That Dark and Bloody River

by Allan Eckert

  Though they made it to the Mahoning, the journey had not been without problems. A party of warriors got on their trail—presumably those they had spied upon at the mouth of the Cuyahoga—and they had escaped them only after a long pursuit, in which they had plunged across numerous small streams. In the process they had lost what few provisions were left to them, along with their gunpowder, except for a single load still in Brady’s gun, which he had managed to hold above the water surface.758 Still a long way from home, they were now in desperate straits.

  Without food for the past three days, Brady and his men made a small fireless camp on the Mahoning close to the Pennsylvania border, and in the morning Brady told Wetzel and Williamson to stay put in the camp while he moved out a little way to see if he could bring down something for them to eat.759 It would use their last shot, but they would have to take the chance. However, he warned them, if anything went amiss, they were to separate at once and get back to the settlements on their own as best they could.

  Brady had gone only several hundred yards when he heard a sound ahead. He crept up to peer through a screen of bushes. Five Wyandot warriors were approaching, the one in the lead riding a horse, the others following afoot. Brady took the situation in at a glance. The warrior who was riding had a small white boy in front of him, tied to him by a cord around the child’s neck. He was also carrying a flintlock and had two powderhorns hung across his chest. Behind the horse walked a white woman, whose long skirt had been cut away raggedly just above the knees to facilitate better movement. Her legs were scratched and bleeding from where they had evidently walked through brambles. He recognized her as Jane Stoops, and the little boy was evidently her son.760

  With scarcely a second thought, Brady raised his rifle and put his only shot through the riding warrior’s head, tumbling him to the ground. The little boy, screaming in terror, was pulled off by the attached cord and fell on top of him. Brady instantly burst from cover, shouting loudly, “Get ’em, boys! Get ’em! C’mon, there’s only four. Get ’em!”

  The four warriors on foot behind Jane Stoops instantly leaped away into the woods, expecting attack.761 The woman stood rooted in place, aghast at what had happened and at the sight of what appeared to be one Indian shooting another.

  “Why have you shot your brother?” she cried.

  “Mrs. Stoops,” he shouted as he ran up to the dead warrior, “it’s me, Sam Brady. Run! Run!” He reached for his belt knife as he ran to the screaming boy who was still tethered to the dead Indian, but the weapon was gone and there was no way to get the child free quickly enough. He tugged at one of the warrior’s powderhorns, but a rifle cracked, and the ball sent up a spray of dirt close to his hand. He tumbled away, immediately regaining his feet. Another shot came and buzzed wickedly past his ear, and he turned and plunged away after Jane Stoops, again shouting loudly as he ran, “Fire, boys! Fire!” hoping it would be enough to encourage the warriors to stay hidden behind the trees for a while, hoping as well that his two men had fled at the sound of his shot and yells, which they were close enough to overhear.762

  He overtook Jane Stoops quickly and grasped her hand, pulling her after him as rapidly as possible and using every stratagem he knew to throw the Indians off their trail when they took up pursuit, as he was sure they would. Brady and Jane Stoops thrashed down small streams, jumped from rock to rock, ran precariously along the trunk surface of fallen trees. Weakened as she was from having already been forced to walk so far, Jane played out quickly and began lagging. He jerked her along, coaxing, cursing, threatening, anything to keep her moving.763

  At last, knowing she was soon going to collapse if they didn’t stop, he led her into a well-hidden crevice among some rocks, and they huddled there. A little later they heard trailing Indians passing by close to where they were hidden, but they remained undiscovered and rested throughout the night. Yesterday, continuing down the Mahoning to Beaver River and down that stream to its mouth, they finally reached Fort McIntosh safely. Brady then took her by borrowed canoe to Pittsburgh, where today she was reunited with her husband, James, and her children who were there, though grieving for the loss of her little son, William.764

  The story of the remarkable rescue of Mrs. Stoops was quickly on everyone’s tongue, as was the fact that Brady, a fugitive from Pennsylvania justice, was back in Pittsburgh. The sheriff there raised a small party in an effort to arrest and hold him for trial, but he was prevented from doing so by a mob of residents who considered Brady a hero rather than a villain. Brady, for his own part, before returning to his own home near Holliday’s Cove late today, sent a message to the sheriff that when he felt the time was right to do so, he would voluntarily surrender himself for trial.765

  [September 1, 1792—Saturday]

  Even while Maj. Gen. Anthony Wayne continued to assemble his troops at Fort Pitt and turn them into a well-disciplined fighting force, to eventually march them against the Indians, the government persisted in its efforts to bring the problem with the Indians to a conclusion through treaties of peace. Wayne was certain that any peace proposals the United States might make at this time were doomed to failure. He read the signs very well.

  President George Washington was still doggedly clinging to the idea that he had presented in his plan to Congress nine years before, in which he stated that there was nothing to be obtained by an Indian war but the soil they lived on, which, he contended, could be obtained by purchase, bloodlessly and at much less expense than through war; a method that would be, as he put it, “the cheapest and least distressing way of dealing with them.”

  Twice now, sizable forces of the United States Army had been defeated by the Indians, and if it was possible to prevent a third tragic confrontation by the simple expedient of bringing the Indians to treaty councils, it was more than worth the effort. The fact that the emissaries who were already out had either disappeared or had been having only limited success at best was discouraging, but it was, so far as George Washington was concerned, worth continuing the effort.

  The party of Iroquois that had been sent as emissaries among the northwestern tribes had come back with little of a substantive nature to report; only that the tribes were not truly inclined toward peace but had agreed that if the United States would relinquish their hold on the Ohio country and withdraw to the south and east of it, they would be willing to meet in council with an American delegation of treaty commissioners at Sandusky. That was hopeless news, of course, since there was no way Washington was going to order the settlers out of the Ohio country or agree to give back any of the Ohio Territory to the tribes and withdraw across the Ohio.

  The delegation comprising William Smalley and Alexander Trueman had not been heard from since its departure and, though the worst was now feared, an element of hope still remained in the government that they were all right and would return with good news.

  Seemingly the most encouraging prospect at the moment was that Gen. Rufus Putnam, at Vincennes, was meeting with Potawatomies, Kickapoos and Weas, and they seemed inclined toward peace. Further, George Washington had himself ordered Col. John Hardin of Kentucky out on a similar expedition up through the Ohio country toward Kekionga and Chalahgawtha to try to get the Miamis and Shawnees to listen to reason and stop waging a war that, despite their recent victories, they could not possibly win.

  Where Col. John Hardin’s efforts to get the tribes to agree to talks was concerned, he had ridden northward out of Fort Washington alone and had reached the west-central portion of Ohio, when he was met by two Indians who said they had been sent to escort him safely the remainder of his way on the journey to confer with Blue Jacket and Michikiniqua. One of the two was named Carrymaunee—Whirlwind—and the other called himself Little Blue Jacket. Promising Hardin they would reach their destination the next day, the three camped for the night. As soon as the officer was asleep, the two warriors silently rose up and buried a tomahawk to the hilt in Col. John Hardin’s head.766

  Gen. Rufus Putnam, who had
been sent out under orders from Secretary of War Henry Knox, was at this moment being soundly duped. He was meeting at Vincennes, supposedly with representatives of nine western tribes, including a delegation of eight Potawatomies who represented themselves as being chiefs of their nation. In reality, none of the Indians in attendance had anything to do with tribal policy or any authority to sign any kind of agreements. They were merely common warriors and minor chiefs engaging the United States representatives in a well-executed hoax simply to get needed goods as gifts from the Americans. They eagerly signed the treaty papers Putnam presented to them and were given the supplies they wanted.767

  Now, while continuing his army-building efforts at Pittsburgh, Gen. Wayne had learned about the brilliant spying and Indian-fighting abilities of Capt. Samuel Brady. He decided to attempt to induce him to join his army as captain of spies. Today Brady presented himself to the general and listened courteously to his proposal. When Wayne was finished, however, Brady shook his head.

  “I appreciate your considering me for the job, General,” he said, “but I can’t accept. Not only do I not really wish to enter the regular service again, more importantly this frontier on the upper Ohio is still a long way from being safe, and this is where I am needed. However, I have an alternative suggestion: If you like, I will agree to serve as captain of your spies and train your men as best I can, strictly on a voluntary basis, as a civilian, until you leave with your army for Fort Washington or, if you stay on here longer than that, for three months—until December first. It’s the best I can offer.”

  Gen. Wayne was perfectly aware that Brady’s reason for not wanting to join this force in a regular capacity was true. That the Indians were still raiding throughout this country was well known. Six weeks ago a militia detachment at the village of Washington was fired on and, though no one was hurt, the commander there, Col. Absalom Baird, in his letter to Wayne had emphasized the distress of the inhabitants on this frontier and requested of Wayne more spies to patrol the upper Ohio as Brady’s Rangers did regularly.768

  Three weeks ago a 17-year-old named Matthias Dawson was taken while canoeing on the Monongahela above Fort Pitt. Then, only a couple of weeks ago Wayne had received a letter from Lt. R. S. Howe at the new settlement of Gallipolis, just across the river and downstream a little from Point Pleasant, relating the unpleasant news that a five-man scouting party had been waylaid by Indians and one man was captured, another shot twice and tomahawked but still living.769 Obviously the danger Brady spoke of still existed all along the Ohio, and he truly could not be spared here.

  So, while Brady’s reply was less than Wayne had hoped, it was certainly more than he had any right to expect. Glad of any help his men could get from so renowned and experienced an individual, he smiled and extended his hand.

  “I accept the offer, Captain Brady. Now let’s get to work.”

  [April 23, 1793—Tuesday]

  The pause made here at the little settlement of Wellsburg by Gen. Wayne and his army late in the afternoon of the day of their departure from Legionville was simply as an overnight bivouac before continuing the float down the Ohio River to Fort Washington. It came as an unexpected pleasure for Anthony Wayne to discover that Capt. Samuel Brady happened to be here with a several of his Rangers. The stop became even more enjoyable when Brady, with a definite twinkle in his eye, boldly stated that any two of his Rangers could outshoot a whole 100 of whatever men Wayne chose to select from his army of about 2,500. Smiling, Wayne accepted the challenge and suggested that they give the competition a little more flavor by wagering a keg of good-quality rum on the outcome.

  Gen. Wayne was feeling much better now that he had his army on the move. Originally having planned to take the army down to Fort Washington late last fall, he had been irritated and exasperated when his full complement of recruits had not yet shown up, and then even the Ohio River itself had not cooperated: A hot, dry summer and lack of rainfall throughout the autumn had made the river unnavigable to the deep-drafted bateaux in which the army would descend the river, and they would have to wait for the higher waters in spring.

  True to his promise to the President, Wayne had been very strict with his men from the beginning, officers and recruits alike, hammering discipline into them with an iron hand. One of his officers, Capt. Thomas T. Underwood of Petersburg, Virginia, had decided to keep a journal of his experiences and observations with the Wayne army, and among the first things he noted was Gen. Wayne’s stringently enforced discipline. In his entry for October 26 he had written:

  Pittsburg [sic]. I will name part of what took place the last few weeks. Captain Ballard Smith arrested for intemperance and tried by a General Court Martial, sentenced to be suspended for six months and then to take command of his company. Sergeant Trotter deserted Saturday night; was brought to camp Sunday one o’clock. Tried by a Court Martial and sentenced to be shot. He was shot the same evening on the grand parade. One of Captain Robert Campbell’s troopers, by the name of Newman deserted. Brought back the 3d day. Tried by Court Martial and sentenced to be hanged. He was hanged the 4th day after the sentence passed on him. 8 or 9 of the infantry was tried for desertion and all condemned and shot, except for four or five deserters; these was pardoned by the Commander-in-Chief and joined their companies. We have just heard that Colonel Hardin and Major Trueman, two valuable Officers who were sent with a flag of Truce to the Indians, & both wontonly [sic] Murdered by the Indians.

  It had not been long before Gen. Wayne realized that the proximity of Fort Pitt to Pittsburgh, with its taverns, brothels and other distractions, was a very bad influence on his men and encouraged a weakening of discipline as well as an outbreak of venereal diseases. Since he could not move Fort Pitt away from Pittsburgh, he moved the men away from both. On November 1 he moved the entire army—now 1,000 men and still growing—into bivouac 17 miles down the Ohio on a high bluff with a level plateau 60 feet above the river on the right bank. Overnight the place became a sprawling tent city, the tents gradually replaced by wooden huts as quickly as lumber could be sawn. Wayne dubbed the camp Legionville, after Gen. Henry Knox’s comment that his army was the Legion of the United States.770 Here the drilling and discipline became even more stringent, and a strong guard was established that patrolled every inch of the perimeter 24 hours a day, with orders to perform as if hostile Indians might appear at any moment. Companies with meager provisions were sent out on forced marches in all kinds of weather to toughen the men and accustom them to discomfort and privation. At other times opposing forces were formed among the men to fight sham battles, with half of them dressed and behaving like Indians, the others as soldiers, the two forces alternating as the enemy. Bayonet practice and target shooting at ranges up to 50 yards were frequent, and all were required to participate. It was obvious to everyone that Anthony Wayne was molding a formidable army that would be far better than any force previously assembled to march against the Indians.

  It was here that he met and accepted as his principal aide de camp an intelligent and obviously ambitious young officer who had just been promoted to lieutenant. His name was William Henry Harrison, and he had come upriver from Fort Washington with special dispatches as well as an oral report on that fort and conditions in the Cincinnati area. The fort, he said, was small and unequipped to handle a force as large as Gen. Wayne’s army was growing to be. Numerous new settlements had been springing up along the Ohio River as well as along the Little Miami and the Great Miami as far upstream as Fort Hamilton. Cincinnati itself had grown remarkably and was, he regretfully reported, no less wild a town than Pittsburgh. Attacks on boats plying the Ohio, which had fallen off for a while, had increased again. And, he added, Indian attacks on the more outlying settlements and military detachments were still occurring with unnerving frequency and often devastating results. A Shawnee force had recently struck a military fatigue party out of Fort Hamilton that had been ordered by Col. Wilkinson to fell trees for logs to be used as an extension of that fort. Fourteen
of the soldiers had been killed in the attack and numerous prisoners taken and tortured. Wayne shook his head, realizing only too fully how futile were the continuing attempts to come to some kind of agreement with the Indians, who were obviously now committed to fight until brought to their knees by force of arms.

  Throughout the fall and winter Anthony Wayne was as hard on himself as he was on his men, pushing himself physically even more than he pushed them and then, in the evenings, staying up late in the night to read about the Indians and their culture or talk with men who had lived among or fought the Indians over the years, learning all he could about the enemy whom he would eventually engage in mortal combat.

  He kept in close contact with the War Department, submitted regular progress reports to Gen. Knox and gradually imparted much of what he was learning about the inherent weaknesses of the Indians that could be exploited to the benefit of the army, such as their general disorganization and their unwillingness or inability, usually from lack of supplies, to carry out long campaigns. In this vein he wrote to Knox:

  Permit me to choose the season for operations. Give me time to manoeuver and discipline the army, so as to inspire them with a confidence in their own prowess, authorize me to direct ample and proper magazines of forage, stores and provisions to be thrown into the advance posts at the most favorable and convenient periods.… Give me authority to make these arrangements and I will pledge my reputation as an officer to establish myself at the Miami villages, or at any other place that may be thought more proper, in the face of all the savages in the wilderness.

  At Legionville, Capt. Underwood continued recording his impressions of what was occurring: