That Dark and Bloody River

by Allan Eckert

  If Detroit was in our possession, it might in a great measure silence the Indians; but nothing will effectually do it but dissolution, as all humanity shewn them by us is imputed to timidity. Great expenditures and numbers of lives might be saved by now reducing them to obedience, which they so richly deserve. There is no danger of making them desperate; they are as far from that principle as any people in the world. Before they would suffer their families to perish by the sword of famine, they would become your servile subjects; this I am convinced of from long experience and observation on the disposition of various nations. The idea generally held out, that the Indians could easily be reduced to that state of desperation or even propose to murder their women, and continue at war as long as they lived, hath already cost us too much to continue under that mistake. The Indians already engaged in the confederacy against us may amount to about fifteen hundred fighting men. They are not as good soldiers as the Shawnees, and by a sufficient force marching into the heart of their country and acting with vigour, [it] might soon effect the desired purpose, and strike a damp through the different nations. Those already treated with would hold their engagements more sacred, and others at a greater distance would solicit a peace. The business of the United States on the frontiers might go on with safety, the British emissaries would be viewed by the Indians as their greatest enemies in encouraging them to gain our resentment, and a general peace, in all probability, would take place.

  I have the honor to be, your Honor’s most humble and obdt. svt.

  G. R. Clark

  [August 12, 1786—Saturday]

  There were few things that Lewis Wetzel found more challenging or enjoyable than hunting Indians. It was rare, however, that he could make any kind of money doing so. Now had come just that sort of opportunity.

  It all began when Maj. William McMahan decided he was fed up with the hit-and-run attacks of the Indians and something should be done about it. His idea of doing something about it was to announce he was going to lead an “Injen Hunt” expedition across the Ohio, and, as an incentive for bordermen to participate, he established what he called a pony purse—a reward of $100 to the first man of the expedition who should bring in an Indian scalp. Among the two dozen men attracted was Lewis Wetzel, who was determined the prize money would wind up his.

  McMahan, now well established along the Ohio 13 miles above Wheeling at Beech Bottom, had earlier this year stated flatly that the treaties being made with the Indians were not worth the paper they were written on. The Indians, he knew, had been cheated out of lands and hoodwinked into those most recent treaties, especially the one at the mouth of the Great Miami, that gave the United States more than half the Ohio country and three-fourths of the Indian country—treaties made either with Indians who didn’t even live in or have any interest in the land in question, or with members of the tribe who had no authority for entering into any kind of negotiations for the tribe as a whole. He had long warned that it was only a matter of time before the tribes came to a full realization of the fraud that had been perpetrated, and that when they did, the country would once again be drenched with blood. That was exactly what had happened, and now not only had the tribes come together in a closer coalition among themselves, but attacks against the settlers and settlements were once again accelerating with no end in sight. Though he could sympathize with their anger over being defrauded, he deplored the sharp increase in their attacks made since shortly after the ridiculous treaty at the mouth of the Great Miami River.

  The inroads being made into Ohio, now that the United States was surging ahead with plans to shove the frontier north and west of the Ohio and populate the area with whites, had fired the Indians into numerous attacks all the way down the Ohio, from Fort McIntosh almost 850 miles to the mouth of the Wabash. There was great resentment among the Indians that not only had Fort Harmar at the mouth of the Muskingum become a very sturdy fortification that they could probably not dislodge, but the Ohio Company was establishing the first white settlement there; a town to be called Marietta, which would be protected by the fort and would soon have many hundreds of residents.664 It would also, it was assumed, establish a launching point for increased encroachment into Ohio’s interior. Much the same situation was occurring with the second Fort Finney, now established in the Indiana country across the Ohio River, along with a new settlement being established there called Clarksville, after George Rogers Clark. Clark himself had been reinstated as a general and authorized to lead an expedition against the Miamis on the Wabash River, who had been harassing the Vincennes area settlers.

  In the Kentucky country, attacks and counterattacks had sharply increased since spring, more often than not the result of parties of whites crossing the Ohio to hunt or explore with a mind toward future settlement. Maj. Benjamin Stites led a party across in pursuit of some Indians who stole horses and became enthralled by the beauty and richness of the land between the Little Miami and Great Miami rivers. He had told entrepreneur John Symmes about it, and now Symmes was actively planning to claim that whole area—about a third of a million acres—for settlement.

  Not only were the Indian attacks becoming more frequent, they were again occurring in far-distant places where the settlers had long thought the Indian danger had ended. One of the worst of these occurred on the headwaters of the Bluestone River in southwestern Virginia. A subchief of the Kispokotha Shawnees named Pecatewah Petweowa—Black Wolf—who was a renowned leader of war parties, led his marauders in a lightning attack against the James Moore family, living in Abb’s Valley. It resulted in five members of the family, including Moore himself, being killed and six others captured, three of whom were soon killed. Black Wolf, however, was himself killed when he tried to ride Moore’s large black stallion, which threw him off and then proceeded to stamp him to death under his hooves.

  Along the upper Ohio, attacks had been occurring on isolated cabins and tiny settlements at Grave Creek, Captina Creek, Cresap’s Bottom, Fish Creek, Mingo Bottom, Short Creek, Buffalo Creek and Indian Creek. The three Crow brothers, Martin, Frederick and Jacob, were hunting on Fish Creek when they were ambushed, and all three were shot. Martin and Frederick managed to escape, but Jacob was hit by nine bullets and killed. Charley Wells was tomahawked to death while in his hunting camp on Indian Short Creek. At Grave Creek a hot little fight broke out between the settlers and a war party, in which a man, a woman and a girl were killed and a little boy wounded, but three of the attackers were killed as well. A Negro slave who was captured and bound, managed to free himself, kill his guard and escape to Shepherd’s Fort on Wheeling Creek. But the whole country was once again in turmoil and gripped by fear, and it was this that so angered Maj. William McMahan. As he put it in a letter to Capt. Thomas Hutchins at Fort Pitt:

  Sir:—The difficulty of procuring hands, occasioned by the late alarms, is beyond conception; several have engaged and disappointed me. Wheeling is become a garrison. The inhabitants, as far up as Zane’s, are fled, except Tomlinson and Shepherd, and a few about the Mingo Bottom, who are building blockhouses. What’s to be the consequence, I know not; however, no pains shall be wanting on my part. The new blockhouse near us called Cox’s Fort is about being erected by Captain [Van] Swearingen. I cannot conceive any danger as yet; however, it is prudent to be guarded. The alarm came by a certain Mr. Newland who came from the Indian Towns and made oath that a number of tribes had agreed to strike the surveyors and Wheeling settlement; that he was under promise not to inform, or spread the alarm, except to tell Zane and Shepherd to be on their guard. The former of these, Zane, has made every preparation; the latter, Shepherd, has made none and rests assured the Indians cannot spare their men in such numbers, as Clark’s expedition is now in their country.665 Newland says a number of Indians from the west of Lake Erie had joined the others.

  It was five days ago when Lewis Wetzel, as part of William McMahan’s force, found the tracks of some marauders. The whole party of whites crossed the Ohio where the Indians had cross
ed at Mingo Bottom and continued following them rapidly into the Ohio country. They searched for two more days, moving ever deeper into the Ohio country, without finding anything until late the day before yesterday, when some of the scouts who were out came back to the main party in their camp and reported that they had discovered a war party but the Indians were far too numerous to even consider making an attack. McMahan immediately held a conference with the members of his expedition, whose enthusiasm cooled considerably with this intelligence, and it was agreed among them that they should retreat and go back home.

  As soon as it had been resolved to retreat, the men began packing up their gear with unseemly haste—all except Wetzel, who sat on a log calmly smoking his pipe and holding his flintlock over his knees. Maj. McMahan noted this and came up to him.

  “Lew,” he said, “aren’t you heading for home with the rest of the party?”

  Wetzel removed his pipe from his mouth and spat to one side, then shook his head. “Nope,” he replied. “I come here to hunt Injens, an’ now that they’re found, I sure ain’t gonna hightail it home like a fool with my fingers in my mouth. I aim to git an Injen scalp or lose my own in the try.”

  McMahan and others tried to dissuade him, but he simply sat there smoking and shaking his head, and so at length they left him there. Wetzel was pleased to see them go; he had never liked hunting Indians with a party of men; too much dependence upon others and too much likelihood that one of the party would do something stupid that would put all in jeopardy. As soon as they were gone, he rolled himself up in his blanket, setting his mind to awaken him at the slightest uncommon sound, and went to sleep. It might, he knew, be his last chance to get some rest for a few days.

  In the morning, yesterday, when he arose, he rolled his supplies into his blanket and tied the roll on his shoulders, checked his weapons—knife, tomahawk and gun—and made sure his spare powder was dry and handy in its horn. He put three of his lead balls into his mouth, ready for instant use, and set off in the direction where the scouts had seen the Indian encampment. He found it by noon, but the party was gone, and he began following their trail.

  Late in the afternoon he smelled smoke and cautiously followed it to its source, a dying campfire without anyone nearby. Beside the fire were two blankets and a small kettle. Wetzel was sure the two Indians were out hunting and would return. He selected a good vantage spot close by and settled down in hiding to wait. At just about sunset one of the Indians, a Shawnee warrior, returned to the camp carrying a young turkey. He searched around for new kindling and wood, which he placed on the ashes, and then blew on the coals until the flames reignited. Then he plucked and cleaned the turkey and was spitting it on a branch when the other warrior came in, just at nightfall.

  Wetzel watched as they cooked their meal and ate it, then amused themselves by relating comic stories, at which they would burst into peals of laughter. After a while they sang a few songs together, and finally one of them—the one who had come in last, without game—picked up a flaming brand from the fire and, gun in hand, walked away in the darkness. Wetzel, surmising he was probably heading for a salt lick to bag a deer, was disappointed at losing one of his intended victims and decided to wait until dawn for his return. The other Shawnee soon rolled up in his blanket by the fire and went to sleep.

  As the first streaks of dawn appeared in the east, Wetzel knew he could not safely wait any longer. Setting his gun aside, he slipped silently to the sleeping warrior and plunged his blade into the man’s heart. The warrior convulsed and quivered for a few moments and then relaxed in death. Wetzel quickly scalped him, stuffed the trophy into his pouch and, leaving his victim lying still wrapped in his blanket, checked the Shawnee’s rifle. It was very old and practically worthless. He rendered it completely so by breaking the hammer with a rock and replaced it beside the body. Snatching up a chunk of the turkey still uneaten, he recovered his own flintlock and set out for home. He moved along at a steady lope most of the day and arrived at Mingo Bottom just as McMahan’s party was preparing to cross. All were glad to see him and assumed he had given up on what they considered a fool’s errand. They changed their minds when he walked up to Maj. McMahan, pulled the fresh scalp out of his pouch and handed it to him.

  “I’ll take that hundred dollars,” he said.

  William McMahan, shaking his head and grinning, paid him.

  [October 21, 1786—Saturday]

  The latest expedition by George Rogers Clark into the heart of Indian territory had turned out to be entirely different than anyone anticipated, red or white.

  Leading 1,800 mounted Kentuckians to the upper Wabash Valley in the Indiana country, Gen. Clark had been prepared to engage in fierce battle against the Indians — primarily Miamis—who were supposedly assembling to move against the settlements on the lower Wabash River and then into Kentucky. When word of the American invasion reached the Miamis and their assembled allies from among the Potawatomies, Wyandots, Kickapoos and Ottawas, they sent runners at once to the Shawnee villages on the upper Mad and Great Miami rivers urgently soliciting their help as well. At once almost all of the Shawnee warriors presently on hand at their villages formed into a large war party and set off to aid them.

  As it happened, hardly had Clark started out on his expedition than word was brought from his spies of the Shawnees beginning to form a large war party. Fearing it was to be aimed at the Kentucky settlements, Clark detached Col. Benjamin Logan with orders to return to Kentucky, raise another force of Kentuckians and immediately move north against the Shawnee villages on the Mad and Miami rivers. Clark continued on his expedition, and Logan’s call for men when he got back to Kentucky was enthusiastically answered; the Kentuckians were much more eager to wipe out the Shawnees, who were a greater direct threat to them than were the Miamis on the Wabash.

  The large Shawnee force arrived at the Wabash fully prepared for a major battle, only to find that the Miamis and their allies who had assembled to battle the Americans, had instead engaged in peace talks. Clark had been very skillful in humoring and coddling them, promising gifts and convincing them what great foolishness it would be to fight for what they mistakenly thought were their rights, since the Americans wished no more land and no more strife from their red brothers. The Shawnees were aghast to learn that it had been the powerful and influential Michikiniqua, principal chief of the Miamis, who believed Clark, acquiesced to his proposals and was immediately supported in his decision by the chiefs of the Miami subtribes, the Weas, Salamonies, Eel Rivers, Mississinewas, Ouiatenons and Piankeshaws. The Delawares and their kin, the Munceys, were next to agree to peace and, with that, the movement became a landslide. Even the more bellicose chiefs of the Potawatomies—Mtamins, Black Partridge, Topenebe, Main Poche and Nescotnemeg—had agreed to Clark’s proposals.

  By the time these Shawnees arrived, bristling with weapons of war, Clark and his army had already departed in peace and headed back toward Kentucky via the Wabash Trail to Vincennes. The unstable coalition of tribes broke apart and scattered back to their own territories, so far away from the Americans that they had little to fear of attack by them, especially protected as they were by the buffer zone inhabited by the Shawnees.

  The Shawnees had then dispiritedly turned around and ridden back to their own villages, only to find that Col. Logan had struck in their absence, destroying them and killing or capturing the women and children and some of the men. Among the dead was old Chief Moluntha, who had been deliberately murdered by a tomahawk blow after he surrendered and was in custody. Among the killed and scalped were ten warriors, along with 12 others, mostly women. Thirty-three women, children and a few old men had been captured. Three of the whites had been killed, three wounded. Thirteen Shawnee villages had been plundered and destroyed, including Mackachack, Wapatomica, Kispoko Town, Blue Jacket’s Town, Solomon’s Town, Mingo Town, Mamacomink, Kekeko, Puckshanoses, Waccachalla, Pecowick, Wapakoneta and Peckuwe. In addition, all the Shawnee crops, ready for harvesting, which wer
e needed to sustain them over the forthcoming winter, had been destroyed.666

  It was a devastating blow for the Shawnees, but not a fatal one.

  [December 18, 1786—Monday]

  The Grand Council of Indians winding to a close today was one of the largest ever held and certainly the most all-encompassing insofar as the different tribes in attendance were concerned. It was being held in the sprawling Huron town called, after its venerable old chief, Sindathon’s Village—a village so extensive that it occupied fully two square miles on the broad point of land between the mouth of the Detroit River and the mouth of the Huron River, though its center was closer to the former. More than 2,000 Indians had assembled here from a wide range of tribes; each of these tribal delegations formed its own enclave amidst the great assemblage and often viewed its neighbors with thinly masked suspicion or even hatred.

  The famed Seneca orator Sagoyewatha—Red Jacket—was here, representing the residue of the Iroquois League generally, but the Senecas specifically—a rather remarkable achievement for one who was only 28 years old. Adjacent to his group sat the Mohawks of that same League, under their war chief, Thayendanegea—Joseph Brant—whose head was, as always, plucked bald of any hair except for a brushlike topknot at the crown, his lips curved in their usual, rather humorless, sneering smile and his glittering dark eyes moving constantly to and fro, missing nothing. Here, too, were the Hurons under the host chief, Sindathon, and close to them their splinter tribe, the Wyandots, who had come here under Tarhe—The Crane—and the emaciated and gravely ill Monakaduto—Half King.667 Some 700 Potawatomies were here under chiefs Topenebe, Nanimisea and Nescotnemeg, and a smaller number of Ottawas under Nichinesica and their war chief, Oulamy. Here were the Chippewas gathered under Wafrugahquealied, along with their subtribe, the Mississaugi, under old Sekahos and Wabacumaga.668 The Delawares and their subtribe, the Munceys, were here under Buckangehela, Pimoacan and Wingenund, and here as well were the 240 Shawnees in attendance under Catahecassa, Shemeneto and Blue Jacket.669 And very significantly, here also were the Miamis under Michikiniqua and, under their various chiefs and subchiefs, six of the Miami subtribes—the Weas, Piankeshaws, Pepicokias, Mengakonias, Kalatikas and Ouiatenons.670