USA > Ohio > Richland County > A centennial biographical history of Richland county, Ohio > Part 9
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Greentown was founded in 1782, and was destroyed by fire in 1812, after an existence of thirty years. The number of cabins it contained has been variously stated at from sixty to one hundred. The number of the dead buried there is not known, but as about three hundred Indians, on an average, lived there for three decades, the number is no doubt quite large.
The writer recently visited the site of old Greentown in mid-winter,- an appropriate season to view in its dearth and desolation the former location of a town that is now no more. The Black Fork had overflowed its banks in a recent freshet, and, ere the waters could recede from the lowlands, had frozen into sheets of ice that reflected sparkling gems of crystal purity in the
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gladsome sunshine, and the hills glistened with a white covering of snow, forming a scene of beauty to be remembered in many a future dream.
To appreciate a place of historic note, one must enter into the feelings created by reading its history and learning its traditions. Standing upon that village site, we realized that the valley whose broad and, fertile acres spread out before us was the place where the civilization of this part of the west was first planted and from which it extended even to the golden shores of the Pacific. The events which stirred the souls and tried the courage of the pio- neers seemed to come out of the dim past and glide as panoramic views before us. A number of the actors in those thrilling scenes were of our "kith and kin," who have long since "crossed over the river." But little change has taken place at the old site of Greentown in the past fifty years, except that the old-time Indian burial ground, that has withstood the innovations of a century, is being despoiled of its timber, and one feels like exclaiming,
"Woodman, spare those trees; Touch not a single bough."
But sentiment, it seems, must give way to utility. The burial ground is at the west end of the knoll upon which Greentown was situated and is some- what triangular in shape. Heretofore, the ground has been held in super- stitious, if not sacred, veneration. But it will soon be turned over to the plowshare and the agriculturist.
Greentown was built upon an oblong knoll, of about half a mile in length and a quarter of a mile in width, running nearly east and west, with an eleva- tion of fifty feet, and of irregular topography. The Black Fork, after straight- ening from its tortuous course and running south for a short distance, makes a graceful curve to the east at the southwest limits of the grounds, courses along the base of the south side of the ridge, then turns again to the south and resumes its zigzag wanderings until its waters unite with those of other "forks" and form the Mohican. The cabins comprising the village stood principally upon the rolling plateau-like summit of the hill, each Indian select- ing a site to suit himself, with but little regard for streets or regularity. A sycamore tree, which in the olden times cast its shade over the council-house of the tribe, still stands like a monument from the past, grim and white, stretching its branches like skeleton arms in the attitude of benediction. A wild cherry-tree stands several rods northeast, around which there was for- merely a circular mound, evidently made by the Indians, and still discernible; but whether it was used as a circus ring for athletic sports, or as a receptacle,
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is a matter of conjecture. Many think it was for the latter, as trinkets, if not valuables, have been taken from it ; but no general exhumation was ever made.
THE ZIMMER MASSACRE.
The Zimmer family, consisting of father, mother, daughter Kate and son Philip, lived about two miles south of the present site of Mifflin and five miles north of Greentown. About September 10, a short time after the removal of the Indians, a party of five redskins were seen one afternoon going toward the Zimmer cabin. Martin Ruffner, a stalwart German who lived near Mifflin, heard of the presence of Indians in the neighborhood and that the direction they were going indicated that the Zimmer home was their objective point. Ruffner hastened to Zimmer's and as the Indians had made a halt he reached the cabin first and apprised them of the lurking foe.
Philip Zimmer, leaving Ruffner to protect his family, went to inform James Copus, John Lambright and other settlers of the approach of the Indians and to secure their assistance. As the settlers lived some miles apart it took Philip several hours to make the trip.
Soon after Philip left the house the Indians came and seemed surprised upon finding Ruffner there. The friendly Kate, thinking to appease them, got them supper, but they still seemed sullen, showing that they meant harm to the family. For some time a desultory conversation was held at intervals, but finally the actors to the impending tragedy sat and eyed each other in . silence, conflicting emotions, no doubt, passing through the mind of each. Ruffner, the valiant German, sat like a Trojan soldier between the helpless family and their savage foes. Finally, when suspense could be borne no longer, the Indians sprang to their feet with a yell of demoniacal fury and made a rush at the brave Ruffner, who shot his foremost assailant dead, and, clubbing his rifle, felled another prostrate to the floor. As he struck at the third, he accidentally hit the stock of his rifle against a joist, and the Indians, taking advantage of the mishap, fired upon him, two shots taking effect, either of which would of itself been fatal. They dragged the body of the dying man into the yard, and inhumanly removed his scalp ere he expired !
At the beginning of the assault Kate fainted. When she regained con- sciousness she realized that Ruffner had been killed, and, seeing them assault her aged parents, she again fell in a swoon, unconsciousness kindly veiling from her sight the horrible spectacle. (I, too, would fain turn a page rather than prolong this story of blood, but history is remorseless and must be written whether its narration brings smiles or tears. ) When Kate recovered
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and realized the awful butchery that had been committed, her grief gave vent in heart-piercing shrieks and lamentations whose intensity should have reached the calloused hearts of even those inhuman savages. But instead she was ordered by her relentless foes to give them her father's money and the val- tables of the family, and as she complied with their demand, her ring was rudely taken from her finger. But they did not then spare her life, for Kanotche, raising his tomahawk, buried it in her brains and she fell upon the hearth, mingling her life's blood with that. of her parents!
The account of this tragedy was given some time later by Kanotche him- self, while he was confined as a prisoner in the jail at New Philadelphia.
The principal motive which led to the murder of the Zimmers was that of robbery, as they were regarded as quite wealthy and were known to possess considerable money.
When Philip returned with his party, nature had already thrown her sable mantle of night over the valley. Except for the occasional hooting of an owl there was almost deathlike stillness. No breath of wind stirred the leaves of the forest, and the stars shone with a pale, flickering light. As the party neared the cabin, no light was seen and all was quiet and still within. After a consultation, Mr. Copus advanced alone to the rear of the house and tried to peer through its window, but nothing could be seen in the darkness within. He then cautiously crept upon his hands and knees around to the front of the building, and, finding the door ajar, endeavored to push it further open, but found something against it like a body, on the inside. He then placed his hand through the opening of the door and found that the floor was covered with blood. Returning to the party, he though it best not to tell Philip what he had discovered, fearing that the Indians might still be in the house awaiting the son's return. Enjoining silence, he led them quietly away, and when at a safe distance told them that he feared the family had been taken prisoners, and that they had better go to the block-house for assistance.
Philip's anxiety for the safety of the family made him want to rush recklessly inside the house to learn their fate; but his friends restrained him, and the weary, groping walk through the darkness to the block-house was commenced. A halt was made at a Mr. Hill's, where the town of Lucas now stands, and upon the break of day they proceeded to the Beam block-house on the Rocky Run, where the first settlement in the county was made, and there got a detachment of troops and some settlers, who accompanied them back to the Zimmer cabin, where they found the dead and mutilated body of the brave Ruffner in the yard, and those of the family inside the house.
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The grief of Philip was so great that many of the strong men present were moved to tears by witnessing his sorrow. Father, mother and sister all gone, and he left alone! Would that he had shared their fate with them, was his wish. Kind friends tried to console him, while others digged graves and performed the last office the living can do for the dead. Then they returned to the block-house.
Philip gave his service to his country during the remainder of the war. Several years later he sold the farm to a Mr. Culler, whose descendants own it to-day, and upon the site of the ill-fated cabin a monument now stands, erected to the memory of the Zimmer family and Martin Ruffner who fell in their defence.
The Indians who committed these crimes were stragglers from the Greentown tribe, who returned for rapine and murder. Of the five who con- stituted the party, Ruffner killed two, whose bodies were carried away, as was the custom among the Indians, and the three survivors were afterward captured about five miles below New Philadelphia, on what is now called Fern Island, a picnic resort on the C. L. & W. Railway, near the Royal Clay works.
The massacre at the Zimmer cabin aroused the feelings of the people not only in Richland but also in other counties almost to frenzy, and com- panies were organized at Wooster, New Philadelphia and other places to protect the settlers. Captain Mullen commanded the Wooster company and Alex McConnel the one at New Philadelphia.
Fern island is an isle in the Tuscarawas river, one of the most poetry- inspiring streams in the state. It courses through one of Ohio's most fertile valleys with an ease and grandeur that is both restful and inspiring. As rays of light shine upon its dark waters they reflect emerald tints as though the bottom was paved with precious stones. But the Indians had not sought that locality because of its romantic beauty, nor because the waters of the Tuscara- was were wont to dazzle one with their diamond-like gleams, but for the pro- tection the dense forest of that secluded isle would give them. The mark of Cain was upon them and the avenging Nemesis was following their trail. In that forest-embowered isle stood armies of ferns with nodding plumes and crimson falchions, and among these the tired savages lay down to sleep.
Captain McConnel, hearing that Indians were upon the island, marched his company over the "Plains," and when the destination was reached he left his men on the bank and swam his horse across the eastern branch of the river, and, surprising the redskins, took them prisoners. On reaching the company with his prisoners some of the men suggested that the Indians should be put to death. "Not until they have a trial according to law," said the
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captain. The prisoners were then marched up past the old site of Shoenbrun to New Philadelphia, and there incarcerated in jail. When the news of this capture reached Wooster the excitement there became intense and Captain Mullen marched his company to New Philadelphia to take summary vengeance upon the captives. Henry Laffer, then sheriff of Tuscarawas county, called upon the citizens to turn out and protect the prisoners, which they refused to do. John C. Wright, an attorney from Steubenville, was in town, and vol- unteered his services to the sheriff. Mr. Wright was afterward judge of the court of that circuit. Captain McConnel, Sheriff Laffer and Mr. Wright pleaded with the attacking party for the lives of the Indians and declared if the prisoners were molested it would be after they had walked over their dead bodies. The attack was finally abandoned and the company returned to Wooster.
While in jail there, Kanotche made a confession to the sheriff, detailing the Zimmer-Ruffner murder and the part he took in the same, admitting that he had killed Kate, and that the principal motive for the crime was rob- bery. The other prisoners did not confess and Kanotche refused either to implicate or exonerate them.
The Indians were kept in jail until Governor Meigs arrived in New Phil- adelphia, when they were turned over to the military authorities and were con- ducted by Lieutenant Shane of the regular army to the western part of the state, where, under the terms of a cartel, they, as prisoners of war, were released, the charge of murder not being placed against them.
While en route Lieutenant Shane, with his troops and prisoners, stopped over night at Newark, where an attempt was made by two recruits to buy drugs to poison the Indians, which shows the deep-seated feeling then existing against them on account of the atrocities and murders they had committed.
Kate Zimmer was described by the writer's father, who lived a few miles further down the valley and often saw her, as being a beautiful girl, a brunette, rather stout in build, and of a cheerful disposition. Tradition says she was engaged to be married to a man who lived near her former home in the east ; but this is not verified by history. Her reputed lover, Henry Martin, like Lilly Pipe, was a myth. Both were the creations of that gifted novelist, the Rev. James F. McGaw.
While June is the month of roses, September is regarded by many as being the most charming of the year. The hazy halo of the atmosphere with its languorous warmth are conductive to day dreaming. And, to follow the romance of the novelist, there were days of dreaming for the beautiful Kate, whose betrothed lover was soon to come to claim her for his bride. Days
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of roaming in the leafy forest or rowing upon the crystal lake ; days of watch- ing the crimson sunset shining redly through the darkness of the branches and glittering away as golden threads to a paradise too sweet to name; days when love seemed to fill the air and make music sweet in the rustle of the leaves; days when Kate wondered vaguely whether she was not dreaming happy dreams,-dreams too enhancing to last; and they were, for instead of the bridal robe the winding sheet was soon to be her habiliment.
The news of the murder of the Zimmer family caused the settlers to go to the block-house for safety, and nearly every cabin was left tenantless, and the country was filled with alarm, and not without cause, for other deeds of blood were soon to follow.
The name Zimmer was pronounced by the Pennsylvania German settlers something like Zemer, and McGaw, in his romance, changed it to Seymour.
The government deed was to Philip Zimmer, and when the land was transferred to Mr. Culler the deed was signed by Philip Zimmer and Eliza- beth Zimmer, his wife. Philip Zimmer married a Pickaway county woman soon after the close of the war, and the deed for the land in Richland county (now Ashland) was executed May 1, 1815, before Thomas Mace, a justice of the peace in Pickaway county.
Captain James Cunningham dispatched couriers in all directions to inform the settlers of the Zimmer massacre, and advised them to go to the block- houses for protection. All the settlers of the Black Fork, Mr. Copus and family included, took refuge in the block-houses, but Mr. Copus soon became restless of confinement in the Beam block-house and wanted to return home. He believed the Indians were all gone, but if any were lurking around he felt confident they would do him no harm, as he was their friend. When he stated that he intended to return to his cabin Captain Martin, the commandant at the block-house, protested against his taking such a step and told him he would endanger the lives of himself and family by doing so.
Mr. Copus was a man of decided opinions, and on the morning of the fourth day after the Zimmer murder started with his wife and seven children to their forest home, a detail of nine soldiers going with them. Captain Martin, who was going out with a scouting party, promised to call and spend the night there. Finding no trace of the Indians, and reconnoitering farther than they had intended to go, they did not get to the Copus home until noon the next day, too late to avert the fate that had fallen upon that household.
THE FATAL RETURN.
When the Copus party arrived at the cabin they found things undisturbed,
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with the stock grazing in the fields. The soldiers indulged in athletic sports during the day, and, seeing no signs of Indians, felt no uneasiness for the safety of the family. However, Sarah, the twelve-year-old daughter of Mr. Copus, going into the field for potatoes for dinner, saw some Indians lurking there. This she did not tell, knowing her father did not believe they were near, and, being a very strict man, would punish her for trying to raise an alarm. As evening drew near the sun gave a strange, weird aspect to the sky that seemed ominous of ill. Its rays melted into a transparent sheen that stretched over hill and valley, casting a forboding aspect upon the earth, which was remembered and commented upon in after years by those who witnessed the phenomenon. Mr. Copus became apprehensive of danger and insisted upon the soldiers sleeping within the cabin; but, the night being warm, they pre- ferred the barn, a few rods distant, but promised to come to the cabin at the morning's dawn. As the night advanced Mr. Copus' fears increased and the intervening hours were weary, sleepless, restless ones, and he told his family of his forebodings of dangers. Except the barking of the dogs, silence re gned without, but the death angel hovered over the valley.
THE COPUS MASSACRE.
"The Indians shook the morning air With their wild and doleful yells."
As the dawn of Tuesday morning, September 15, 1812, approached, the nine soldiers, true to their promise, left their couches of hay at the barn and went to the cabin. As they grouped around the door amber streaks darted into golden rays in the eastern sky, heralds of the coming day. The troops, no doubt, recalled the red-flamed sky of the preceding sunset and were thank- ful that the night was being succeeded by the glorious light of another day, so beautiful in its aerial aspect that one might have imagined it presaged the resurrection and looked for angels to appear and proclaim that "Time was, time is, but time shall be no more;" but it was the angel of death that was soon to claim four of that little band.
Mr. Copus, still apprehensive of danger, cautioned the soldiers to be on their guard, but they laughed at his fears, and, leaning their muskets against the cabin, went to the spring, a few rods away ; but ere they had finished their lavations the Indians came upon them with demoniacal yells, and-
"On the right, on the left, above, below,
Sprung up at once the lurking foe;"
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THE ATTACK.
And forty-five painted savages, armed with muskets, tomahawks and scalping knives, rushed upon the unarmed soldiers and a scene of carnage, of butchery and death ensued! When the attack was made Mr. Copus hastily seized his rifle and went to the door and as he opened it a ball fired by an advancing savage passed through the leather strap that supported his powder horn and entered his breast, inflicting a wound from which he expired within an hour.
When fired upon, being unarmed, the soldiers fled in different directions. Two attempted to reach the forest upon the hillside for protection, but were overtaken by the Indians, murdered and scalped. Their names were John Tedrick and George Shipley. A third, named Warnock, was shot through the bowels, but went some distance, and, becoming weak from loss of blood, sat down by a tree and died. He had stuffed his handkerchief into the wound to stop the flow of blood. His body was found several weeks afterward, in a sitting posture. Five of the soldiers who were nearer the cabin got inside safely, but the sixth, named George Dye, was not so fortunate and was shot through the thigh as he entered the door, and George Launtz was shot in the arm, a short time later, while removing a chink to make a port hole in the wall.
Mr. Copus, who realized that he was mortally wounded, entreated the soldiers to defend, as best they could, his wife and children.
WITHIN THE CABIN.
The scene within the cabin was pathetically dramatic. He who an hour before stood as the protector of his family now lay in the throes of death, his grief-stricken wife and seven children grouped about his bedside, and as the spirit of this just man took its flight the mother, as the center of that little band of mourners, was seen to gaze upward-heavenward-as if in prayer, commending her fatherless children to Him who tempers the winds to the shorn lamb and who alone can bind up the broken heart.
But they had soon to turn from the dead and assist the soldiers in their defence of the cabin. Early in the contest, Nancy Copus, aged fifteen, was shot above the knee, inflicting a painful wound. The children were then placed up-stairs for greater safety, and that was but poor, for a number of the Indians were upon the hillside in front of the house and kept up an incessant f.ring upon the roof of the house, until the clapboards, it is said, afterward presented almost a sieve-like appearance. And nearly all that forenoon the
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battle raged and the deadly lead was fired not only upon the roof but also upon the walls, windows and doors of that home, and the yells of the murder- ous savages were enough to daunt the bravest heart.
THE HEROIC DEFENCE.
The few soldiers within made a heroic defence. They fired through port-holes and their aim was often unerring, as : number of the redskins were seen to fall to rise no more. After five long hours of murderous assault from outside and of valiant defence from within, the awful contest ended by the Indians retreating, taking their dead with them and firing a parting volley into a flock of sheep which had huddled together in terror near the barn.
After the Indians had disappeared, one of the soldiers got out upon the roof of the cabin, and, cautiously glancing around and seeing no foe, climbed down and went to the Beam block-house for assistance. About I o'clock Captain Martin and his squad of soldiers who had been expected to arrive the night before, came upon the scene two hours after the battle had ended, but before assistance had time to come from the block-house. Captain Martin, not seeing any Indians in his reconnoitre the day previous, and not expecting any trouble at the Copus home, had bivouacked for the night at the Ruffner cabin, near where Mifflin now stands, three and a half miles north of the Copus settlement.
ARRIVAL OF THE TROOPS.
During the forenoon Captain Martin thought he heard firing, but sup- posed the troops below were at target practice. When Martin and his troops arrived at the scene of the tragedy they were appalled at the horrible spectacle that met their view. Attention was given to the wounded and the dead were buried. An attempt was made to track the Indians and it was thought they went east; but as they had three hours start they were not pursued. The bodies of Copus, Tedrick and Shipley were buried in one grave a few rods from the cabin and a monument now marks their grave. Stretchers were made upon which to carry the wounded, and the march of the whole party to Beam's block-house was commenced. As it was late in the day when the start was made, they went only a short distance until they stopped for the night. By that time the number of the party had increased to about one hundred, and pickets were thrown out to guard against surprise. The march was resumed the next morning, the route being up the valley to Mifflin, thence west along a trail now known as the Mansfield-Wooster road, and then down
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to the Beam block-house, the distance being about thirteen miles, where they arrived safely in the evening.
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THE MISSING SOLDIER FOUND.
Several weeks afterward a squad of soldiers accompanied Henry Copus, a son of James Copus, to the cabin, and on the way, some distance from the Copus cabin, they discovered the missing soldier (Warnock) sitting against a tree, dead. They buried him near where he was found. They also found the bodies of two Indians, which were left to their fate.
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