That Dark and Bloody River

by Allan Eckert

  Helped by his big wife over to the table and onto the stool that Tecumseh now vacated, Moluntha sat down and, with Tecumseh’s hand guiding his, laboriously signed his name at the bottom.656

  [April 9, 1786—Sunday]

  The force of some 500 Shawnees under the leadership of Blue Jacket pulled up atop the high ridge and looked down at the turbulent yellowish floodwaters of the river well below them. Projecting above the surface and being battered by floating logs, branches and even whole trees were just the very tops of the pickets and the roof of the crude installation that had been Fort Finney. Of the garrison that had been in occupancy up to three days ago, according to their spies, there was no sign.657

  “Moneto,” Chiksika murmured, “has spared us the task of wiping them out.”

  “And deprived us the pleasure,” Tecumseh added.

  “There will be others to take their places,” Blue Jacket said, wheeling his horse around. “There always are. There always will be. And in case you were thinking otherwise, Moneto will show us the task and provide us the pleasure—and the pain—far more than any of us really want. That I know!”

  [May 13, 1786—Saturday]

  In the three and a half months that had passed since the treaty at the mouth of the Great Miami, all the expectations that this might mark the end of the Indian troubles on the upper Ohio and in Kentucky were dashed. If anything, the Indians—especially the Shawnees—seemed more fierce in their attacks than before, as if infuriated by being led into the signing of a treaty that took from them virtually all of their lands; a treaty they had since disavowed as being fraudulently imposed upon them and the other tribes. The recent attacks, particularly those in Kentucky, were in the nature of a gauntlet slapped across the face of the United States, a graphic representation of what would surely be the lot of any Americans who attempted to enter and possess their land on the basis of that treaty.

  Already, over these 14 weeks since the treaty, the Shawnees had crossed the Ohio in Kentucky innumerable times and stolen over 500 horses, but that was by no means the worst of it. On April 9 a party of Indians stealing horses from the settlements along Beargrass Creek near Louisville were pursued by a small company of militia led by Col. William Christian. They followed the Indians across the Ohio and killed three of them, but were themselves struck hard and Christian was killed, along with Capt. Isaac Kellar. Only two days later, the Indians crossed into Kentucky again and killed several settlers, including the well-known and very popular surveyor, Col. John Donelson.658

  The attacks, however, were not exclusively aimed at the Kentucky settlers in the region of Louisville and Lexington. Renewed raids were being made up the Great Kanawha and Little Kanawha, in the area of Fish Creek and Grave Creek, Wheeling and Holliday’s Cove, even on Raccoon Creek close to Pittsburgh and in the vicinity of Washington village. It was not a good time to stray very far from the protection of a strong settlement.

  All the past winter and into this spring, Lewis Wetzel had been serving John Madison as guide, hunter, camp-keeper and protector. Their journey last fall 227 miles downstream from Wheeling to the mouth of the Big Sandy had been uneventful, as had been the trip up Big Sandy for about ten miles. It was at that point that Madison saw ground that appealed to him considerably, and he had directed Wetzel to put to shore on the left bank.659 In the months that had followed, they had made tomahawk improvements on some 10,000 acres of good ground and had not once been bothered by Indians.

  Their good fortune ended today. At Madison’s request, Wetzel went with him this morning upstream on the Big Sandy two miles from their camp, located ten miles above the Ohio. They landed on the right bank and struck off eastward a mile to the pond where Madison had previously set some beaver traps. Just as they neared the edge of the pond, shots rang out and Madison fell dead. Wetzel immediately shot and killed one of the dozen Indians who burst into sight from the nearby woods, and then he sprinted off, reloading as he ran. By the time he reached the canoe, he had killed two more.

  With the Indians continuing to chase him down the shoreline as he paddled and with little bursts of water fountaining up close by where their shots missed, Wetzel made no effort to try to stop at their camp to collect anything. With the aid of the current he soon outdistanced them, but he did not begin to breathe freely again until he reached the Ohio and turned upstream for the return to Wheeling.660

  Difficulties of a similar nature were occurring in the Wheeling area at this same moment, especially for another member of the Wetzel family, Lewis’s youngest brother, 16-year-old Johnny. Yesterday, four Delawares prowling about in the area surrounding the Wetzel place managed to capture a mare that had been hobbled in the meadow. Leading her into the woods, they had removed the bell from her neck and then waited for someone to come looking for the animal.

  That someone turned out to be Johnny Wetzel, who was sent out to bring the mare in. As he started away from the cabin, he saw a friend of his approaching. It was Frederick Earlywine, son of old Abraham Earlywine, who owned the adjoining property. He yelled at Fred to join him and, when the 16-year-old ran up, they moved out together to get the mare.

  Many times in the past Johnny had heard his brother, Martin, relate the details of his capture by the Shawnees, when they had lured him on by ringing the bell of a horse he was seeking. Johnny had been only eight years old at that time, but he remembered very well the sadness they had suffered at Martin’s disappearance and the knowledge that he had been captured and possibly killed. Yet, even though he knew the story well from Martin’s own lips after his return, it never occurred to him that he might experience the same thing.

  Well ahead of them, in the fringe of woodland, the boys heard the tinkling of the bell and immediately headed in that direction. As they came closer and entered the woods, however, Johnny became suspicious. Though the bell kept tinkling, as it was supposed to do when the mare was moving, the sound kept coming from the same spot, which didn’t make much sense unless the horse was standing in one place continually shaking her head or else walking around in a small circle. He was just about to mention this to Fred when the Indians burst out of cover from four different directions.

  Earlywine gave up immediately, but Johnny tried to run. He had gotten only a dozen or so yards distant when a rifle cracked and a ball passed through his lower arm, hitting and breaking a bone but not shattering it. The impact caused him to stumble and fall, and before he could regain his feet, he was grasped by Indians on both sides and led back to the others.

  The Delawares indicated the boys should go with them, but Earlywine refused. When they shoved him, he simply spun around and replanted his feet firmly and kept shaking his head and repeating, “No! I won’t go!”

  “For God’s sake, Fred,” Johnny hissed, “don’t be stupid. They’ll kill you if you keep that up. Come along, and we k’n figger out how to ’scape after a while.”

  “No, siree!” Earlywine retorted. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere with these damn Injens.”

  Quickly tiring of the demonstration, one of the Delawares said something to another, and then the speaker and two of his companions led Johnny and the stolen horse away while the final warrior stayed with Fred. Knowing the Indians might kill him if they thought the wound he had suffered was too severe, Johnny Wetzel made light of it and went along with them with seeming cheerfulness, cradling the injured arm with his good one.

  Out of sight in the distance behind, Johnny heard Fred’s voice again yell “No!” and he assumed he was once again refusing to come along. A short time later, however, the warrior who had remained behind caught up with them, still shaking the blood off the fresh scalp in his grasp—Fred Earlywine’s scalp.661

  After traveling for about a mile, the Indians stopped by a small run where they washed and treated young Johnny’s wound, packing it with buzzard down from a pouch and then bandaging it with strips ripped from his shirt. They rested for a while and then continued their march toward the southwest, up and down the many steep h
ills they encountered. They made no attempt to ride the stolen horse and simply continued leading her on a tether. Late in the afternoon they came to a run flowing to the southwest, which Johnny correctly took to be one of the tributaries of Middle Grave Creek.662 Here they made a cold camp for the night, closely hobbling the horse in a nearby glade where she could find forage.

  During the evening they gave young Wetzel some jerky to eat and reexamined his wound. One of them moved away for a short time and came back with some sassafras leaves he had gathered. These he chewed into a mass to form a poultice. Plucking away the buzzard down that had stopped the bleeding on both sides of his wounded arm, he covered the holes with the sassafras poultice and rebound it with fresh strips from the boy’s shirt. Wetzel was grateful, since the daylong throbbing pain ceased almost immediately, but he was very depressed as he thought about the captivity he was being led into, wondering if he’d be killed in a gauntlet line, or if he’d be adopted into the tribe, or if, perhaps, he might manage to escape.

  This morning they started downstream on the little run just after sunrise and followed it for nearly two hours before it emptied into Middle Grave Creek. Just short of three miles more, they came to where that stream emptied into the main Grave Creek. Wetzel knew the Williamses and Tomlinsons had cabins near the mouth of the creek, and he began contemplating escape, but his captors were suddenly much more alert and watched him carefully, precluding any chance of his running off in the hopes of reaching the settlers who, he knew, might not even be there to begin with.

  After traveling another half-mile, the Delawares suddenly exclaimed in delight. Two of them ran ahead a short distance and took possession of a canoe, not of Indian construction, that was drawn up on shore, with two paddles lying in the bottom. They bade Johnny sit in the center with one of his captors while two others took positions in bow and stern. The fourth then mounted the horse and rode along the bank while they paced him in the canoe.

  In another half-mile they came to the mouth of the creek at the Ohio River and seemed about to move directly across when the Delaware in the bow glimpsed a little group of shoats on the shore. The half-grown pigs saw them at the same time and scurried into an isolated growth of brush and did not emerge. Immediately the Delawares determined to get one and directed the canoe to shore. The one riding the horse said something to the others and then made preparations to swim the mare across the Ohio.

  Two of the Indians found sticks and poked around in the brush after the shoats while one stood ready to shoot. After a moment the pigs broke out and started running off, but the armed Delaware took a bead on one and brought it down with a single shot that caused the animal to squeal loudly before it stopped kicking and lay still. They immediately slit its throat and hung it by a hind leg in the crotch of a sapling to bleed it out, then cut it open to remove the entrails.

  Almost a mile away, having just crossed the mouth of Little Grave Creek, Isaac Williams, Hamilton Carr and Jacob Hindemann heard the distant shot and paused. The three had come down on foot from Wheeling this morning to look after Isaac’s cows and other livestock. When the sharp distant squeal of a pig reached their ears immediately after the shot, Williams was suddenly furious.

  “God rot ’em!” he exclaimed. “Them’s Kentuckian’s landed at the creek an’ the bastards’re killin’ my hogs!”

  All three of the men started running toward the creek mouth, but Carr, younger and more fleet of foot, reached the embankment at the creek mouth well ahead of the others. Peering over, he saw three Indians in a canoe, along with what appeared to be a captive boy who had a bandaged arm and was sitting in front of the feet of the Indian in the middle of the boat. Just behind that Indian, also on the inside bottom, lay four flintlock rifles and a bloody dead pig. A fourth Indian, several rods from shore, was swimming a horse across. The Indian in the bow was paddling, turning the bow into the creek mouth as the one in the stern was using his paddle just then to shove them away from shore.

  None of those below were aware of Carr’s presence, and he quickly took a bead on the one in the stern and shot him. The Indian slumped and toppled overboard without a sound. By this time, Isaac Williams had rushed up beside Carr, taken in at a glance what was happening and raised his rifle.

  In the canoe below Johnny Wetzel was shouting at the top of his lungs, “Don’t shoot me! I’m white! Don’t shoot me!”

  Williams snapped off his shot, hitting the Delaware in the bow, who also went overboard and disappeared beneath the surface. As Wetzel was still yelling below, Hindemann, a heavy-set older Dutchman, came running up to Carr and Williams, gasping for breath. Carr snatched the Dutchman’s gun and shot the Indian in the center of the boat. This Indian also fell overboard but held on to the side of the canoe away from the shooters. By this time, the canoe had reached the main river current and was a few rods below the creek mouth.

  “Boy!” Carr shouted, as he quickly reloaded. “Knock that Indian’s hand from the side of the boat.”

  Wetzel glanced around for something to use, found a tomahawk and swung it at the hand grasping the gunwale. Two fingers were cut off and the hand disappeared. The Indian sank immediately.

  “Good boy!” Carr shouted. “Now grab a paddle and bring the canoe in.”

  “Cain’t,” Wetzel shouted back. “Arm’s busted.”

  By then, however, the canoe was passing some exposed rocks close to shore, and Wetzel stood up and jumped out to them, thrusting the canoe farther out into the current. At the same time Carr shot at the warrior swimming the horse, who was now past midstream. The bullet struck the water close by, splashing him. Immediately he slipped off the horse and struck out with strong strokes back toward the Virginia shore to try to intercept the canoe. He was successful and pulled himself aboard, snatched up a paddle and headed for the Ohio shore. The horse had continued swimming across and, upon emerging from the water, simply stood there. In a few minutes the Indian beached the canoe close by. He scooped up the four rifles from the bottom of the boat, along with a length of cord. Shoving the canoe back out into the current, he went to the horse, tied the guns so there were two on each side and hung them over the mare’s back, remounted and quickly disappeared into the heavier brush.663

  [June 8, 1786—Thursday]

  It was George Rogers Clark who conceived the notion that the one great stumbling block to the settlement of the Ohio country was the Shawnees and they alone. If, he contended, that obstacle could be removed—or at least greatly weakened — the portals to the Northwest Territory would be opened wide.

  What he felt was of great significance was the fact that heretofore the Shawnees, when faced with major onslaught by the Americans, had always been able to call upon their neighboring tribes well away from the Ohio River. What if those tribes could be induced—either by treaty or by force—to reject any further pleas from the Shawnees to assist them in their struggles? If such could be accomplished, then a few strong blows at the Shawnees—combined with attrition, hunger, illness, loss of territory to which retreat might be made and the discouragement these elements would engender—the Shawnees would finally be forced into either abject submission or simply wiped out of existence. The key, then, seemed to be to largely bypass the Shawnees, exclude them from further consideration for the time being and direct immediate attention to manipulating the other tribes farther to the north and west, particularly the Miamis, whose recent belligerent activities and influence with other tribes made them a primary focus for what Clark had in mind. It was with this intriguing idea in mind, therefore, that Clark was now sitting at his desk and preparing to write to the President of Congress, Richard Henry Lee.

  He dipped his pen into the stained inkpot and held it poised for a moment while he considered how to begin. Then he bent to the task. He wrote swiftly and, after several pages had been filled, he mentioned the present belligerence of the Miamis and their allies and how it could be turned to the advantage of the United States:

  Since the conclusion of the t
reaty with the Shawnies at the Miami, the nations of Indians living on the Wabash have held a grand council at the Ouiatenon Town and other places, the result of which was a declaration of war against the United States. Their natural inclination for war, and thirst for blood and plunder, with encouragement from some of the traders from Detroit, &c, I think we may attribute the horrors of an Indian war this country seems presently involved in. Within a few weeks a number of valuable citizens have been killed in the neighborhood of this place, and I believe the war will be more shocking than both have experienced in this quarter, as it appears by their councils and conduct that they are determined to prosecute their designs with vigour.…