That Dark and Bloody River

by Allan Eckert

  Col. Brodhead, at Fort Pitt, was aware of the prevailing sentiment and knew it was directly traceable to his own inability to mount the long-planned expedition against the Indians on the Muskingum or even a far more dangerous campaign against the Scioto towns, now that he had detailed reports and maps as a result of Capt. Samuel Brady’s expedition. As he wrote to Gen. Washington:

  I learn more and more about the disaffection of many of the inhabitants on this side of the mountains. The King of Britain’s health is often drunk in companies; & I believe those wish to see the Regular Troops moved from this department, & a favorable opportunity to submit to the British government.

  Big Sam Beeler—Col. Beeler, as he called himself, since he was in charge of the small fortification called Beeler’s Fort that he and his brother John had built up Raccoon Creek—was one of those many settlers who were becoming very discouraged, and he was preparing to do something about it. The strike by the war party of Wyandots at his settlement a year ago, when four of the residents were killed and three others captured—and fortunately rescued by Sam Brady and his Rangers at the mouth of Raccoon Creek—had demoralized everyone, but that hadn’t been the end of it. There had also been numerous smaller attacks since then and the nerves of the inhabitants were drawn so tight as to be near the breaking point.

  On August 2 a couple of the resident volunteers, Alexander Wright and Timothy Shane, were walking patrol through the woods about a half-mile from Beeler’s Fort when they heard some shots and cautiously made their way in that direction. They separated somewhat and Wright, hearing some noise ahead, peered carefully through the bushes. He saw an Indian just raising his gun to put the finishing shot into one of the settlement’s large hogs that had gotten free of its sty. As the warrior fired at the hog, Wright fired at him, and then, suspecting other Indians were nearby, shouted “Head for the fort, Tim!” and raced away through the woods.

  Though not in sight of each other as they fled, the two men emerged from the woods and angled toward one another. Shane thought the Indian had shot at Wright and was relieved to discover his companion was not wounded. The two reached Beeler’s Fort about the same time and gave the alarm that Indians were about. Precautions were immediately taken, but when Wright related what had happened, Sam Beeler and others in the fort ridiculed the story that he had shot at the Indian, since Wright was not a man noted for his bravery. The next day, however, a party of men went out with Shane and Wright guiding them, and where the shooting had occurred they found the carcass of the dead hog. More important, there was also a trail of blood, which they followed. Within a half-mile they found the Indian; Wright’s bullet had struck him high in the stomach, just below the rib cage. He had gone as far as he could, then sat down with his back against the roots of a storm-toppled tree, facing his own backtrail and holding his rifle, ready to shoot anyone who might follow. That was how he had died, and he was stiff and cold when they found him.

  Not so very far away, only a few days later, on August 6, John Slover was captured while hunting snapping turtles on Montour’s Run, and nothing had been heard of him since. A lot of people feared he was dead.

  Despite such continuing attacks, settlers kept coming, and some, braver—or perhaps more stupid—than most, built their cabins in areas so exposed to danger as to virtually invite disaster. One of these was Adam House, who had originally come to Wheeling early in the year and by late summer had decided he did not like to be that near so many other people, so he set off to establish his own claim in isolation. With the land he chose, he had little to fear that many—or any—would soon follow to settle near him. He crossed the Ohio River at Wheeling and, on the Ohio side, went up Indian Wheeling Creek about two miles, where he claimed his land and built his cabin, thereby acquiring the dubious honor of being the first American settler to sink his roots in the Ohio country.

  The danger of setting foot across the Ohio was extreme, as three men who had recently settled near the mouth of Buffalo Creek quickly learned. The three—August Perrin, Lucas Schemerhorn and Jacob Frankler—fancied themselves great hunters and, despite being warned not to attempt hunting on the other side of the Ohio, they had gone over anyway. They went upstream in their canoe a couple of miles above the mouth of Buffalo to Indian Cross Creek, then up that stream five or six miles. It was late in the day by the time they got there so they made their camp for the night and Frankler, a tall, gangly man, wishing to expose himself to the least risk in case of attack, insisted on sleeping between Schemerhorn and Perrin, both of whom laughed at his fears.

  During the night Frankler turned onto his back and, his feet toward the campfire and too warm, brought his legs up so his knees projected above the sleepers. That was a mistake. Hardly had he done so when three marauding Indians fired simultaneously at the slumbering men from the darkness. Two balls passed through Frankler’s projecting legs and a third struck Perrin low in his side and lodged near his spine. Schemerhorn, unhurt, leaped up and plunged into the dark woods without his gun.

  Frankler was weeping from the pain in his legs, one of which had been broken, and Perrin lay gasping with the pain of his more serious wound. At length, when the Indians did not approach immediately, evidently making sure it was safe to do so, Frankler shouted toward the darkness.

  “Dammit,” he cried, “you done it to us! C’mon in, you red bastards, an’ put us out of our misery with your tomahawks!”

  The Indians did so.

  While this was occurring, Jacob Schemerhorn, watching from hiding in the woods nearby, slipped away, managed to get back to their canoe and paddled frenziedly back to Wheeling, where once again the alarm was raised.

  Prices for travelers in Wheeling and elsewhere on the upper Ohio frontier were very high for goods and accommodations and undoubtedly would have been even higher had not the county commissioners set maximum rates that could be charged by keepers of ordinaries: ten dollars for dinner, six dollars for breakfast or supper, or stabling a horse with hay for 24 hours, and even three dollars for ordinary pasturage for a day. Half a pint of whiskey was six dollars—eight dollars if sugared—and a quart of strong beer was four dollars. About the cheapest thing was a night’s lodging with clean sheets for three dollars. Fresh meat was very expensive, and for this reason most of the frontier people, whether travelers, newcomers or old-time residents, did their own hunting. That was what exposed many, such as the Schemerhorn party, to such extreme dangers. The travelers and newcomers were lucky if they survived such outings. The old-time residents had learned to be very cautious at all times and to take nothing for granted.

  Ezekiel Caldwell was one of those old-timers who had been on this frontier for many years. He had settled at Wheeling not long after the settlement was established by Ebenezer Zane, and had served on Dunmore’s campaign six years ago. Just recently, with three other Wheeling men, he went down the Ohio on a hunt and they had very good luck, filling their canoe with skins, furs and meat in just a few days. Then they began paddling back toward Wheeling.

  They were still many hours below the settlement with sunset near at hand and so decided they would make camp on the Ohio side, kill a turkey, roast it for their meal and then resume their journey in the morning. They watched the ground closely as they hunted for the turkey and were relieved when they discovered no fresh sign of Indians in the area. Had there been, they would have departed at once. Caldwell quickly brought down a nice gobbler with an excellent shot, and the big bird was taken back to their camp where it was cleaned and cooked. Then, even though there was still some lingering daylight, Caldwell took the first stint as guard while the other three rolled up in their blankets by the fire and were soon sound asleep.

  The woods were not yet fully dark when Caldwell, half dozing with his back against a tree, came suddenly alert at the not-too-distant howl of a wolf. Virtually in response to the cry of the wolf came the gobbling of a turkey from the other direction. A newcomer to the frontier might have taken the sounds for granted, but Caldwell’s alert
ness immediately changed to alarm. One by one, first putting his hand over the mouth of each so they would make no sound, he awakened his companions and told them that while he was busy at the fire, they should leave their blankets where they were and slip away in the darkness, returning to the canoe.

  Caldwell, drawing the attention of any watchers to himself, stretched and yawned loudly, then started singing as he stirred up the fire and added fresh wood. Then, with the others gone, he sauntered off toward the darkness, fumbling with the front of his pants as if he were going to relieve himself. As soon as he was away from the firelight, he broke into a run and quickly got back to the canoe, which was afloat and waiting with the other three in it. He shoved the canoe out and leaped into the stern. They had reached the middle of the Ohio before the Indians realized they had been duped. A few harmless shots were sent their way but none even came close, and Caldwell’s party, laughing with contempt and relief, continued paddling in the middle of the stream until arriving safely back at Wheeling. As before, Wheeling was put on alert and the fear of the inhabitants remained at a high level for days. And, in the midst of this fear, an order came from Col. Brodhead that was devastating to them.

  Still attempting to do something in respect to his long-planned, often-deferred expedition against the Indians on the Muskingum, Brodhead wrote to the commander of Fort Henry at Wheeling, Capt. John Clarke:

  Headquarters, Pittsburgh, October 13th, 1780

  Dear Sir: As the intended expedition is put off for want of provisions to subsist the troops, and provisions cannot be collected but by parties of men employed for that purpose, you will immediately evacuate (unless relieved by a party of militia) Fort Henry, bringing from thence to Fort McIntosh all public stores, likewise those from Holliday’s Cove and its garrison. When you reach Fort McIntosh you will leave the command of Capt. Biggs, two sergeants, two corporals and thirty private soldiers, the most unfit for active service, and march the residue without loss of time to this place. I have written to Col. Shepherd to send some militia to those lower posts, and expect he will act accordingly.

  Assure the inhabitants of every possible protection, and desire them to be on their guard until the expedition can be executed, and then they will have nothing to fear.

  I am, &c.,

  D.B.

  Brodhead then immediately wrote to the county lieutenant of Ohio County, Col. David Shepherd:

  Dear Sir: Finding that the fairest proposals to the people and the faith of the public will not procure a sufficient quantity of provisions to enable me to secure the inhabitants by acting offensively against the savages, I have determined to take provisions agreeable to recent instructions, and in order to facilitate the business have called for the garrisons of Fort Henry and Holliday’s Cove. I do not mean to detain those garrisons longer than they have executed the business they are to be sent upon, and in the meantime you will please to order a captain and about twenty-five militia, including a subaltern, two sergeants and 15 rank and file to Holliday’s Cove. Let them be supplied as the regulars were, and they shall be paid by the public.

  I have received discouraging accounts from Cols. Beeler and McClerry, but all those will not deter me from doing everything I can for the good inhabitants.

  I am, &c.,

  D.B.

  Directed,

  Col. David Shepherd, Ohio County, Va.

  At Fort Pitt, Col. Brodhead remained painfully aware of the marauders moving about so freely and with such deadly aims among the settlements but, despite what he was trying to do, his lack of suitable supplies—and lack of cooperation from his subordinate officers while charges were pending against him—rendered him powerless to do much about them.

  Brodhead’s fears that the worst was yet to come were bolstered by continued intelligence he was receiving from the Moravians, primarily from the Reverends Zeisberger and Heckewelder, but also from the converted Delawares themselves. Killbuck, the Delaware who had imparted so much accurate intelligence in the past, had just smuggled a letter to him in which he warned that new war belts with tomahawks worked into the design had been sent out by British agents from Detroit and were circulating among the tribes; that two forts of the Kentuckians had been captured and burned, and that more than 340 of the prisoners taken had been transported to Detroit and, imprisoned there, were being harshly questioned while awaiting shipment to Montreal; that at Sandusky a party of 60 warriors and half a dozen parties of ten warriors each had gone to watch the roads and trails and were prepared to kill all travelers, including Moravian Delawares, who they now were convinced were spying for the Americans. Should they not find enough people along these routes, the parties were planning to cross the Ohio and strike at the settlements themselves.

  Brodhead had immediately written a circular letter directed to Col. David Shepherd, to be passed along to the other county lieutenants, in which he enclosed the letter that had been brought by the Delaware runners. As Brodhead told him:

  I have got it translated into our language, and enclose you a copy for perusal.

  The contents, if true, in our present circumstances, are alarming, and I must therefore request you will immediately upon receipt hereof, cause the whole three-fourths of the men in your country to be equipped with arms and accoutrements and as much provision as will last them 15 days, and be in readiness to march at an hour’s warning; but this additional number need not furnish horses to ride, as they are intended to act defensively.

  The messengers added that a party of twenty Munceys and Delawares were discovered about six days ago near the new Moravian town on their march toward our settlements, which it is expected will cross the river near to the old Mingo towns; and that they have heard that the Seneca Indians intended to come in a large body down the Allegheny to attack our settlements.…

  Advise the inhabitants to be unanimous and I will undertake to give a good account of the enemy. The former orders tending to offensive operations we are not to lose sight of. For should the enemy fail of coming in force against us, I will, if possible, visit them.

  I have the honor to be, &c.…

  Still, despite his preparations and juggling of troops, the same problems persisted for Brodhead and caused the long-pending expedition to be further deferred. As if laughing in the face of such helplessness and frustration, Simon Girty appeared, leading a large body of Indians. They crossed the Ohio in a fleet of small canoes a mile above the mouth of Indian Short Creek, five miles below the mouth of Buffalo Creek, and began moving overland to the northeast.412 Within a few miles they came to the cabin of Zachariah Sprigg, where they surprised him and his guest, John Stevenson, and Sprigg’s slave, George. The three sprinted away and were instantly pursued. Sprigg escaped and fled to Ramsey’s Fort on the Buffalo, three miles distant, but both Stevenson and George were captured. Within a short time of his capture, however, the black man escaped and he, too, fled to Ramsey’s.

  Prior to that event, an Indian sachem, who was not along on the trip, had spoken of a bad dream he had experienced, in which two of three men the Indians attacked had escaped and shortly returned with a powerful white force that engaged the Indians and defeated them with much loss of life. Now that the two had escaped, Girty’s Indians took this as an omen and decided that before the prophesied white force could fall on them, the attack should be aborted. Nothing Girty said could make them believe otherwise and so the whole Indian force recrossed the Ohio and disappeared.413

  Thankful for the fate that had intervened and prevented what could have been a great disaster for the settlements on the upper Ohio, Col. Brodhead now wisely decided that the season was simply too far advanced toward winter for the proposed Muskingum expedition to be put into motion. It occurred to him, however, that a brief hit-and-run expedition against the Munceys and Senecas up the Allegheny would, with its success, bolster the flagging faith in him not only among the settlers but among his own subordinates. With this in mind he ordered Col. Archibald Lochry up the Allegheny with 350 men to
hit those Indians at their principal village near the site of old Fort LeBoeuf on French Creek.

  Lochry’s force reached French Creek without problem, but by the time they reached the Sugar Creek tributary of that stream, their provisions were depleted. Worse yet, spies Lochry had sent out returned with news that the village they were marching against was deserted, and evidence showed it had been abandoned many weeks before. Lochry immediately turned his whole force around and headed back to Fort Pitt. The weather turned bad, with heavy snows and freezing temperatures, and Lochry was forced to employ 70 of his men as hunters on the return trip. Those hunters provided enough meat for them to survive, but everyone suffered severely from frostbite and general exposure. The LeBoeuf Expedition, instead of becoming a feather in Brodhead’s cap, was a complete bust and further undermined what little faith in him remained among the settlers.

  With the year now rapidly dwindling to a close, Col. Samuel Beeler, greatly discouraged, decided on a desperate measure to get the help needed on this upper Ohio River frontier. Accompanied by Joseph Tomlinson of Grave Creek Flats and William Ryerson of Ryerson’s Station on the headwaters of Wheeling Creek, he had struck out in the midst of terrible early December weather for Philadelphia. Though battered and almost deranged by the elements, the three had managed to reach the City of Brotherly Love and detailed to the chief officers of Pennsylvania the deplorable conditions and increasing hazards facing the Ohio River settlers.

  Moved by what they heard, those officers promised to furnish the aid that was requested. Whether they would truly come through with it—or even if they did, whether it would reach the people in time—remained yet to be seen.