by Allan Eckert
Old John and George, hearing the shot and shrieks, knew in one horrible instant what was occurring. Cursing himself for leaving his gun at the cabin—something he had never done before and vowed savagely never to do again—John told George to follow him, and they plunged across the creek to the east side and raced up a steep hill. There, from a clearing through the trees, they had a good view of the cabin. Father and son were relieved when they saw both boys were still alive and the Indians busy loading bundles of plunder on the plow horses. Without weapons, however, Old John and George were helpless to do anything but watch and stay out of sight.
At the cabin one of the Indians discovered the dog and her litter. Selecting the largest of the pups to take along, he handed it to Jacob to carry. Jacob shook his head and shoved the puppy aside. The Indian snatched it up and handed it back to him, and again Jacob turned it loose. The Indian caught it once again and this time gave Jacob a fierce swat on the head and threatened more of the same if he didn’t carry the puppy, so Jacob accepted it.272
Lewis’s shirt was heavily stained with blood, but the Indians looked at his wound and nodded in agreement that it was not serious and he could survive.273 Then, with Lewis and Jacob forced to walk in their midst and three of the Indians now riding the plow horses, they moved off into the woods. The entire episode had taken no more than 15 minutes.
Well above on the hill, Old John and George watched them go and then immediately set out at top speed by a different route to reach Wheeling and try to get a rescue party on the move. Staying clear of the creekside path lest they be ambushed, they didn’t reach Fort Henry until evening. Capt. Sam Meason was now in temporary command and there was considerable concern over what had occurred and a rejuvenation of fears that had been abating. Night was approaching and, still expecting the rumored attack to occur, Capt. Meason refused to mount a rescue party, saying they all sympathized with the Wetzels, but the safety of the people now gathered at Wheeling took precedence.274
The party of Wyandots marched the Wetzel boys through the woods until midafternoon, when they finally came to a small stream and followed it down to its mouth at the Ohio. Neither boy had been here before, and so they had no good idea where the crossing would be made, although Lewis told Jacob they were probably well downstream from Wheeling. In whispers, the boys agreed that neither of them would try to escape unless they could do so together.
Some 25 yards upstream on the creek from its mouth, the Indians had hidden two canoes under brush. They loaded the goods and their captives aboard and crossed the Ohio, one of the Indians riding one of the horses and swimming it across while leading the other two behind.
On the Ohio side, the canoes were pulled into another creek mouth and there weighted with rocks and sunk for use another time. Then the party began marching again to the northwest along a dim winding trail. At twilight the Indians stopped and made camp, and Lewis estimated they were by then four or five miles from the Ohio. The Indians came to where a deerskin pouch was hanging from a tree out of the reach of animals, and they took it down. Inside were cracklings—strips of deer skin from which the fat had been rendered—and they began eating it. They offered some to the boys, who refused when they saw it was infested with maggots, and so the Indians gave them some wild lettuce, which Jacob called squaw salad, and then tethered them for the night. Each of the boys had a rawhide cord passed around his waist through his belt loops and his shoes taken away. Each boy was then forced to lie down between two Indians, with one end of the cord tied around his wrists to alert them if he attempted escape. Lewis’s wound was beginning to fester and was very painful, but he made no complaint, and the approval of the Indians was apparent as they nodded and murmured, “Make good warrior.”
The next day they traveled again all day and by late afternoon had reached Will’s Creek.275 Once again they camped as before, and one of the Indians attempted to talk to Lewis, using sign language and a scattering of English words. He pointed at an angle toward the eastern sky and repeated the word Goschachgunk several times. From this Lewis deduced that they would reach Goschachgunk about ten o’clock the next morning. He also knew that when they did, they would be forced to run the gauntlet. Fearing they would not survive the ordeal, the boys, speaking in undertones, agreed to make an escape attempt this night.
When evening came, the boys were unshod and tethered as they had been the night before. All the Indians went to sleep except one who remained on guard. Soon, however, he became sleepy and drifted off. Jacob then carefully began squirming out of his pants, careful not to jerk the cords and awaken either of the Indians to whom he was tethered. He was successful and was just getting to his feet when the sentinel started to awaken. Lewis pretended to be asleep, and Jacob, thinking quickly, snatched up a small kettle and started walking with it. The guard stopped him with a cry, and Jacob pantomimed that he was thirsty and going down the creek bank to get water in the kettle.
By this time the other Indians had awakened, and Jacob was soon tied again the same way, but this time more securely. Once more the boys had a long wait before all the Indians, including the guard, again fell asleep. Then both Lewis and Jacob once more began trying to hitch and inch themselves out of their pants. Jacob’s tether was now too tight and he could not get free, but Lewis did. Very silently he crept to one of the Indians and gradually, carefully, slid his knife out of its sheath. He then went to Jacob and cut his tether away, returned and cut the tether off his own pants and put them back on.
Their shoes were nowhere to be seen, but the Indians had hung their own damp moccasins on sticks by the fire to dry them out overnight, and the boys crept there and each took a pair. The footwear was stiff and shrunken, so they slipped down to the creek and soaked them enough to stretch them over their feet.
Jacob was all for getting away in a hurry then, but Lewis stayed him. “We got to go back to the camp,” he whispered. “We got to get the guns, Paw’s and George’s.” Jacob didn’t much care for the idea, but he agreed, and they crept back into the camp.276 George’s rifle was leaning against a tree with powderhorn and shot pouch and was easy to get. Lewis gave it to Jacob and turned to get the other one. This was more of a problem: The stock was partially under the head of one of the warriors, and he had to work it out very slowly and with great care. At last it came free, and he and Jacob slipped away.
They began following the trail back the way they had come but had gone no more than 100 yards or so when they heard an outcry raised behind them; the Indians had discovered their escape. Dawn was still about an hour away, and Lewis was sure they would not attempt to follow until then, but they would surely do so at that time, so they continued on the trail and the easier passage it provided until day began to break. At this point they left the trail and struck out roughly parallel with it, but several hundred yards distant. The going was much more difficult this way, and by late morning they were exhausted.
“Let’s go back to the trail, Lew,” Jacob suggested. “We can tell easy enough if they came past hunting for us.”
Lewis agreed, and they swung back to intercept the trail. In a short while they encountered it and saw at once the hoofmarks of two horses heading toward the river on the trail. The hoofprints were broad and showed the marks of horseshoes and were obviously two of their own plow horses being ridden by Indians in pursuit of them. Instantly they turned away from the path again and took a due east course overland.
They traveled almost constantly, pausing only occasionally to rest and briefly nap before moving on. At one point they stopped long enough to cut off some slippery elm bark and chew it to make a poultice to put on Lewis’s wound, which was giving him more pain than at any time previously.
It was close to noon the following day when they came to the Ohio, and they nearly wept with joy when they saw Wheeling Island and, beyond it, Wheeling itself and Fort Henry. They found chunks of wood on the shore and lashed their guns to them with willow withes, then entered the water and pushed the logs ahead of t
hem as they swam to the island. Lewis was so weak by this time that without Jacob’s help, he would not have made it across to the island.
On the island they found a small party of boys from Wheeling who had come over by canoe to pick some of the succulent wild summer grapes that grew in abundance here. The party gave up their quest for grapes and quickly ferried the two exhausted Wetzel boys across to Wheeling.
Word of their return spread quickly, and a crowd gathered around them, shouting congratulations at their escape and demanding details. Then the crowd parted and let Old John Wetzel through, followed by George and Martin. There was a very joyous reunion, and Lewis grinned and handed the two rifles to his father.
“I’m sorry we got them wet, Paw,” he said.
Chapter 3
[August 22, 1777—Friday]
Martin Wetzel and John Baker were the closest of friends and about as inseparable as two adventurous young men of 20 could be. Usually they tried to arrange things so they were together, whether it was going out on a hunt, trailing marauding Indians or defending the settlement forts. They were equally skilled in woods lore, and Martin was as proud of John having recently been made a captain in the militia as he would have been had the appointment been his own.
Ever since the capture of Martin’s two young brothers, Lewis and Jacob, and their subsequent escape, the rumors of an impending Indian attack of major proportions had increased, and many more upper Ohio River settlements and isolated cabins were abandoned, their inhabitants taking refuge at Wheeling. Regular militia patrols were now going up and down the river, watching closely for Indians or for any sign of their crossing to the Virginia side. Capt. John Baker was put in command of one such patrol yesterday, and no one was surprised when he selected Martin as one of his squad, as well as Martin’s brother, George, and their father, Old John.
Their first assigned task on this patrol today was to paddle five miles downstream from Wheeling and check around the ruins of McMechen’s Settlement to see if there was any fresh sign of Indians having been there, since the McMechen cabin and outbuildings had been burned by Indian raiders on August 12. Fortunately, it had happened just after the McMechens had left it to take refuge at Wheeling, but this was the second time the settlement had been burned, and William McMechen, while thankful that his family was safe, was very depressed and considering leaving the frontier.
Baker’s squad paddled their canoe very near the Virginia shoreline, closely studying the banks for any indication that Indians had come ashore. They found no fresh sign along those banks or at the burned-out settlement and so continued their patrol downstream, studying the shoreline, for another nine miles to Round Bottom. Several families had taken refuge in the small unnamed blockhouse that had been erected there, and Baker’s squad stopped briefly to check on them. The half-dozen men and several women and children were all right, but they reported something of a scare a few days earlier, when a small party of Indians had been spotted on the opposite shore. However, the Indians had quickly vanished, and there had been no trouble.
Still paying close attention to the banks, the squad then continued down the Ohio the remaining distance of its patrol, which was to the small blockhouse that had been built at the head of Cresap’s Bottom, six miles below Round Bottom and 20 miles below Wheeling.277 They landed here and were inside the blockhouse when a party of eight Indians emerged from the woodland across the river and moved close to shore.
“Watch this,” Baker said. He leveled his rifle and pointed it toward them.
“Hell, John,” Martin chuckled, “that’s more’n three hundred yards. You don’t really figger you k’n hit one, do you?”
“Mebbe not,” Baker murmured, “but I’m sure gonna scare hell out of’em.” He took a careful bead on one, then raised his aim a foot or so over the Indian’s head. The rifle crashed, and the four men ducked low to avoid the cloud of gunsmoke and watch the reaction. To their amazement, the warrior Baker had aimed at clutched at his chest, staggered and then fell. The rest of his party instantly took to their heels and disappeared into the woodland.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” said Old John Wetzel. “By God, John,” he thumped Baker on the back, “that’s sure ’nuff the finest shot ever I seen!”
The rest of the squad congratulated him as well, and Martin shook his friend’s hand warmly. “You’ll go the rest of your life and never make another shot like that, John,” he said.
Baker was grinning and obviously very pleased with himself. “C’mon, boys,” he said, “let’s go across. I want that scalp, and I want to see if I plugged him clean through the heart like I aimed.”
“Now hol’ on,” Old John warned. “Them other red niggers’re apt t’be waitin’ fer someone to show up. Reckon we oughta wait a mite ’fore goin’ over.”
They all recognized the wisdom of this and so remained where they were, talking casually and keeping their eyes on the opposite shore. At the end of an hour, Baker spoke up.
“I ’spect if they was still around, we’d’a seen ’em by now. I’m goin’ over. Anyone comin’ along?”
Keeping sharply alert, the four returned to the canoe and paddled across, beaching their craft within a dozen feet of where the fallen warrior lay. As they had agreed to do on the way across, they didn’t approach the body immediately but instead spread out quickly and began checking the woodland fringe to make certain the Indians were gone.
They weren’t. Several shots shattered the silence, and Baker fell, writhing in pain. As the three Wetzels leaped into hiding among the trees, two Indians jumped out close to where Baker lay, grasped him by the wrists and just as quickly dragged him out of sight. There was momentary quiet, and then from well into the woods came a terrible scream. Hardly had the first begun dwindling away than there was another, equally agonizing.
Slowly the three Wetzels came together and crouched, quietly intent as they watched and listened. At last Old John slowly straightened, and George and Martin did the same.
“Reckon they’re really gone this time,” the elder Wetzel said. “Let’s go find John. Careful, boys.”
They moved from tree to tree in sequence until they reached the place where Baker had fallen and then been dragged into the woods. There was a good bit of blood and, still keeping to cover, they followed the trail. They found him 50 yards or so into the woods. He was scalped but still alive and had dragged himself a short distance on his stomach until he was partially under a log, but he was unconscious now. They pulled him out and turned him over, then gasped at what they saw. His shirtfront was soaked with blood from two bullet wounds, one low in the right chest, the other in his stomach. Both eyeballs had been gouged out and torn away.
With careful haste, they carried him back to the canoe and paddled swiftly across the river, where they moved him gently into the blockhouse and laid him on the earthen floor. He had not regained consciousness and his breathing was erratic. There was nothing they could do for him, and they merely squatted beside him and watched. Martin put his hand to his friend’s cheek and simply held it there.
Ten minutes later, without having regained consciousness, Capt. John Baker died.278
[August 31, 1777—Sunday evening]
Fort Henry at Wheeling was not a terribly large fort—its spear-sharpened, eight-foot-high pickets enclosed less than an acre of ground—but it was far more a haven for the settlers than most of the little fortified cabins and local blockhouses at many of the settlements. As always, it was a welcome sight to Capt. Thomas Ogle and his squad of a dozen mounted men when they reached it at twilight this evening at the end of their latest three-day patrol. He dismissed the squad, and nine of the men went immediately to their quarters. The remaining three—Joseph Biggs, Abraham Rogers and Robert Lemon—accompanied him as he reported immediately to Col. David Shepherd.
Shepherd himself had arrived here at Wheeling just before noon today. Concerned for his family, he felt they would be more secure here than at his own little Shepherd’s Fort at t
he Forks of Wheeling Creek, seven miles above, even though a number of settlers were still there. Accompanying him today was his 19-year-old son, William, with his wife, Rebecca, and their infant daughter. Col. Shepherd also felt he should be on hand at Wheeling in case the Indians should attack, and immediately upon his arrival, he had assumed command of Fort Henry from Capt. Samuel Meason, which made no one particularly unhappy except perhaps Meason himself.
There was now a distinct possibility that an Indian attack might materialize. A dispatch had recently been received from Fort Pitt that was more than a little unnerving. A pair of converted Delawares from the Tuscarawas had come to Gen. Hand bearing secret intelligence from the Moravian missionary, John Heckewelder, to the effect that close to 400 confederated Indians had assembled at Half King’s Town, the principal Wyandot town on the upper Sandusky River. Heckewelder had initially been led to believe the big war party was preparing to strike at the Kentucky settlements. However, they had unexpectedly appeared at the Forks of the Muskingum instead, and it was now evident they were aiming to attack somewhere on the upper Ohio. Wheeling, with its 30 permanent houses and a score or more temporary dwellings, plus herds of cows and other livestock, a multitude of horses and without a regular army garrison on hand to protect it, seemed the most likely target.
At this time, with the return of the patrol squad, there were only 35 men on hand to protect Wheeling, and the commander listened closely to Tom Ogle’s report. He said that on the entire patrol up the principal river path, all the way to the mouth of Raccoon Creek and back, they had watched the ground carefully for any sign of Indians, especially in the vicinity of the trails, but had found none.