That Dark and Bloody River

by Allan Eckert

  Not all the whites who descended the Ohio were bent on claiming lands. Some came for what they believed to be altruistic purposes. One of these was a Welshman named David Jones, who was a Baptist minister from New Jersey and self-styled “missionary to the heathens.” Escorted by a young land-claimer named George Rogers Clark, he had stopped briefly at Wheeling where, to the Zane family and some others, he proudly preached what he called the first sermon ever delivered in the Ohio River Valley. Continuing downstream, he went where even the boldest of adventurers feared to tread, ascending the Scioto River and boldly entering one of the largest Shawnee villages, Chalahgawtha, at the mouth of Paint Creek. There he found English trader Richard Conner in residence. Conner was not at all pleased to see him, but the Shawnee villagers welcomed him, fed him, gave him hot chocolate to drink and otherwise treated him cordially enough until he explained that his mission was to bring the heathen Shawnees into the embrace of God.162 At that point the Indians became cool, and Jones was approached by one of the leading men of the village, Outhowwa Shokka—Yellow Hawk—who spoke to him sternly.

  “Our Great Father, Moneto, the Maker of Life, long long ago explained to His children, the Shawnees, how they should live and how they should honor Him. It is by His rules alone that we have always lived. We do not need or want the white man’s religion here and if you speak one further word of your God or your religion in this place or anywhere else among our people, you will not find pleasant what happens next.”

  The Rev. Jones wisely held his tongue, which undoubtedly helped him to retain his scalp as well. After staying awhile longer, he meekly floated back down to the Ohio and, not stopping to preach at Wheeling or anywhere else on the return trip, returned to Fort Pitt far more subdued than when he left.

  Soon afterward another missionary, this time a Moravian named David Zeisberger, also visited the Shawnees on the Scioto and spoke with their principal chief, Hokolesqua—Cornstalk. The chief listened to what he had to say, then launched into a harangue against the whites that continued for some time. When he finally ran down, he told the Lutheran missionary, “I cannot permit you to preach here, but if you are still determined to do so among others of the Shawnee villages, you may go to them. In which case,” he added grimly, “you must rely on having your brains beat out very quickly.” Not a fool in any sense, Zeisberger returned home at once.

  On the whole, the Shawnees and some of the other tribes were showing remarkable tolerance, in light of the fact that the country they considered their own was being invaded by an unprecedented number of whites. Some of the tribes were not so forbearing. Here and there British traders were slain, but usually as much for reprehensible trading practices as anything else. John Findlay, returning to the Kentucky country to rejoin Boone and claim land, was one of those who disappeared, never to be heard of again, and it was generally assumed he had been killed by Indians. And far down the Ohio near its mouth, some Kickapoos began attacking traders traveling on the river, but this lasted only a little while, as a new intertribal war broke out between them and the Osages, and the Kickapoos forgot about the Ohio River attacks in order to concentrate on their enemy in the Missouri country. Farther to the north, however, English traders were still occasionally being killed or taken into captivity by Potawatomies.163

  Isolated cabins on the frontier, especially on the East Fork Monongahela and Tygart Valley River, were still attacked on occasion, with goods taken, and now and then an individual—usually a youngster—was carried away into captivity to be adopted into the tribe, but there was remarkably little bloodshed except in instant retaliation to Indians being unjustly killed.164

  That was what happened with the Thomas Bullitt surveying party. Some of Bullitt’s men, against orders, camped on the Ohio side of the river and were observed by a party of Shawnees. While the remainder of the Indian party remained hidden, one warrior approached to tell them they were on Indian lands and must leave, but Bullitt’s men panicked and shot him dead. They in turn were killed, and then the remainder of Bullitt’s party, on the Kentucky side of the river, was also attacked and either killed or, as occurred with Bullitt himself, captured.

  Proposals were made to the Lords of Trade in England that at least two new forts be established—one at the mouth of the Ohio and another at the mouth of the Illinois—to protect the British trade in this remote region, but the idea was quashed by Lord Hillsborough, president of that board, who wrote:

  Forts and military establishments at the mouths of the Ohio and Illinois Rivers, admitting that they would be effectual to the attainment of the objects in view, would yet, I fear, be attended with an expence to this Kingdom greatly disproportionate to the advantages proposed to be gained.

  It was while all this frontier activity was taking place that one of the more significant events in Virginia government occurred. In 1770 the colonial governor of Virginia, Norborne Berkeley—Baron de Botetourt—died in office and the colonial governor of New York, John Murray—Earl of Dunmore—was transferred to the Virginia governorship. At age 40, Lord Dunmore was an overweight, rather pompous man of fiery temperament. He had taken his seat in the House of Lords in 1761 and was named Governor of New York Colony only two years ago, in 1767. Now, in his new role, he was an outspoken believer in strengthening Virginia’s hold on its western lands, with little regard to its native inhabitants. In a letter to the colonial minister in England he wrote:

  The Americans acquire no attachment to Place: but wandering about seems engrafted in their Nature.… In this colony Proclamations have been issued from time to time that restrain them. But … they do not conceive that Government has any right to forbid their taking possession of a Vast tract of Country, either uninhabited, or which serves only as a Shelter for a few scattered Tribes of Indians. Nor can they easily be brought to entertain any belief of the permanent obligation of Treaties made with those People, whom they consider but little removed from the brute Creation.

  To this end he not only issued a proclamation encouraging citizens to emigrate beyond the Allegheny crest to settle and make tomahawk improvements, for which they would receive clear title to their claims, but he also named Dr. John Wood and Hancock Lee as official colony surveyors and dispatched them at the head of about 150 men to survey Ohio Valley lands with an eye to future development for the colony.

  Lord Dunmore had met and was particularly taken with an enterprising young doctor in Pittsburgh named John Connolly, who had been a medical officer with the militia during Bouquet’s campaign. A nephew of the renowned Indian agent George Croghan, he had gone to Kaskaskia after that campaign, where he traded and studied Indian languages for three years, until 1770. He was keenly interested in the development of the Ohio Valley and was a very literate man with a knack for writing reports and letters that were descriptive and accurate. And even better, in Dunmore’s opinion, this young man held neither high regard of—nor sympathy for—the Indians that was manifested by his illustrious uncle. As Dunmore himself felt, he believed the Indians were merely creatures of inconvenience; minor aggravations to be thrust out of the way to make room for more civilized people. Dr. Connolly was also a man well experienced in moving about on the frontier, having for some years been an employee of the trading firm of Baynton, Wharton and Morgan at its western headquarters in Kaskaskia. He was one of the few men who had traversed the entire length of the Ohio River by boat not just once but on a number of occasions.

  Only last year, on March 14, 1772, the 29-year-old John Connolly had passed the Falls of the Ohio with Maj. Henry Hamilton’s Royal Irish Regiment on its return to Fort Pitt from the Illinois country. The company was traveling in nine large bateaux and, because the river was swollen by spring rains, they had been able to pass the Falls without portaging. Connolly conceived the notion of having a new colony established in this area, with a great town built as its capital on the shores of the Falls of the Ohio. The regiment camped overnight here, and Connolly had taken that opportunity to explore about on the shore
line adjacent to the rapids. He was very taken by the large number of fossils he found, especially coprolites, and during the evening at the campfire he wrote of them:

  Various petrifications are to be found upon the shores and upon the rocks at this place; even buffalo excrement with the small vegetable substances discoverable therein, curiously turned into stone, yet so nicely retaining the original appearance as to be immediately known.

  In recent months Connolly had made it clear to all who would listen that he was in full accord with Lord Dunmore and did not in the least sympathize with the recent rise in revolutionary sentiment that was sweeping the colonies. Party strife was currently rampant among all the colonies and the idea, however fancifully bandied about, that these colonies ought to disengage themselves from home rule and establish themselves independently as Americans was as repugnant to him as it was to the Virginia governor.

  Whatever early approbation Lord Dunmore had won among the Virginians was quickly being undermined by his tyrannical actions. Having returned to Fort Pitt, John Connolly was delighted to find Lord Dunmore there, publicly on a pleasure jaunt but privately with other business in mind. Connolly hastened to laud the governor for the decisive action he had just taken that arbitrarily dissolved the right of assembly in Virginia because of the revolutionary sentiment being expressed. Few among the Virginians—especially those on the frontier—shared the admiration.

  There was another problem developing and rapidly escalating in this particular area of the frontier. With the rapid growth of Pittsburgh’s population and strategic location, it was clear to everyone that the town was destined to become possibly the greatest city in the west. Suddenly, both Virginia and Pennsylvania were claiming jurisdiction over Pittsburgh and Fort Pitt, as well as the entire valley of the Monongahela. The border dispute heated rapidly and, since the population in the area was almost evenly divided between citizens of both colonies, tensions were running high and battle lines beginning to be drawn.165

  The more important business that had brought Lord Dunmore to Fort Pitt was the fact that he had received notification from the King that Fort Pitt was, effective immediately, abandoned by the British government and that he was now taking possession of the installation on behalf of the Dominion of Virginia. Further, he was appointing Connolly as both land agent here for Virginia and also its Indian agent. Even more unexpectedly, he appointed Connolly a major of the Virginia militia and placed him in command of the fort.166

  Connolly was greatly delighted with his appointments and immediately announced that henceforth Fort Pitt was to be called Fort Dunmore. At this the frontier people balked; the name Fort Pitt was too deeply ingrained to be cast aside in such cavalier manner, and they continued to call it Fort Pitt. Connolly did not really care that much; Lord Dunmore knew he had proposed the name change, and that was what counted. All in all, Connolly was very much satisfied with the turn of events. Presently basking in the favor of Lord Dunmore, as he most assuredly was, he saw his own future prospects escalating with the future of Virginia. A decidedly ambitious man, he was suddenly even harboring the notion that if, in fact, a new colony could be established with its capital at the Falls of the Ohio as he proposed—a proposal that even appealed to George Washington—who might be in a better position to be named its governor than himself?

  [October 10, 1773—Sunday]

  At age 42, Talgayeeta—more familiar to the whites as Chief Logan—was a very tall man with fine strong features and kind eyes. He had been born in the village of Shamokin, where the great Forks of the Susquehanna were located.167 His father, the renowned Cayuga chief Shikellimus, was himself born on the shore of Cayuga Lake, far to the north in the New York Colony, but had removed to Shamokin to be closer to the English, for whom he harbored a great affection. He was noted for his unfailing hospitality to whatever whites visited the village, treating one and all with a generosity far beyond anything anticipated.

  It was through this kind nature of his that Shikellimus had come to know and admire William Penn and, through him, John Logan, who was an intimate of Penn’s and also provincial secretary for Pennsylvania Colony. A close friendship had developed between Shikellimus and John Logan, so it was not too surprising that when the son of Shikellimus was born in 1731 and named Talgayeeta, the Cayuga chief bestowed an alternate name on the baby boy—Logan—in honor of his friend.168

  Much of this same generous nature became apparent in Talgayeeta as he matured. When, to his overwhelming sorrow, his father finally died, he established his own village, called Talgayeeta’s Town, at a beautiful spring in the valley of Kishacoquillas Creek. The health of his wife, Mellana, was ruined by smallpox when his sister, Koonay, was still a young girl, and it was at his town at the spring that he and Mellana raised Koonay to young womanhood.169 His home there became just as noted for hospitality as his father’s had been, and Talgayeeta became well known as “the friend of the white man.”

  Prior to the French and Indian War, he announced he would remain neutral and not join the French in alliance against the British, as the rest of the Cayugas were planning to do. For this he was castigated to such extent by his own people that he permanently disavowed any connection with the tribe and thereafter considered his own little community autonomous, welcoming any Indians who felt as he did and cared to join him. A considerable number did so, and he gave this group a new name: Mingo—chiefs, all, and warriors, all. He was their spokesman, but none among them had greater rank than anyone else. He was particularly pleased when his elder brother, Taylaynee, was one of those who joined him.

  Talgayeeta’s ethics and integrity remained at a high level and, though he had become noted as a fearsome fighter in his younger years, he had a remarkable capacity for keeping his temper in check and avoiding conflict wherever possible. In 1766 he was visited at the spring by William Brown, James Reed and Richard McClay, who were among the earliest of settlers in the Kishacoquillas Creek Valley. Talgayeeta fancied himself a good shot and challenged the best shot of the three to compete against him, shooting at a mark with the wager of a dollar per shot. McClay accepted the bet and he was very good. Talgayeeta lost five times in succession and sheepishly admitted he had been fairly defeated. He then went to his house and returned with five tanned deer hides—the hide of a deer called a “buck” and worth a dollar—which he handed to McClay.

  “I can’t take these,” McClay protested, attempting to give them back. “We’re your guests, and we didn’t come here to rob you. What we did was just a little contest of skill.”

  Shaking his head, Talgayeeta refused to take the skins back. “We bet to make us shoot our best,” he said. “You did and I did. If I won, I would have accepted your dollars. You won, so you must accept these five bucks.” He then even refused to accept a hornful of gunpowder in return.

  A year later Talgayeeta paid a visit to the cabin of William Brown, several miles from the spring. Brown was absent, but his wife and daughter were home, the little one running and jumping about in bare feet. Mrs. Brown remarked sadly that she could not buy her daughter a pair of shoes small enough to fit. After visiting for an hour, Talgayeeta prepared to leave and asked her to let him take the child for a visit to his cabin for the rest of the day. Mrs. Brown was uneasy about it but, knowing her husband’s respect for Talgayeeta, she agreed. She was becoming extremely uneasy when they had not returned by late afternoon, but then, just at sunset, Talgayeeta and the child came into sight. The little girl ran to her mother’s arms and proudly showed off the beautiful pair of moccasins Talgayeeta had spent the day making for her, refusing even the help of Mellana or Koonay. Instead, while he worked on the moccasins, his wife and sister had spent the afternoon entertaining the little girl.

  Three years later, in 1770, with white settlement closing in and game disappearing, making life difficult for all Indians in that area of Pennsylvania, including the Mingoes, Talgayeeta regretfully abandoned the village on Kishacoquillas Creek. The Mingoes broke up into little groups of th
eir own and many moved to the Ohio country. Talgayeeta, Mellana and Koonay, along with other relatives, did so, too, taking up residence in the Indian village located on the Ohio at the mouth of Indian Cross Creek, 70 miles below Pittsburgh.170 While it was a Delaware village initially, so many Mingoes from Talgayeeta’s Town had taken up residence there over the years that the place had come to be called Mingo Town and was frequently visited by the early traders. However, less than two years after Talgayeeta’s arrival, the Delawares—as the result of the destruction of Bulltown—moved out, and then the Mingoes, too, began drifting away into the interior and either joined established villages or set up small villages of their own.

  Talgayeeta moved with his family again, this time adjacent to a fine bubbling spring up on a terrace well above the Ohio River shore, just above the mouth of Beaver River and 25 miles below Pittsburgh.171 It was here that Talgayeeta and his family met the trader John Gibson. Very soon Gibson and Koonay fell in love and were married. The new location, despite its excellent spring, was in an area where there was little game, and the hunters of the village became discontent. In council they discussed moving again, this time to Yellow Creek, another 25 miles farther down the Ohio, not so much because the hunting was better in that area, but because, while still providing them access to the Ohio River, there was also an excellent Indian trail leading westward to the Forks of the Muskingum and the excellent hunting lands that lay beyond there in the valley of the Walhonding.

  Now he had just finished telling Koonay that they would be moving again, expecting her to be downcast at the news, but she was not. She smiled and admitted that, except for meeting and marrying her husband here and bearing his daughter less than a year ago, she had never really been fond of the location and was looking forward to the new site at Yellow Creek. It might make things a little more difficult for John Gibson when he was able to come back to her and their daughter, which he did as frequently as possible, since they would be double the distance from Fort Pitt, where he had to spend so much of his time, but it was not a problem of special concern.