by Allan Eckert
[December 4, 1793—Wednesday]
The family of four remained standing at the grave for a long while after the others had gone, the dismally overcast skies and chilling rain adding to the depth of their sorrow. Samuel Brady was one of those four, and he thought again of the many years he had known this man who now lay beneath the soil at their feet and how instrumental he had been in the settlement and development of the upper Ohio country; a man who had hoped he would live to see peace come to the Ohio Valley, where boats could safely ply the waters of the great stream without having to carry men armed with rifles to protect themselves and others aboard, a time where settlers no longer had to fear being attacked in their homes and fields. Unfortunately, he had not lived to realize that dream, but Brady was determined to continue doing his part to make the dream become reality. These days, for the first time in about two decades of vicious conflict between Indians and whites in the Ohio Valley, he was becoming optimistic that such a reality was at last almost within their grasp.
Although attacks by small war parties of Shawnees, Delawares and Wyandots had continued this year all along the Ohio River, especially from just below Pittsburgh at Raccoon Creek to the Falls of the Ohio, they were much fewer in number and severity than previously. The reason, Brady believed, was that the presence of Gen. Wayne’s army in Ohio was worrying the Indians considerably, and they were spending a great deal of time and effort studying the American army commander in an effort to discover whatever weaknesses he might have that they could exploit when they finally clashed.
Where previously the attacks had numbered in the scores over the period of a year, with hundreds of people killed, wounded or captured, innumerable cabins plundered and burned and great numbers of horses stolen and livestock killed, this year the gruesome totals had diminished dramatically. That was not to say they were absent or that the problem was wholly resolved; scattered attacks still occurred. John Craig had been killed while tilling crops near Point Pleasant, and, in that same area, Joe Burwell and Andy Lewis had been shot in their canoe and both seriously wounded, Lewis with an arm so badly bullet-damaged that it had to be amputated. Peter Smith had been captured near the Falls of the Ohio, and William Fuller near North Bend in the Cincinnati area.781 Near Maysville, just a couple of weeks ago, a party of Indians crossed the Ohio on a horse-stealing mission and got quite a few, but they had the misfortune of being pursued by a scouting patrol under Simon Kenton. The intrepid frontiersman and his men overtook the Shawnees on December 2 near the mouth of Holt’s Creek, 32 miles below Maysville. In the resultant skirmish Capt. William Hardin was wounded through the body, but Kenton’s party killed six of the Indians, scattered the rest and recovered all the horses.782 In the Cincinnati area, Peter Cox was tomahawked and scalped while out looking for his horse, and at the nearby White’s Station a party of Shawnees struck, killing Andrew Goble and two of Moses Pryor’s children—five-year-old John and his infant brother, William. The worst attack during the year had occurred only six weeks ago, on October 17, when 250 Shawnees led by their war chief, Blue Jacket, struck a United States Army supply train of 100 mounted riflemen. That attack occurred between Fort Hamilton and Fort Jefferson, just seven miles east of Fort St. Clair, at a place that was called the Forty Foot Pitch; Lt. John Lowry and 14 regular army privates were killed.783
Brady and seven of his Rangers—John and Abram Cuppy, Jacob Wetzel, William Clark, Tom Deloe, Alex Mitchell and John Williamson—had, as recently as September, pursued a party of five Wyandots that had stolen a pair of fine horses from the James Caldwell place, just above the mouth of Raccoon Creek. With the news that the treaty talks had failed, the Rangers were now free to pursue the Indians across the Ohio and had done so, penetrating 100 miles into the Ohio country and finally overtaking the raiders as they camped on the headwaters of the Cuyahoga River. In their attack they killed one of the warriors, recovered the horses and also took a good bit of plunder, including a number of steel traps made in England.
Nevertheless, the overall number of attacks this year had dropped remarkably, and Brady, with far fewer fights and chases to occupy his time, finally gave in to his wife’s wishes and moved away from the cabin his father-in-law, Andrew Van Swearingen, had long ago built for them on the Ohio a mile above Wellsburg. Their new residence—a much better and more spacious dwelling—was located just over two miles from the bustling new town of West Liberty, itself some five miles up Short Creek from its mouth at the Ohio, and about midway between Wellsburg and Wheeling.
They had made the move, with the help of Drusilla’s father, only a month ago, and now they were very glad to have been able to spend that time with him, since just two days ago Andrew Van Swearingen had unexpectedly died. He had been one of the original pioneers on this frontier, first settling here in 1772, and, as he was known and respected by a great many in this area, his funeral had been attended by a substantial number, despite the inclement weather that prevailed.
Now, all the words of sympathy had been extended, and everyone was gone from the gravesite but the four of them, Samuel and Drusilla Brady and their two little sons—six-year-old Van Swearingen and three-year-old John. They stood beside the grave, looking down at the rain-dampened words that had been hastily chiseled into the slab of limestone that served as his marker:
Here Lieth the body of
VAN SWEARINGEN
who departed this life
on the 2d day of December, 1793,
in the fifty-first year of his age.784
“He was a good man and a wonderful father,” Drusilla murmured, her tears now gone and just a deep ache and emptiness remaining.
Brady nodded and squeezed her arm, which was linked in his. “Yes, he was, Dusy. He so much wanted peace and a safe life for his daughter and grandsons. I think before long his wish will come true.”
[December 31, 1793—Tuesday]
Many of the Indians who had gathered on the Maumee River, particularly Michikiniqua, had become very apprehensive about the new American war chief who was preparing his army to come against them. Though they had spied on him closely from the time he arrived at Fort Pitt, during his stay at Legionville and down the Spaylaywitheepi to Fort Washington, they had discovered he was a man of great vigilance who did not leave himself or his men open to attack.
They had watched while the white chief, Gen. Wayne, moved his army during the Harvest Moon to Fort Hamilton. He had not been content to remain there long, and he moved his force first to Fort St. Clair, then on to Fort Jefferson, where he had arrived with them on October 26. When he found that fort too small and badly placed for defensive measures, he had immediately pushed his troops on another six miles and began construction of a much better fort that he was now calling Fort Greenville.785 That fort had been completed just two weeks ago, and it became apparent that the white chief was making it his headquarters and the winter quarters for his whole army.
Leading a large force from his army, Wayne moved on to the site where these Indians had so devastatingly defeated the army of Gen. St. Clair two years previously.786 The next day they spread out and gathered the bones remaining above the ground, including some 600 human skulls, then buried them all in the same grave. Their search allowed them to discover two of St. Clair’s cannon hidden under a large log, and two others in a deep hole of the Wabash River headwaters. These were immediately sent to Fort Greenville. Wayne then built a fort on the site and named it Fort Recovery.787 As soon as it was completed, the commanding general left 150 men to garrison the place and returned with the remainder to Fort Greenville where, on his return, he was saluted by the very cannon he had recovered, the artillery having been cleaned and mounted on new gun carriages.
The confederated Indians who were gathered on the Maumee discussed all these developments with great gravity. Obviously, this Gen. Wayne was preparing to lead his army against them next spring or summer, and they must prepare themselves well to meet such a dangerous foe. Once again they called for Michikiniqua and Blu
e Jacket to lead them against him. They were shocked, however, when Michikiniqua refused to accept the leadership. Immediately charges were made by other chiefs that he was becoming old and tired and turning into a coward. Michikiniqua listened to the charges being hurled at him in the Grand Council, and then he raised his hands. As the assembly gradually quieted, he addressed them calmly and with solemnity.
“We have beaten the enemy twice under separate commanders,” he told them. “We cannot expect the same good fortune always. The Americans are now led by a chief who never sleeps. The night and day are alike to him, and during all the time that he has been marching on our villages, notwithstanding the watchfulness of our young men, we have never been able to surprise him. Think well of it. There is something whispers to me that it would be prudent to listen to his offers of peace.”
Other chiefs spoke after Michikiniqua, and the decision remained to meet the Wayne army and fight it. Michikiniqua bowed to their decision and told them he would fight, if that was their desire, but that he would fight only as chief of the Miamis, not as the commander of the confederated Indians. So now they had accepted this and named as their sole commander the Shawnee war chief who had been Michikiniqua’s co-commander at St. Clair’s defeat, Wehyehpihehrsehnwah—Blue Jacket.
[May 27, 1794—Tuesday]
Despite the fact that the Ohio River had become much less dangerous for travelers and a new era of river travel had been begun, it was a serious mistake to consider it safe.
True, the Indians were deeply engrossed in watching the continual buildup of Wayne’s army at Greenville and planning their strategy for how and when they would engage him, but numerous raiding parties were still moving about close to the river and occasionally striking. As a result, it did not pay to get careless, as was the case with the Mann brothers, William and Thomas.
There was good reason to think the troubles were over, principal among which were two important new ventures in regard to river travel. Though irregular commercial traffic was already moving up and down the Ohio, now a regular mail service had been inaugurated between Pittsburgh and Cincinnati by an intrepid young man named John Green, who traveled in a large piroque, sometimes alone and sometimes with a small crew, sometimes carrying freight or passengers, but always adhering closely to his schedule, which itself engendered a sort of normalcy to river travel.
Even more conducive to a false sense of security, regularly scheduled packet boat trips on four keelboats of 20 tons each had been inaugurated in January between Pittsburgh and Cincinnati, promoted as “convenient” and “with no danger to be apprehended” by passengers. The fare for the one-way trip of 463 miles was still five dollars, but the passenger had to pay extra for food and liquor. Those who had not enough money were permitted to work for their passage. Merchandise or other cargo was still being carried at the rate of five dollars per ton. The service had begun with a major advertisement that appeared in the January 11 edition of the first regular newspaper of the far west, the Centinel, published in Cincinnati by William Maxwell:
OHIO PACKET BOATS
Two boats for the present will start from Cincinnati to Pittsburgh and return to Cincinnati in the following manner, viz: First boat will leave Cincinnati this morning at eight o’clock, and return to Cincinnati so as to be ready to sail again in four weeks from this date. Second boat will leave Cincinnati on Saturday, the 30th inst., and return as above. And so, regularly, each boat performing the voyage to and from Cincinnati once in every four weeks. The proprietor of these boats having maturely considered the many inconveniences and dangers incident to the common method heretofore adopted of navigating the Ohio, and being influenced by a love of philanthropy, and a desire of being serviceable to the public, has taken great pains to render the accommodations on board the boats as agreeable and convenient as they could possibly be made. No danger need be apprehended from the enemy, and every person on board will be under cover made proof to rifle ball, and convenient port holes for firing out. Each of the boats is armed with six pieces, carrying a pound ball; also a good number of muskets, and amply supplied with ammunition, strongly manned with choice men, and the master of approved knowledge. A separate cabin from that designed for the men is partitioned off in each boat for accommodating the ladies on their passage. Conveniences are constructed on board each boat so as to render landing unnecessary, as it might at times be attended with dangers. Rules and regulations for maintaining order on board and for the good management of the boats, and tables accurately calculated for the rates of freightage, for passengers and carriage of letters to and from Cincinnati to Pittsburgh; also a table of the exact time of the arrival to and from the different places on the Ohio between Cincinnati and Pittsburgh, may be seen aboard each boat and at the printing office in Cincinnati. Passengers will be supplied with provisions and liquors of all kinds, of the first quality, at the most reasonable rates possible. Persons desirous of working their passage will be admitted on finding themselves subject, however, to the same order and directions from the master of the boat as the rest of the working hands of the boat’s crew. An office of insurance will be kept at Cincinnati, Limestone and Pittsburgh, where persons desirous of having their property insured may apply. The rates of insurance will be moderate.
With such improvement in river travel and the lessening of Indian attacks along the great waterway of the Ohio, it was not unexpected that some people would grow overconfident. Two such were the unruly young brothers of Capt. Moses Mann, who were in his company at Point Pleasant. Lt. Col. Daniel Boone was second-in-command there now, under Col. Thomas Lewis—his plans to go to Missouri still pending—and in assigning detachments to regions of defense in the area, he named Mann’s company to the defense of the nine-year-old Belleville settlement, 62 miles up the Ohio River.
The company, having arrived at Belleville, found everything calm and no report of Indians having been in the area for a considerable while. With time weighing heavily on their hands, William and Thomas Mann, having today off-duty, decided to go by canoe to a nearby salt lick along the Ohio shore to hunt deer. At the edge of Belleville, they passed the attractive young Scotswoman Mary Galrooth washing clothes at the river’s edge, her husband, Thomas, asleep in their cabin a short distance up the bank. The pair veered their canoe in close to her and deliberately splashed water on her with their paddles. Bitterly berating them, she retaliated by swinging the wet clothes she was washing at the river surface and sprayed water all over them.
“Why, you bitch!” William bellowed, thrusting the canoe toward shore, Thomas helping him. Mary began running away, but they beached the canoe and ran after her, catching her in a few yards. She struggled and tried to scream, but they subdued her, covered her mouth and dragged her back to the river. Wading out waist deep with her, they repeatedly dunked her, holding her head underwater so long that she thought they were going to drown her. She was semiconscious when they finally pulled her back to the shoreline and dumped her on her back in the mud, her legs still in the water.
The Mann brothers then returned to their beached canoe and launched it as Mary Galrooth unsteadily pulled herself back to her feet, gagging and crying. They were a dozen yards from shore when Mary recovered enough to yell after them.
“You miserable devils!” she cried. “I hope to God the Indians kill you and you never return!”
Laughing and making lewd remarks about her, the two young men continued paddling toward the lick, hardly a quarter-mile distant. As they nosed their canoe in to the shore, a party of five Delawares stepped into view from behind trees at the salt lick and, before the brothers could pick up their rifles, shot both of them dead, William tumbling into the river and Thomas into the canoe.788
So despite the fact that the Ohio River had become much less dangerous for travelers and a new era of river travel had begun, it was a very serious mistake indeed to consider it safe.
[July 3, 1794—Thursday]
It was now three years that Lewis Wetzel had been incarce
rated in the prison at New Orleans. For six months after stabbing Pedro Hermoso with the sharpened spoon, he had been kept in the dark and dank solitary confinement of the tiny, stone-walled dungeon. As the cooler weather had set in last fall, he had been given a blouse and trousers to wear and a thin, tattered blanket to roll up into for sleep.
Day and night were practically the same to him in the windowless cell, and so when he was finally transferred out of the dungeon cell and into one that was similar to that which he had first occupied, he had no idea of how long he had been in the dungeon. He was sure it must have been at least a year, possibly two. The new cell, however, was more open, had a barred window overlooking the prison yard and was close enough to other cells that he was able to communicate with the men in cells on both sides and across from him. It was in talking with them that he learned the date was February 1794, which meant his stay in solitary confinement for the attack on Pedro Hermoso had been only six months. It had seemed so much longer!
Now it was July, and over these three years in prison he had been out of his cell only once. That had occurred four months ago when, during the night, there was a large fire in the city and the prison was threatened, at which all the prisoners had been led out under a strong guard, prepared to move them away if it became necessary. A shift of the wind, however, had pushed the fire away from them and, after only an hour of breathing the wonderfully fresh air, the prisoners had been herded back toward their cells.
It was then that a commotion had arisen in the prison yard some distance from where Wetzel was, and some shooting. Word spread among the inmates that a half-dozen prisoners had made a break, overpowering a guard and scaling the wall. One had been shot and killed, but five had managed to get away in the darkness. It took several days for word to filter through the inmates who the men were. The names of five, including the man who had been killed, meant nothing to him, but the sixth man was Pedro Hermoso. Wetzel gnashed his teeth at the injustice of the man responsible for his being here having gotten away. He vowed that somehow, someday, he would encounter the man again and, when he did, he would kill him.