followed him at an equal pace until at last Girty dodged behind a tree, waited a moment while swiftly checking his gun, then emerged from the other side and put a ball through the leading Shawnee’s heart at close range. He raced off again at an angle, heading toward a huge rock he had seen while hunting and, reaching it, crouched behind cover at its base, swiftly reloading.

  The fallen Indian’s two companions came into sight, cried “Waugh!” at seeing their dead companion and halted. They looked about fearfully but, seeing nothing, picked up the dead man and carried him back toward the camp. Girty had then quickly scaled the rock and thrown himself prone on top. Though the river was barely visible through the foliage, he could not see the campsite. The yells of the Indians reached him faintly, but after a while the sounds diminished. A short time later the two large canoes floated past, aimlessly adrift on the current, and then there was only silence. Nevertheless, he remained on the rock for over an hour longer. At last, ready to flee in an instant, he descended and stealthily approached the camp to this place in hiding where he now stood.

  Still there was no sound or movement, and so with infinite care he made a wide semicircle around the camp, studying the ground for what he was sure he would find and soon did: traces that the Indians had left, moving toward the southeast. He also found, at the treelined edge of the bottom, the body of the man he hoped might have escaped, his gun, powderhorn, shirt, and shoes gone, along with his scalp. Girty shook his head and walked boldly into camp and surveyed the carnage. Seventeen bodies were there, all scalped, many mutilated with tomahawk blows or knife thrusts. All their guns, powder and lead were gone, along with their pouches and selected articles of clothing. The two piroques had been scuttled, the bear oil loosed into the water and the salted meat and bundles of furs thrown into the river, all of which convinced Girty that his surmise was correct: The attackers were a war party traveling light, possibly marching against the Cherokees and not wishing to be encumbered with plunder. That they had encountered the white hunting party had evidently been sheer happenstance.

  Girty looked around a final time and grimaced. “Reckon I’d’a won our bet, boys,” he murmured. Then he turned and left without a backward glance.

  [July 20, 1768—Wednesday]

  In the headquarters of the Baynton, Wharton and Morgan trade building at Kaskaskia, George Morgan watched the door of his office close and the latch click into place. For a long while he sat quietly, mulling over the report he’d just received and considering its ramifications. At length he sighed and reached for the quill pen he’d been using to write a letter to his partners in Philadelphia when the interruption occurred. Now he shook the excess ink free into the pot and continued the missive:

  I was going on with the foregoing When Simon Girty one of our Hunters came in from the Shawana River & informed me that about thirty Indians had attacked our Boats & that no body had made their escape but himself that he knew of He is a Lad Who is particularly attach’d to me otherwise he would not have come here to give me this Intelligence but would have immediately proceeded to Fort Pitt. Mr. Hollingshead will give you his Character. The inclosed Letter which I write to Mr. Rumsey, will give you a short but plain Relation of this Tragical Affair, that I need not have the Trouble of again recollecting every Part & writing it over. I therefore refer you to it.…

  Had not this Disaster happened, we should have collected more Skins from that Quarter by Decr next than we trade for here in twelve Months. There was a generous Strife between the Hunters, who should do most for me — & pleased themselves very greatly with reckoning up every Night how much Money We shoul[d] make by their Industry — Which each of them daily declared should not be Wanting — for that Mr. Morgan had used them so well that they could not do too much for him.

  Besides the Skins, they would have renderd about 20 M Wt of Tallow & brought in Meat sufficient for the Garrison all next Year.105 They had agreed to move about 15 or twenty miles higher up the River that very Day.…

  [September 3, 1768—Saturday]

  The penetration of new settlers westward of the Allegheny Divide continued sporadically all along the frontier, from the New York border in the north to the North Carolina border in the south. Individuals, families, groups of families and even whole companies of people were filtering over that crest and tentatively sinking their roots along streams that flowed west or north or northwest; waters that gradually found their way into the mighty Ohio.

  For many, it was an opportunity to have, for the first time in their lives, a piece of land to call their own. These were the people who had worked for years as indentured workers paying off the price of their passage to America and who had dreamed of one day establishing their own farms. They were willing to undergo whatever rigors or hazards it took to make the dream come true.106 These were also the people who were restless, adventurous, energetic and, often enough, fugitives from justice who were eager to leave behind a criminal past.

  In the earlier years they had come by foot or, if lucky enough, on horseback, threading their way through unknown territory in a trackless wilderness or along faintly visible game trails or Indian paths. Now even that was changing. Their very passage was creating better trails and better roads with fewer hardships along the way. The most direct and least difficult route was what had once been the old Nemacolin Trail but was now better known as Braddock’s Road, though until this year it was still little more than a wider trail than most. Recently, however, the Virginia colonial government had authorized the creation of a national road, suitable fo
r the passage of large wagons, following the Braddock’s Road route not only from Will’s Creek on the upper waters of the Potomac to the Monongahela at the mouth of Redstone Creek, but even beyond, following the Monongahela all the way to the town of Pittsburgh, which had sprung up in the shadow of Fort Pitt. Toward this end—though more for the establishment of better trade with the Indians than to ease the passage of pioneers—the government had just appropriated the sum of £200 and empowered such enterprising individuals as Dr. Thomas Walker, Abraham Kite, Thomas Rutherford and James Wood to proceed with the creation of this first National Road.107 Many, especially those in Pennsylvania, who did not have ready access to the new road were continuing to follow the old military road from Philadelphia to Lancaster and Harris Ferry, then beyond the Susquehanna to the newer towns of Carlisle and Chambersburg and past even them to the military posts called Fort Bedford, where a little village called Raystown was growing, and Fort Ligonier.108 In other areas, however, the trails remained difficult at best and continued to be negotiated on foot or on packsaddles. They could not carry much with them, but then they most often had little to carry. The important thing was to get there, find the land that was most appealing or best suited for settlement and dig in. Anyone could take up land if he had the hardihood to build a cabin and raise a small crop, coupled with the fortitude to face hardship or even extreme jeopardy. For such physical and mental expenditure, the individual could lay claim to 400 acres and stake out preemption rights to an additional 1,000 acres that could eventually be secured through a land office warrant. When certificates of settlement right were properly filled out and submitted to the land commissioners, they then lay in trust for six months, and if no one had already claimed the land or there were no overlappings or counterclaims, at the end of six months a patent was issued and the land was then theirs free and clear.