USA > Ohio > Ashland County > History of Ashland County, Ohio > Part 11
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How the little mother would scold sometimes. She'd say : "Andre Jack- son you and Thomas Jefferson and Jonathan Edwards git right down off o' that table! or Peter Cartright you're swingin' on that trammel again; first thing you know down it'll come and hurt Martha Washington or Molly Stark, or John Wesley ; or Mary Magdelene, that's not the first time I kitchece you eatin' crout by the handful right out'n the bar'l."
When the little woman died a dozen years ago, we were glad the old drummer didn't ask us to write an obituary. No language could have ex- pressed our thoughts. We loved her dearly. We are indebted to her.
A few days ago the men who were working with plow and scraper removing the gravelly little knoll on the bank of the creek at the edge of our village, brought to surface some human bones. There was the sturdy thigh bone, the arm, the ribs and finally the bold square jaw of the resolute old red man, the teeth worn down as though for a century he had eaten his tough venison seasoned with sand. And then came a shelly bit of a woman's skull, and her jaw tight and more delicately fashioned by far than was that of the old slumberer who had
KUNKEL
STRATTON & STAND
OW CIGA
HDRY STHAUS NASTA, CHE
RKS
MAIN ST. ASHLAND, O.
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shared her dreamless couch for so many, many years. This incident impressed us forcibly. The fine quality of gravel in which lay for so long the bones of these unknown savages, was discovered to be just the thing needed on the principal streets in our village. No doubt the old chieftain selected that breezy knoll, on the banks of the then beautiful and freely flowing stream under the magnificent trees that crowned its summit, for at that time the fertile valley had not been trodden by the foot of the bold pioneer. Whoever selected that spot had an eye for the beautiful in nature, and had the same thought that comes to us when we meditate on the last sad and closing scenes. Who knows! may be the poor old chieftain loved that pretty knoll as we did in our early years, and he may have dreamed there in saddened mood of the tide of civiliza- tion that was slowly coming nearer and nearer to crowd aside his people even as they had obliterated the mound builders, and in turn possess their vast hunting grounds.
Bryant must have had such a picture as this in his mind when he coined into song the painful thought of the Indian :
I hear the tread of pioneers, Of nations yet to be, The first low wash of waves where soon Shall roll a human sea.
So the little knoll is profitable and according to one of nature's immutable laws, the Indian's grave and its mouldering contents will live anew in a highway to be trodden under foot of man and hereafter whoever drives down main street, may grind his carriage wheels upon bones that are turning to dust. And the old chieftain's yellow teeth way be picked up any day and find a lodgment in the pocket of the little Arab's ragged jacket.
It is related that an apple tree planted on the grave of Roger Williams, the founder of the state of Rhode Island, who died in 1683, that the roots of the tree struck down and spread out into the shape and figure of the man, following his arms and legs and trunk. So that learned men familiar with the mysteries of nature and her strange metamorphoses, declare that Roger Williams passed into an apple tree, and lives again on this earth in another form, that of red- cheeked juicy apples.
The statue of Sir Robert Peel, a very eminent British statesman, was melted over to make one for Lord Palmerston. We need not shudder at these things, for nature set the first example. With her there is no death, no decay, nothing repulsive. Where Hamlet spoke of turning the clay of Alexander into the bung of a beer barrel, he spoke the naked truth. The heathen gods, even vaguely, penetrated this great mystery, as those familiar with mythology will remember. But at first when the old mound was opened and its sacred treas- ures brought to the surface by plow and scraper, 'we' almost rebelled. We woke in the morning after, and walked out under the pines and looked down that lovely sweep of picturesque valley below us and we sighed as the words of the old quaker poet Whittier came, as though borne to us on the breath of the serene summer's dawn.
And city lots are staked for sale,
Above old Indian graves.
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The words followed us about our work ; they seemed so sad; they expressed so much. We thought of the poor old pioneers who had beheld this vast wilder- ness, its grandeur of woods and waters, until now it blooms like unto the gardens of the gods. How beautiful the labor of their hands ! How much we owed them ! But the olden time, with its white crowned patriarchial heads is passing away. The glory of one age is dimmed in the golden glory of the age succeeding it. Change stamps its seal upon all things. The trail of the redman will soon be lost in the net work of the railroad, that like great arteries stretch themselves among our beautiful hills and smiling valleys. The green graves mulitply. The old graves dimple the quietest corners of our cemeteries. And still the words, full of prophecy that makes us sadder, abide with us, and burn with our thoughts :
And city lots are staked for sale, Above the Indian graves.
MISS ROSELLA RICE.
The following sketch of Miss Rosella Rice, late of Perrysville, Ashland county, was written by Colonel Sullivan D. Harris, and appeared in William T. Coggeshall's Poets and Poetry of the West a work which appeared in 1860.
Rosella Rice is a native of Ashland county, Ohio. Her father Alexander Rice, was among the early settlers of Perrysville, and Rosella has always re- sided at the old homestead, where she was born, about the year 1830. Miss Rice is a born poet, and has nursed her strange wild fancies amid the equally wild hills and glens and rocky caves which she has haunted with a devotion that has amounted to a life passion. Meeting with but few associates who could appre- ciate the depths of her passions for such communings her spirit was wont to retire within herself except when it was called forth by the presence of the sylvan gods which she worshiped. Her early contributions to the county papers are marked by her own rude, but genuine original characteristics. Coming but little in contact with the world at large, she built upon ideal models, wherever she departed from her own original. Miss Rice has read much and well, and within the last few years she has visited the wide world considerably. She has contributed to Arthur's Home Magazine, Philadelphia, and to several of the Cleveland, Columbus and other Ohio papers. Her prose writings always attract attention and secure a wide circulation from their peculiar original vigor and directness.
In addition to the foregoing from Mr. Harris, the author adds that Miss Rice was on the regular staff of Arthur's Home Magazine for at least a quarter of a century. Miss Rice died June 6, 1888.
EARLY DAY SPORTS.
It may be interesting to the younger as well as to the older class of people, to recall some of the sports and pastimes of the early settlers of Ashland county.
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A commendable feature of pioneer sports was that utility was blended with amusement, social gathering being cabin and barn raisings, logrollings, corn- huskings, woodchoppings and quilting parties. Rich and poor then met upon lines of social equality and the old and the young mingled alike in these old- time sports.
The people of those early days were helpful to each other not only in "raisings" and "rollings" requiring a force of men, but also in many other ways. If a man was incapacitated by sickness or other causes his neighbors set a day and went in force and plowed his corn, harvested his grain or cut his wood for the winter, as the season required. And when a pig, or a calf, or a sheep was killed in the summer a piece of the meat was sent to each family in the neighborhood, who reciprocated in kind, and in this way all had fresh meat the greater part of the season.
Cornhuskings were gala occasions. Frequently the ears were stripped from the stalks and hauled to a favorable place, where the unshucked ears were put in parallel or semi-circular windrows. Moonlight nights were usually chosen for husking occasions, and when the company gathered in the evening, captains were selected and the men chosen into two platoons, which competed in the husking work, each platoon trying to finish its pile or row first. At the finish the captain of the winning squad would be carried around on the shoulders of his men, amid their triumphal cheers, after which the bottle would be passed.
Women attended such gatherings, also, and sometimes assisted at the husk- ing, but were more frequently engaged during the early evening in quilting or sewing, or knitting and in helping to prepare the great supper feast which was served after the work was done.
There was a rule that a young man could kiss a girl for each red ear of corn found at a husking. It goes without saying that the girls all got kissed, some of them many times, for it was surprising how many red ears were found- so many that the number was prima facie evidence that some of the boys went to the gathering with their pockets full of red corn ears.
Nearly all the pioneer gatherings wound up, after supper, with a dance, in which the old joined as well as the young. When a fiddler could not be ob- tained, music was furnished by some one blowing on a leaf, or by whistling "dancing tunes." This dancing was more vigorous than artistic, perhaps, for there were vigorous people in those days, effeminacy not becoming fashionable until later years.
The pioneers were industrious people." The situation required the men to chop and grub, and clear the land ere they could plow and sow and reap. And the women had to spin and knit and weave and sew in addition to their household work. Upon one occasion a minister's wife was telling about her day's work, that in addition to making a pair of pantaloons and a bed-tick, "I've washed and baked and ironed six pies today."
Wool had to be carded into rolls by hand, and after it was spun into yarn and the yarn woven into cloth, the flannel had to be thickened or fulled to make it heavier for men's wear. This necessitated "fulling" or "kicking" parties, an enjoyable line of amusement. Upon such occasions the web of flannel was stretched out on the puncheon floor and held loosely at each end, while men with
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bared feet and rolled up trousers sat in rows at each side. Then the women poured strong hot soapsuds on the web, while the men kicked it vigorously, mak- ing the white foam of the suds fly over both kickers and attendants. This pour- ing and kicking lasted an hour or two, after which supper was served after the fashion of the times.
Carding and fulling mills and spinning and weaving factories came later, served their purpose, and their time, and now they, too, are gone, and now people can go to stores and get "hand-me-down" suits, without asking or caring where or how they were made.
While there were many social amusements in the early times, religious de- votions were not neglected. As there were but few church buildings, camp meetings were frequently held during the summer months. While the Metho- dists and "Brethren" took the lead in these outdoor gatherings, the Christians (Disciples) held similar convocations, one of which was at the Bently spring, south of Mansfield. At that meeting Captain James Cunningham was baptized by immersion by Elder McVay. This was the first baptism by that denomina- tion in Ashland county.
Camp meeting trips were enjoyable to both old and young. The roads to these "camps" often ran by sequested farms and through shady woodlands, where the rays of the sun shimmered through the leafy treetops, and the frag- rance of the June flowers sweetly perfumed the morning air.
At last glimpses of white tents could be seen, forming a semi-circle and sur- rounding an amphitheatre of rude seats in front of a pulpit canopied by the boughs of trees. At the camp, visitors were received with cordial greetings. for the "campers" had the warmth of friendship in their hearts and of Christian zeal in their souls, and their frank, unstudied manners and winsome ways were favorable preludes to the services that were to follow.
At these camp exercises some of the worshipers became quite demonstrative for the personal manifestations of joy or devotion differ as much as our natures differ. No two persons give expression in precisely the same terms to any human experience; the law of temperament forbids it. Religion can come to you only in accordance with your nature, and you can respond to it only in the same way.
Singing was a prominent feature of the religious services. It was the old-fashioned singing, such as our dear old mothers sang, and although faulty, perhaps, in note, came from the heart and went to the heart. The singing of today may be more artistically rendered, but it is the old-time tunes that com- fort us in our sorrow and sustain us in our trials. as they come back to us in sweet remembrance from the years that are past.
A SALT-BOILING INCIDENT.
In the early history of Ohio salt boiling was conducted wherever there were saline springs. Generally two or three men would join fortunes, erect a rough cabin and build a furnace near a saline spring, and there spend weeks, perhaps months, boiling salt in the wilderness.
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One of these establishments was owned and operated by a rough, mischievous fellow by the name of Miller, who was always ready for a joke, no matter how severe, or at whose expense. While Miller and his two associates in the enter- prise were seated around the great roaring furnace one morning, a stranger, lean and lank, having every symptom of a genuine Vermonter, approached on horseback, and asked permission to leave his pack saddle and other traveling appendages in their care, while he should spend the day in hunting. The favor being cheerfully granted, he dismounted, left his saddle, and wandered off in quest of deer.
As soon as the new comer was fairly out of sight, Miller, who looked upon him as an intruder, determined to annoy him; and as a convenient method of testing the calibre of the stranger he threw his pack saddle into the furnace, where it was soon reduced to ashes. Towards evening the hunter returned, and on very deliberately making. inquiry for his saddle was told the less he said about that the better, otherwise he might share the same fate. The remark was accompanied by a significant look towards the fire, which instantly suggested to the indignant stranger the whereabouts of his saddle. However, he said noth- ing and was soon on his homeward way.
In a few days he returned once more, seeming in a fine humor, and brought a new pack saddle, which he left in Miller's care, as before, charging him em- phatically not to burn that one, or else there would be a noise about it. Of course the warning not to touch the saddle was more than Miller was willing to bear, and he resolved to repeat the experiment as soon as the stranger should start on his day's hunt. No sooner had he turned his back upon the furnace than Miller called after him, "Look-a-here, mister! I'll show you who's a goin' to do the orderin' round here," and into the fire went the saddle with a will ! But in a moment the huge kettles, the walls of the furnace, and everything thereunto pertaining, were scattered in one universal wreck, the hot fluid sprink- ling freely over the unsuspecting heads of the salt boilers, and the clouds of hissing steam completely blinding them for awhile, thus affording the revengeful stranger opportunity to make good his escape, which he did without the formality of bidding his victims good bye! The truth flashed upon Miller's mind about as soon as the hot ashes flashed in his face : the pads of the new pack saddle had been stuffed with gunpowder.
FACTS VERSUS FICTION.
The book entitled "Philip Seymour, or Pioneer Life in Richland County,". written by the Rev. James F. McGaw, is a work of fiction and is not a history. It only claims to be a "romance founded on facts." The Rev. MeGaw was a minister of the Wesleyan denomination and at the time of writing that romance was a resident of Washington village, Washington township, Richland county. The story was written for the old Mansfield Herald newspaper, and appeared as a serial in 1857. The events narrated in the work are true in the main, but the characters introduced are partly mythical, while others are given fictitious
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names. The name Zeimer and Anglicized into Seymour, and later others Americanized the name into Zimmer.
In 1799 Frederick Zeimer came with his family, wife and seven children, from Maryland to Ohio and entered one-half of section 27, in Washing- ton township, Pickaway county. He was a man of means and after getting considerable land upon which he established his married sons, he removed to Richland county, with his wife, youngest son, Philip, and daughter Kate, and entered a quarter section of land in the Blackfork valley, now in Mifflin township, Ashland county, where the terrible tragedy, narrated in this work, occurred September 10, 1812. At the close of the war of 1812, Philip returned to his former home in Pickaway county, and later sold the Richland county land to Michael Culler, the deed for which was executed May 1, 1815, before Thomas Mace, a justice of the peace in and for the county of Pickaway, Ohio.
On the 2d day of April, 1815, Philip Zeimer was married to a Pickaway county girl named Betsy Valentine, whose family was a prominent and numerous one of that county. Their marriage is recorded in the probate court records at Circleville. Philip and Betsy Zeimer were the parents of five children, three sons and two daughters, all now deceased. Philip's wife died in 1836, aged forty-eight years and seven months. Philip died August 8, 1850, aged sixty- five years. The foregoing are facts from historical records, from the muniments of their estates and from monuments erected to their dead.
The man who was said to be engaged to Kate Zeimer was Jedediah Smith, who came and entered land in Washington township, Richland county, Ohio, in 1812. Mr. Smith, in looking for land, as McGaw's story goes, was directed by Johnny Appleseed to the Zeimer cabin, where he met and fell in love with Kate. MeGaw gives Mr. Smith in his romance the name of Henry Martin. Mr. Smith was at his old home in Washington county, Pennsylvania, when the Zeimers were killed by the Indians, and did not return to Ohio until 1816; he married some years later and lived to an advanced old age.
The Billy Bunting in the McGaw story was Levi Bargahiser, who became a wealthy farmer in Sharon township, Richland county, where he died December 26, 1868, aged seventy-seven years. While he may have had some peculiarity of speech, he did not lisp as McGaw represented, and neither did he marry an Indian. His wife's maiden name was Susanna Eshelman, whose family lived in Licking county, Ohio. A daughter of Mr. Bargahiser married the late J. C. Skiles, at one time a commissioner of Richland county. Some of the Bargahisers yet live near Shelby.
McGaw's work was a very interesting one and in book form passed through three editions. The copyright for the same is owned by A. J. Baughman, of Mansfield. The story is a very absorbing one, as it graphically depicts and portrays pioneer life and conditions, but it should not be taken seriously as a history of the county.
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V.
EARLY INCIDENTS.
There are many incidents which are difficult to classify and yet which were events that left their impress upon the history of the county and deserve to find a permanent place in the early records. One of these was
THE COPUS MASSACRE.
"The Indians shook the morning air With their wild and direful 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 thankful 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 from the house, but ere they had finished their lavations the Indians came upon them with demoniacal yells, and-"On the right, on left, above, below, sprung up at once the lurking foe."
And forty-five painted savages, armed with muskets, tomahawks and scalp- ing 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 pursued by the Indians, were overtaken, 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.
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Mr. Copus, who realized that he was mortally wounded, entreated the soldiers to defend, as best they could, his wife and children.
The scene within the cabin was pathetically dramatic. He, who an hour before stood as the protector of the family, now lay in the throes of death, his grief-stricken wife and seven children grouped about the bedside and as the spirit of this just man took 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 to soon 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 firing upon the roof of the cabin, until the clapboards, it was said, afterwards presented almost a sieve-like appearance. And nearly all that forenoon the battle raged and the deadly lead was fired not only upon the roof, but upon the walls, windows and door of that home and the yells of the murderous savages were enough to daunt the bravest heart.
The few soldiers within made a heroic defence. They fired through port- holes and their aim was often unerring as a 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 re- treating, 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 glanced around and, seeing no foe, climbed down and went to the Beam blockhouse for assistance. About one o'clock Captain Martin and his squad of soldiers, who had been expected the night before, arrived upon the scene two hours after the battle had ended, but before assistance had time to come from the blockhouse. 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 and three and a half miles north of the Copus settlement.
During the forenoon, Captain Martin thought he heard firing, but supposed 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.
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