That Dark and Bloody River

by Allan Eckert

  So for the Indians in their own Fallen Timbers camp, the portents were not good, and it seemed to them, as the skies opened and a veritable deluge of rain engulfed them, that both Moneto and the Great Spirit had turned their heads away from their red children. With the battle sure to take place early the next morning, not only were they facing a powerful enemy well over twice their own number, they were now light-headed and weakened from a fast that had already lasted much longer than anticipated and was not yet ended. Dejectedly, Blue Jacket and the other chiefs had discussed strategy for many hours, and though none was fully satisfied with what had been adopted as the final plan of action, there was really no alternative. If matters became desperate for them, their only remaining recourse would be to retreat downstream the three miles to Fort Miamis and take refuge there within the confines of the bastion, protected by her artillery and British troops.

  Col. Alexander McKee and Capts. William Caldwell and Matthew Elliott, along with other British officers and agents, including Simon Girty, had earlier cautioned them not to expect full British aid when the battle began, pointing out that though relations were strained between them and the Americans, there had as yet been no official declaration of war and no orders giving them authority to give active support. The Indians had been told, however, that protection could not be interpreted as active support, and every intimation had been given that should the Indians have to fall back from the onslaught of the Americans, such British protection would be forthcoming, and Fort Miamis would be their haven.

  So now, at last, this was the day.

  The Americans, well over 4,000 strong, had risen to the reveille drum at dawn, and after a little more than an hour of preparation, they had formed their battle lines. But the rain that had ended during the night resumed again in a sudden heavy shower, and the march out of camp at Roche de Boeuf was postponed for an hour. At exactly seven o’clock, the rain having dwindled to a continuing drizzle, the army started following the Maumee portage trail downstream toward the Fallen Timbers area, which began four miles below their camp and where the 2,000 Indians under command of Blue Jacket awaited them.802

  Those Indians were presently crouched among the jumble of fallen trees and branches, their war paint badly streaked and smeared by the morning’s rain, imparting an even more frightening appearance than when first applied. Blue Jacket was in the front center of the Indians and at intervals sent runners to Fort Miamis, asking when the soldiers were going to join them behind the breastwork of fallen trees. The British replies were consistently evasive as they told the Indians to have patience and not worry, that the support was there and would become available when really necessary. Meanwhile they had already been provided with about 50 of Capt. William Caldwell’s Canadians dressed and painted as Indians to assist them.

  Thoroughly chilled by the persistent cold drizzle, the Indians, waiting for the American force to appear, now began to leave the Fallen Timbers area, first in small groups, then in larger numbers, to go to the temporary campground a half-mile below, where some British were serving hot soup and gills of rum and where the warriors broke their self-imposed fast. By the time word came that Wayne’s army was definitely on the move toward them, the force crouched amid the fallen timbers had dwindled from 2,000 to around 1,300.

  Gen. Wayne’s spies had brought word of the disposition of the Indians, and now, as he approached the Fallen Timbers area at close to nine o’clock, his strategic talents became clearly apparent. Leading his army into that tract of fallen timber was apt to be suicide, and so he quickly formulated his plan. Splitting off a section of his force, he sent it to the left, out of sight of the river and the main army, with orders to advance at that point parallel to the trail and to stop and wait as soon as the Fallen Timbers area came into sight. When they had been gone for a sufficient length of time, Wayne started a battalion of the mounted riflemen straight down the portage trail, to act as a decoy to the Indians. The mounted battalion was to press forward on the trail as if they were the advance of the whole army. As soon as they were attacked, which would no doubt occur as they approached or entered the Fallen Timbers area, they were to put up a brief fight and then, in apparent fear and confusion, turn and flee back the way they had come, hopefully drawing the Indians out of the dense cover after them. When a sizable number of the attackers had boiled out of their cover in pursuit, the hidden left wing of the army, at the sound of the drum rolls, would drive to the attack and attempt to turn the right flank of the enemy and encircle it, while the main army suddenly surged ahead and engaged the enemy on ground far more advantageous to the army for a fight.

  Hidden behind the downed timber, the Indians watched as what appeared to be the head of the army, a four-abreast column of mounted men with rifles, came into view at a light trot with banners waving. They slowed their horses to a walk as they neared the forward edge of the fallen timbers, as if reluctant to penetrate, but they entered it nonetheless. The first 50 of the horsemen, advancing under Lt. Harry Towles, had entered the fallen timbers area when Blue Jacket shrieked his attack cry. His warriors instantly made opening shots with bows and guns and then surged from hiding, brandishing war clubs and tomahawks. The mounted men fought back briefly, emptying their rifles toward whatever attackers they could see, milling and turning and finally, after Lt. Towles and Sgt. Eli Edmundson were killed, breaking in disorder and starting to gallop back the way they had come, the Indians in hot pursuit.

  The maneuver would have worked perfectly except for one thing: The drum roll signal for the army’s left wing to drive to the attack and encircle the exposed enemy could not be heard; not only was it largely drowned out by the gunfire, but it was considerably muted and muffled because of the continuing rainfall. After several moments of the Indians chasing the fleeing soldiers, the main body of the army was observed surging forward to meet the mounted battalion, and a warning was shrieked that passed down the line to Blue Jacket and the other chiefs. The Indians stopped and turned back and finally the army’s left wing began to move, but by then much too late, as the Indians for the most part made it back into the tangled timberland. Several cannon shots were lobbed into the timber after the Indians from the company of Capt. John Price, which was at that moment under command of Lt. Percy Pope, on the right of the army’s advance—first shells and then canister and grapeshot—but without much effect due to the density of the cover.

  With the battle engaged, Wayne’s army continued to surge forward. The artillery shooting ceased and the Legionnaires, on foot under Capt. Robert M. Campbell, raced into the timber with fixed bayonets and a very hot fight ensued. Campbell was killed almost immediately with a shot through the breast, and his command was taken over by Capt. John Arnold. The Indians held their ground well, at first, and both sides suffered considerable loss as the fighting moved from tree to tree, log to log. Before long, however, the sheer weight of numbers in favor of the whites began forcing the Indians back. Yard by agonizing yard they fell away, with the army pressing them hard until at last, an hour after the battle had begun, they were beginning to emerge from the other end of the Fallen Timbers area. At this point Blue Jacket issued the order for retreat to Fort Miamis.

  In a rush, leaving a score or more of their number dead or dying amid the jumble of timber, the Indians sped in a disorganized mass the remaining three miles to Fort Miamis and called for the British regulars to come out and assist them as promised. The gates stayed closed. The Indians clustered in front of the gates and pounded upon them with their fists, demanding entry and protection in the fort’s interior before the Americans coming behind them should arrive. The gates remained closed.

  Maj. William Campbell, commander of Fort Miamis, called self-consciously to them over the walls. “My orders,” he said, “instruct me to do nothing more than safeguard the integrity of this fort.” Other British soldiers looked over the walls and out of the portholes at the Indians clustered below, unable to offer any support, offensive or defensive. Blue Jacket, frust
rated and angry, realizing that their white allies were throwing them to the wolves, finally gave the word to disperse and the Indians fled past the fort, past the small encampment of Indians a half-mile below it and well beyond, scattering as they ran.

  The Battle of Fallen Timbers was over, and the Americans were clearly the victors.

  When the Americans came into view in full strength a short time later, with trumpets sounding and drums beating, Gen. Wayne assessed the scene immediately, realized the Indians were gone and then issued crisp orders. Immediately the soldiers spread out and methodically destroyed all the grain and vegetables growing around the fort and burned down all the buildings surrounding it, including the small trading post owned by Alexander McKee. The effrontery of it caused the watching British garrison to literally groan in frustration.

  Wayne and his second in command, Gen. Wilkinson, along with several other officers, including Wayne’s aide, Lt. William Henry Harrison, then boldly rode in plain sight to within 80 yards of the walls. So angered were the British regulars inside the fort that one officer, a captain, grabbed a torch and attempted to apply it to a cannon pointed directly at the American officers. He was restrained only when Maj. Campbell threatened to run him through with his sword if he didn’t desist. The captain threw down the torch in disgust, and the commander had him placed under arrest.

  Maj. Campbell himself, however, was practically as furious as the captain over Wayne’s actions and sent him a note protesting the American general’s near approach to a post belonging to His Majesty’s troops, declaring that he knew of no war existing between Britain and America, adding that so near an approach could not again be permitted, and he would be fired on if he attempted it. Wayne, in return, immediately fired off two sharp replies, asserting that Fort Miamis had been built in contravention to the Treaty of Paris and ordering the British to get out of American territory—specifically, to leave Fort Miamis at once and retire to the next nearest British post. Maj. Campbell responded with the brief but firm note that he should certainly remain where he was until he was ordered to evacuate the place by the authority who placed him there, or the fortune of war compelled him to surrender it.

  Anthony Wayne at this point very seriously considered a strike at the fort but finally decided against it. Though he possessed written authorization from President Washington via Secretary of War Henry Knox to “attack and demolish the British fort of Miami” if he so chose, he declined to expose his men to the necessary deaths it would have entailed to effect such an end.

  The number of killed on both sides was not great for a conflict involving such numbers, largely because the major part of the battle had been fought among fallen timbers and far more bullets had lodged in intervening tree trunks, branches and logs than in flesh.803 Nevertheless, the victory belonged to Gen. Wayne’s army, and the Indians were more crushed and despondent than ever before.

  For the first time, without any reservation, the Indians realized that the Americans were now the dominant force in their country, and the knowledge was devastating.804

  [June 15, 1795—Monday]

  Everyone on hand knew that this was one of the most historic days in the history of the young United States.

  On this day, at Gen. Anthony Wayne’s headquarters outpost of Greenville, hundreds of people had already gathered and many times that more were on their way. On this momentous day the council fire was lighted and would remain burning until all 12 of the tribes who were to participate agreed to the terms of peace outlined by Gen. Wayne on behalf of the United States government, a process that was expected to take some weeks, perhaps even months.

  The very fact, however, that a true and apparently permanent peace with the tribes was in the offing was greeted by most throughout the Ohio River Valley and in the Ohio country with joy and thankfulness. Could it really be possible that after two decades of vicious, barbaric warfare, a true and definitive peace was coming at last? For the most part everyone, Indian and white alike, was optimistic at the prospects.

  The defeat of the Indians at the Battle of Fallen Timbers last August had, of course, started the wheels in motion toward this end but, as was common with terminating wars, the dangers did not end with the swiftness of a candle being snuffed out. There had still been many skirmishes, many raids and a number of deaths since the battle was fought, and though now, ten months after that decisive battle, these had dwindled to near nothing, the process had been a slow and painful one for many.

  As if to underline the fact that it was not all over yet, the last Indian attack ever to occur on Wheeling Creek happened on September 6, only 17 days after the defeat, and it was a devastating one for the George Tush family, who were neighbors of the Wetzels. He and his wife and their five children lived in a cabin 12 miles up Wheeling Creek at the mouth of Bruce’s Run. There had been no attacks along the creek for almost a year, and residents were beginning to feel they were finally safe from further incursions. In the process, they became a little careless. On that Saturday morning, Tush, uncharacteristically weaponless, was out feeding his hogs in a sty not far from the cabin when he was fired upon by a small party of Wyandots who had been waiting for him to leave the cabin. A ball struck him across the upper chest, broke one of his ribs and lodged in his shoulder blade. He managed to stay on his feet, though the pain was intense, and raced back toward the house with the Indians in close pursuit. Oddly, however, though his wife and children were inside, he ran right past the open door and continued into the woods beyond, heading toward the Wetzel place. A few of the warriors plunged into the cabin and instantly grabbed Mrs. Tush and pinned her against the inside wall. The children were screaming and the youngest, a four-year-old girl, ran outside and tried to get away but was snatched by one of the Wyandots still outside, swung in a circle and smashed against a tree. The other four children, the eldest of which was ten, were all tomahawked inside the cabin and scalped. Fearful that the man who escaped would bring back help, the Indians snatched up a few items of plunder and started away quickly with Mrs. Tush a captive. Despite their shoving her along with them, her movements were too slow, and in just under two miles they tomahawked and scalped her as well.

  Back at the cabin, the little girl who had been dashed against the tree came to her senses and crawled into the cabin, where the other children were lying in a bloody jumble. A sister was still alive, and she crawled to her and collapsed in her arms just as that older sister fell unconscious again.

  Continuing away toward the southwest, the Indian party encountered the two young Beckham brothers, William, 12, and Sam, 10, leading two of their father’s horses they had gone out to get. The Indians captured them and the horses. They arrived at Grave Creek in the evening and made camp and, after the boys had fallen asleep, the Indians heard a noise in the darkness and became fearful they were being followed. They instantly tomahawked and scalped the two boys and raced off into the darkness, leaving the tied horses. Though badly injured, neither boy was dead. William regained his senses and found his brother Sam still alive but unable to speak or walk. William managed to mount one of the horses and headed down toward the Tomlinson settlement at the mouth of Grave Creek, but the horse made so much noise going through the brush that he soon dismounted and left it and went a little farther himself before growing weak and creeping into hiding among some rocks.

  The Indians, in the meantime, had mastered their fears and, creeping back to their own camp, saw that one of the boys was gone as well as one of the horses. They tomahawked Sam again, this time killing him, and took the remaining horse with them as they headed down Grave Creek. Before long they found the other horse and recaptured it, but they did not find William, who managed to reach a cabin after daylight came and was helped.805

  George Tush, after being wounded and getting away, stumbled while descending a ravine, fell into a sapling that bent under his weight and then catapulted him 20 feet down onto some rocks at the bottom, further injuring him. He made it to Martin Wetzel’s place, but
no one was home and he collapsed there. Wetzel, returning in the morning, found him and managed to bring him around and get his story. Then he, along with Lewis Bonnett, Jr., and Moses Shepherd went to the Tush cabin and found the children. They buried the three who were dead and rescued the two still alive, taking them to Wheeling for medical treatment.806 And once again—for the last time—the Wheeling residents made preparations to defend themselves against possible assault, but the attackers had by now disappeared.

  All up and down the Ohio other scattered hit-and-run attacks of this nature were occurring in a last flurry, even as the tendrils of peace took root and strengthened. Near Ludlow’s Station in the Cincinnati area, four government packhorsemen were attacked along an unnamed branch of Mill Creek, and one of them was killed instantly and fell into the stream. Another, severely wounded, was rescued and taken to the cabin of Abner Boston near Ludlow’s Station, but died there in a few hours. The unnamed stream where the body of the other man was recovered was immediately named Bloody Run.

  As 1794 dwindled away, settler Shaderick Harriman had the distinction, if such it could be called, of being the last person killed in the Kanawha Valley. As he emerged from his cabin door at the mouth of Lower Valuable Branch, two miles above Clendenin’s Station, he was shot dead and then scalped.807

  On December 9, a 22-year-old Kentucky settler named David Spangler was captured by the Potawatomies on the north side of the Ohio River at the Falls of the Ohio. Eight days later, 18-year-old Joseph Guy was captured along the Great Miami River in Ohio, close to Fort Hamilton, by a small party of Delawares.808