USA > Ohio > Ashland County > History of Ashland County, Ohio > Part 31
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His was a nature free from the uneasy or painful emotion produced by an apprehension of danger, on the contrary he was fearless and bold. This much we know of him. He emigrated from Shenandoah county, Virginia, in 1807, to Fairfield county, Ohio, and thence in 1812 to this immediate locality, then a ' part of the unorganized county of Richland. A man of wonderful physical strength, endurance and activity, of large kind heart and generous soul, in every fact such an one as we would look for if we were seeking for a pioneer, one who goes before to remove obstructions and prepare the way for others.
There was nothing of rudeness or roughness in Martin Ruffner. There was in him the strength and courage of a man, but there was also in him the gentle- ness and heart of a woman. I make mention in this public way of these dominant traits in his character, as I have learned them from the fathers of some of you-the generations now gone-because there is with me an apprehen- sion, a conviction, that by reason of some poetic license or liberty taken by writers of our own day, touching the lives and achievements of our first settlers, free rein has been given the imagination, and invention has been resorted to, so that unless we are exceedingly cautious and careful, we may wholly misappre- hend the true worth, the genuine character of Martin Ruffner.
He never degenerated in his conversation, or musings into recklessness of statement, or impiety of thought. True, he was unlearned and artless, and did not understand the cause and effect, and never could have framed in words such beautiful description of the brilliantly colored arch spanning the regions of the heavens, opposite to the sun, as Ralph Waldo Emerson, when he apos- trophised the rainbow "as the beautiful daughter of the morning, springing from the invisible." But the eyes of Martin Ruffner's soul, as he looked up and into the sky, as he gazed through the bright sunlight and through the pearl
MONUMENT IN COMMEMORATION OF THE COPUS MASSACRE
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drops, on the bow of promise, saw all the same beauty, and grandeur, and glory, so beautifully and exactly described by the philosopher of Concord.
I shall have no care of my friends to recite to you the incidents in the early history of this locality, which led to, and became a part of the tragic events, which were enacted in September, 1812, in and about the cabin home erected on the spot where we are now assembled. I shall not undertake to picture to you the untamed savage and his remorseless cruelties nor shall I more than state the fact, that then as now, not all of cruelty nor all of barbarity was perpetrated by the Indian. There were some white men then.
"Who wolves and bears were they,
While wild in woods the noble savage ran."
The story in detail, as well as in the main is familiar to you all. What 1 do want to do in the presence of this unnumbered multitude of the sons and daughters of men is to emphasize that seventy years ago in the sparse settlements, in the homes of the pioneers, all the offices of love and humanity were promptly, lovingly performed and that our fathers before us failed and we who today live on the active theatre of life, have long delayed to do justice, to worthily mark the ground where rests, and for years has reposed, the mortal part of an heroic man. Tardily have we done our duty, yet better late than never. Not so
Martin Ruffner, you will recall readily in your memories the immediate ante- cedents of his death, and from them we may learn with what alacrity he ran, though danger and death were about him, to the help and succor of his neighbor.
There was not the slightest hesitation. It was enough for Martin Ruffner that there was a possibility, a probability, of harm overtaking and empowering weakness and innocence-the weakness of old age and the helplessness of youth, the innocence of venerable gray hairs, and the security of maidenly modesty and beauty. Then the fact was made known to him that the red man of the forest had drawn tight the strings of his bow, and refilled his quiver with death-dealing arrows, he took no thought of his personal safety, but his eye traveled over hill and valley and rested upon the cabin home of the venerable Zeimer. To think with him was to act. His presence might save the father from torture and death, and the daughter from a fate far worse. He reached it, and life and safety seemed secured with his coming. The foe came also, but Ruffner's
presence was proof against direct open attack. Like the Greeks of old, bearing gifts, they gain admittance, they accept the proffered hospitality, they are about to eat the bread and salt of the white man prepared by his daughter, when at a signal, instead they commence the bloody butchery! For once Ruffner was deceived and taken unawares. His trusty rifle was near, but time was too precious to bring it to the shoulder, the tomahawk was casting its shadow as it flashed above the gray grown Zeimer. Ruffner discharged his rifle at the foremost Indian, who fell, a bleeding corpse, at his feet; and instantly clubbing his rifle he dealt out several blows on the savages, and another Indian lay prostrate upon the floor; but in the act of raising his rifle for another assault, it struck a joist above his head, the blow was arrested. The Indians, taking advantage of this mishap, fired upon him, and the gallant Ruffner fell to rise no more. Two balls had pierced his body, either of which would have proved fatal.
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The Indians dragged the dying hero into the yard, where they performed their last bloody deed, the taking of his scalp.
Brave, courageous soul, today we hail you! Many, many moons have waxed and waned since you and death here held the dark encounter. Seventy times have the several seasons made their circling rounds since your strong arm was raised to protect, and itself struck down; but the memory of your unselfish life has not and shall not perish from the earth. Today we cut it on the endur- ing granite, engrave it on the imperishable bronze-aye, more, it is indelibly written on the tablets of the hearts of a vast multitude of men and women whose homes and hearthstones are on the hillsides and in the valleys of the Mohican.
Friends, when the granite has crumbled into dust, when the bronze has perished by the elements, kind words, good and great deeds shall still survive. So Martin Ruffner-Pioneer, Hero, Man.
DR. P. H. CLARK'S ADDRESS AT THE MONUMENT.
Ossian says: The "memories of the past are pleasing but mournful to the soul." Such memories are mournful because they are significant of the mauso- leum or perhaps the casket in which are entombed so many buried memories of hopes of friends, of happy hours, of nearly everything we hold dear, on the other hand they are pleasing because the hand of time has thrown the dark pall of forgetfulness over the faults of lost friends, and has preserved their virtues and good deeds, which are ever present. Now while standing around the graves of the murdered victims of savage hate and barbarian revenge, memories of the mighty past, may well pass before our vision like the panorama with its thous- and changing views, while each and all have no perspective but sorrow and gloom. Sorrow and regrets that noble, hardy and self-sacrificing pioneers, sons and daughters of toil, should have been the victims to have suffered vicarious punish- ment at the hands of blood-thirsty savages for the wrongs they had received from others, regrets that the Greentown Indians should have endured wrongs so deep and lasting, that they deemed nothing but white men's blood could ever be received in atonement. Regrets and sorrow that these Indians should have beer torn from their homes, marched off under guard, their town burned, their property confiscated and destroyed, sacred pledges and obligations made them wantonly violated, when they had never committed a single overt act. All this was done for fear that one might be perpetrated. Because Tecumseh had entered into a league with the British to harass and destroy our western people, it was feared these friendly and hitherto harmless Indians might join his forces in the work of destruction; therefore they must be placed where they could be kept under strict and continued surveillance. Who ever heard of a court-martial being convoked for the trial of soldiers for the incendiary act of burning down a village when its legitimate owners, men, women and children were prisoners1 Or who ever heard of an investigation being held to even ascertain who were the guilty offenders engaged in the dastardly and cowardly act of the destruction of everything they held dear, and in wantonly violating sacred obligations? Can any one tell us who ever made restitution for these multiplied wrongs to
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the value of a cent ? When the forces came to remove them they begged and plead to be allowed to remain in peace and quietude in their homes, and as an earnest of their intentions offered to surrender their guns and other implements of Indian warfare, together with their ponies. But no! the edict had gone forth and go they must, and for fear they might return, all must be destroyed. Seventy years ago last Sunday came the last installment of vengeance and as usual innocent parties were the unconscious victims.
Look on this monument just unveiled, you will read Martin Ruffner, Frederick Zeimer, his wife and daughter Kate, killed by the Indians September 15, 1812. One cannot even read the account in the various histories given of this infamous deed without having his blood congeal with horror at the magni- tude of its sanguinary atrocity. Even poor Kate, after having set the table and furnishing her murderers a meal, must have the tomahawk buried in her brain. Five days elapsed when the second installment of vengeance followed which fell like a thunderbolt on the already bowed heads of the pioneers.
On the monument unveiled this morning you read : James Copus, and three soldiers, George Shipley, John Tedrick and Mr. Warnock, killed by the Indians, September 15, 1812. The first we know to have been an innocent victim, for he had been friendly with them and strenuously argued against their removal. We have no right to suppose the others as being guilty of wrongs, and have a right to believe them innocent. If vengeance slept thereafter, it was because there was no material left, for nearly every pioneer went to the blockhouse for safety, or fled from this portion of the state; some to return in after years, others to stay away forever, let us retrospect a moment. When the first Ohio pioneer set foot upon the virgin soil of our now blessed state, they found an unbroken forest that had no metes nor bounds, vast and boundless as the ocean. We have no forests nor woods now in the state that can be found for comparison. The soil had become so rich, containing as it did all the elements of a producing character, that the trees grew so large and their branches so wide spread, and in many places it was nearly dark at midday, the annual fall of leaves and the decay of fallen timber continuing for a multitude of ages, no man can even dream how long, accumulating year by year, layer after layer of material containing all the elements essential to the production of such a monstrous growth of timber.
A man could often travel for miles through these mighty forests without scarcely seeing a blade of grass, or a weed except in the swales or low grounds. All were decayed leaves under foot and mighty trees with famous branches as far as the eye could see overhead. These branches were interwoven and inter- twined in endless variety and profusion. Inhabiting these forests were deni- zens of great variety and character. Savage beasts and still more savage and blood-thirsty men roamed through them at pleasure. Loathsome and venemous reptiles, "with sting of head and sting of tail" were under and about nearly every decayed log. The fearful quilled porcupine, and the never dying opossum had each their favorite haunts. The chattering squirrel and the sly raccoon were everywhere. The screaming panther and the sneaking wolf fought for the mastership. The cunning fox and the perfumed polecat, each contested his rights with the wildcat and the lynx. The ponderous bear roamed at will, fearing nothing but his more savage master, the red Indian. The timid deer with its trembling fawn were the denizens of every thicket and glade.
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At times in these wonderful groves the utter silence was litterly painful. Again the wildwoods resounded on every hand with the most discordant jargon of unearthly sounds ever heard by mortal ear. The screams of the panther commingled with the howls of the wolf and the shriek of the blood-chilling screech owl would wake up the slumbering echoes in these grand old forest aisles, until it would seem to mortal ears as though pandemonium were let loose. Again these aisles would seem to be alive with nature's sweetest harmonies of music wonderously beautiful. The wind whispering gently through the branches and the soft rustling of the millions of leaves became enrapt with the soul of sentiment and unconscious dreams were evolved; dreams formed of the evanes- cent intonations of harmony found nowhere save in the realms of peace. The tapping of the woodpecker on the deadened limb of an old tree, the soft barking of the squirrel, the solemn hoot of the owl, the hardly distinguishable drum of the partridge in the distance, the gentle hum of the wild bee, the chirp of the wood cricket, the whippoorwill's song in the distant thicket, all attuned to the whispering breeze, gave unisonant vibrations of harmony at once ravish- ingly sweet and beautiful. Nature's dream songs know no discordant elements. From the heart throb scarcely perceptible in sound to the bellowing thunder, are but gradient ranges of the selfsame intoned elements of harmony. Such was the condition of the present vast state of Ohio, when those great moral heroes, the earliest pioneers, began the work of subduing these great forests, and their denizens, whether wild beasts or the still wilder Indian. The task must be accomplished without either moral or material resources, amid dangers and privations enough to paralyze the strongest arm and blanch the ruddiest cheek.
The Israelites murmured because they were obliged to make brick without . straw, but these pioneers with all the elements of heroism as one of their chief characteristics, made no sigh. A spot must be cleared in these primeval forests that a little corn might be raised to keep the wolf from the door and to sustain life while clearing more ground.
The man who has cleared an acre in our present woods with all the resources that art and the civilization of today has placed in his hands, can have but little idea of the physical labor required to clear an acre then, as his only material resources were an axe and a gun. But as soon as he has provided game meat sufficient to last a few days, then he must start to the back settlements to the mill, and pack on his back corn meal and salt to supply family necessities. In time his acre was cleared and his corn planted, birds would scratch it up, and squirrels would dig it out; when replanted and watched and the corn in the milk, birds would pick it, squirrels would strip the husks and eat and waste it, the raccoon would tear it down and eat it, the wily opossum also loved it, and the black bear would tear down and eat a square rod of it at a meal, so that when he harvested his corn, if he got a third part for his share he was lucky thus far. Thus with no resources except a ready will, a stout heart, and the brawny arm, the earliest pioneer began the great work of laying the foundation, the base, the superstructure, of which is now the great state of Ohio, teeming with wealth and all the resources that wealth and art can produce, is at her command. Our murdered pioneers, over whose remains we have placed these monuments, had passed that critical period when starvation had stared them in
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the face. They had their little patches of ground cleared and comfortable cabins built and were just emerging into a condition to be able to apply vigor- ous efforts in improving their farms, when the red handed murderers sent them to these untimely graves; it is fitting that these memorial stones should be obtained and erected, under the auspices of our Pioneer Association and His- torical Society, although the means were obtained by individual effort. These granite monuments are imperishable and they will stand here notifying future generations of their object, as long as Cleopatra's needle stood in the Nile valley.
In conclusion let us hope that every stranger who reads these inscriptions in the unknown future, will be able to say with us today " rest in peace."
PREDICTION FULFILLED.
The . Rev. J. F. McGaw, in his interesting, but misleading romance of Philip Seymour, makes the following prediction, that monuments in time would be erected commemorative of Martin Ruffner, James Copus, the Zeimer family and the soldiers who had been killed on Copus hill in 1812, which has been ap- propriately fulfilled. The prediction was: "And future generations will mark the sacred spot where the gallant Dutchman fell. A monument will yet be erected to his memory and posterity will visit his grave and read the history of his untimely fate."
The late Dr. S. Riddle, secretary of the Ashland County Pioneer Society, sometime after the meeting on Copus hill wrote interestingly of that gathering and gave a list of quite a number of those who had attended, from which we take the following :
One of the most remarkable events that has occurred in the history of our country for a long time past, was the meeting on Copus hill on Friday, the 15th day of September, 1822, a memorial day, the day on which the Copus tragedy took place being just seventy years ago. The day was calm and serene. The large concourse of people who gathered there-about six thousand-and the circumstances connected with the history of the place, made it, to me, one of the most solemn of my life; to see so many people both old and young convened together perhaps for the first time in life, and most certainly for the last time, that all will meet again on earth. Oh! what a sad thought when so many said their last farewell to each other on that day-a day long to be remembered by all. And another strange but solemn thought that when the next seventy years shall roll around, who will be left of that vast crowd to tell the story. Alas, a few little boys and girls it may be. It was to me more like a great funeral occasion, than like a gala day. As far as I can recollect, their ages ranged from forty to ninety years. First those of Mansfield and Richland county.
Dr. William Bushnell, a man of sterling worth and fine abilities, who made the remark to the writer that he did not believe that this country would, in the next thousand years to come, produce a race of men and women, who, for in- telligence, as well as muscle and nerve and strength of character, equal to our pioneer fathers and mothers.
Lowry Sibbits, justice of the peace, who was the first to sign my paper in Mansfield and took an active part in its circulation.
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Mansfield H. Gilkison, the first male child born in Mansfield-born Feb- ruary 2, 1811, remark by the writer, that was on ground-hog day.
A. J. Baughman, editor of the Call, with his dear old mother on his arm, she, whose maiden name was Cunningham, daughter of Captain Cunningham, who assisted in burying the dead Copus, and the soldiers on that fearful day, September 15, 1812.
Henry C. Hedges, Esquire, one of the speakers of the day.
John Diltz, postmaster at Independence.
Reuben Evarts, of Bellville, once a hard working boy, but now a man in good circumstances, having been justice of the peace some thirty-six years, dating from 1843 to 1879, is an old pioneer and worthy citizen.
Rev. J .. A. Hall, pastor of the Mount Zion church, delivered a short speech of welcome and prayer.
Casper Snyder, who gave the first dollar towards the monument, (to the writer.) Long live Casper Snyder.
Andrew Mason, an old pioneer of Ashland, now about eighty-three years of age, full of life and anecdote, and has an excellent memory.
Major G. W. Urie, tall and straight as an arrow, about seventy-six years of age, who had just passed through a severe attack of spasmodic disease, in which he came very near death's door, but whose gentle and stately form and familiar face was seen by many; whose father, Solomon Urie, it was, who passed quietly down to the Copus place, and with tomahawk in hand, cut out of that door, and honeycombed logs, a handful of the redskin's bullets that had fallen short of their deadly aim. The Major says he remembers well of seeing them, as they were kept a long time in the family as relics.
Benjamin Croninger, one of the committee and vice president of Mifflin township
Daniel Kauffman, one of the committee and president of the Ashland Coun- ty Pioneer Historical Society.
Solomon Vail, one of the committee of canvassers, and one of the managers on this occasion.
Hon. E. C. Eckley, of Butler, Pennsylvania, and one of Ashland county's enterprising sons.
Dr. Daniel Eckley, of Ashland county, now mayor of Minerva, Ohio, and brother of E. R., brought to the stand by Thomas Bushnell, an old schoolmate.
Thomas Stafford, of Hayesville, first class horseman.
General Williard Slocum, one of Ashland's honored sons, and an active member of the Ashland County Pioneer Society.
J. H. McCombs, Esquire, who first commenced the practice of law in New- ville, Richland county, in an humble way, who passed up and down your valleys, over hills, and along your streams, and died an honored citizen of Ashland and counsellor at law.
A. L. Curtis, once probate judge of Ashland county and counsellor at law. Rev. P. R. Roseberry, of Ashland, delivered a fine address which was listen- ed to with marked attention.
Dr. S. Riddle, one of the committee and general superintendent.
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Dr. P. H. Clark, of Ashland, one of the speakers of the day, also secretary of the Pioneer Historical Society of Ashland county.
Daniel Carter, of Ashland, eighty years old.
David Carter, vice president of Montgomery township.
Joseph Wasson, an old citizen of Ashland; his family all dead, he is now a lone widower, and book agent.
Thomas Bushnell, of Hayesville, that most industrious of all men, one of the best judges of fruit in the state, and a lover and collector of relics and curiosities.
Mr. Birely and Mr. Carnahan, both good citizens and good farmers; Sebas- tian Culler, a wealthy farmer and one of the prime movers in putting up the monuments.
Isaac Gates, sheriff of Ashland county, that man who was sheriff thirty years ago, and hung Charles Stiengraver, on Friday, the 30th day of January, 1852, and Horn and Gribben, on Friday, May 16, 1884.
Lewis Oliver, eighty-nine years of age, whose father, Allen Oliver, was one of the first pioneers in the county, and at whose house the Indians often called. It was there that Billy Dowdee, the tame Indian, traded a large buckskin for a pot of mush and milk for his hungry wife and children, who himself ate to perfect satisfaction.
Mrs. Kauffman, a daughter of Leonard Croninger, one of the first settlers of Mifflin township, and wife of our venerable president, Daniel Kauffman. She is one of the excellent of the earth.
Mrs. Sarah Vail is eighty-three years of age, and daughter of James Copus, and the only surviving one of the family in this county, who a few days before met the writer and J. I. Dorland, builder of the monuments. When approaching the place, who with faltering steps, and weeping eyes, where the cherished dead of long ago were still sleeping, said: "There drive your stake and I am satisfied."
But what more can I say, for the time would fail me to tell of your Dotys, your Charles, your Cullers and your Lambrights; the Petersons, the Jones, the Vangilders, the Shambaughs, the Hossingers, the Wilsons, the Weiricks, the Kings, the Rices, the Gladdens, the Coulters, the Olivers and the Tannehills, who, if they have not subdued kingdoms and stopped the mouths of lions, have most certainly subdued the mighty forests and wrought righteousness; have made the wilderness and solitary places to bud and blossom as the rose, and chased the red man and the wild deer, the wolf and the bear, far, far away.
And now I come to speak of him who had toiled long to see a clear historic account made out, and whose whole heart and soul was in the work, and whose greatest earthly joy would have been to have mingled in the exercises of the day at the unveiling of the monuments on that most interesting occasion; the ever memorable day, the 15th of September, 1882. But alas, the poor man's eye is too dim to see, and his palzied tongue too feeble to utter a distinctive sound, and his physical strength too weak to perform such a task as this. Nevertheless long will his memory be cherished in the minds of the true pioneers. Soon will it be said of him, "my brother fare thee well," Dr. George Hill.
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