USA > Ohio > Franklin County > Columbus > History of the city of Columbus, capital of Ohio, Volume I > Part 19
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Mr. Sullivant, says his son and biographer-who shall describe what followed- " lifted his compass, which was on the Jacob's staff standing beside him, and, toss- ing it into a fallen tree top, unslung the light shotgun he carried strapped on his back, and fired at an Indian who was advancing upon him with uplifted toma- hawk, and, turning about to look for his men, saw they were in a panic and rapidly dispersing, and he also took to his heels, and fortunately in about a quarter of a mile, fell in with six of his men. Favored in their flight by the darkness, and shaping their course by the stars, they journeyed all night and most of next day before halting.
The third night, as they were traveling along, footsore and weary, they heard voices which seemed to proceed from a hillock in front, and they stopped and hailed. The other party, discovering them at the same moment, challenged and ordered a halt. A parley ensued, when, to their great surprise those on the hill appeared to be the other and larger party of their own men. But no advance was made by either side, each fearing the other might be a decoy in the hands of the Indians, for it was not an uncommon trick for the cun- ning savages to compel their unfortunate prisoners to play such a part.3
After many inquiries and some threats had been exchanged, Mr. Sullivant ad- vanced alone, and immediately verified his belief that the men he had been parley- ing with were members of his own company. ' A reunion at once took place, amid the gloom of the wilderness, but not of the entire party. Two men were missing, and of these two one, named Murray, was known to have fallen dead at the first fire of the Indians.
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Many years after these events, while Madison County was being settled up, Mr. Sullivant's compass was found, in good condition, just where he cast it during his encounter with the Indians. His son, Mr. Joseph Sullivant, carefully pre- served it, and still had it in his possession at the time he wrote the foregoing narrative. 4
Some time after the Deer Creek adventure, Mr. Sullivant began his surveying operations within the present limits of Franklin County. His party carried with it a supply of bacon, flour and salt, but depended for its subsistence mainly upon the wild game of the woods. This not always being a sure reliance, the company cook was sometimes driven to dire expedients to satisfy the hungry stomachs of the party. On one occasion, coming in at night, weary and hungry, the men, to their great delight, were regaled with appetizing odors issuing from a steaming camp- kettle. When the mess was ready each one received his share of hot broth in a tin cup, the chief being awarded as his portion the boiled head of some small animal. Opinions differed as to what the animal was, the raccoon, rabbit, ground- hog, squirrel, porcupine and opossum each having its partisans. Finally, on being driven to the wall, the eook acknowledged that the soup had been made from the bodies of two young skunks which he had captured " without damage to himself" in a hollow log. The effect of this announcement was curious. Some of those who had partaken persisted that the soup was excellent, others wanted to whip the cook ; one, only, involuntarily emptied his stomach.
Wolves, howling and barking, hovered constantly around the camps of the expedition, seeking its offal, and the American panther, or catamount, was more than once seen prowling about on the same errand. Once, when the party had pitebed its camp near a place known to the early settlers as Salt Lick, on the west side of the Scioto, three miles below the present city of Columbus, a panther was detected crouched on the limb of a tree, almost directly over the campfire around which the men were sitting. The tail of the beast was swaying to and fro, its eyeballs glaring and its general behavior such as to indicate that it was about to make a spring. Seizing his rifle, a huntsman of the party took steady aim between the two blazing eyes, and fired. The panther instantly came down with a ter- rific scream, and scattered the campfire with the leaps and convulsions amid which it expired.
When Mr. Sullivant awoke the next morning after this adventure, he felt some ineubus on his person, and soon discovered that a large rattlesnake had coiled itself upon his blanket. Giving blanket and snake both a sudden toss, he sprang to his feet, and soon made away with his uninvited bedfellow.
In the course of a subsequent expedition Mr. Sullivant appointed a rendezvous for his party at the junction of the Scioto and Whetstone (now Olentangy) then known to the surveyors and map-makers as the Forks of the Scioto. Should his men arrive there before he did, they were directed to leave a canoe for him, pro- ceed up the river and await him at the mouth of a stream now called Mill Creek. Owing to detention, he arrived at the Forks late in the afternoon, but found a canoe awaiting him as arranged, and immediately set out in it to rejoin his com- panions. He had but just pushed into the stream when he detected three Indians lurking in a grove of huge sycamores which then stood on the west bank of the Whetstone. He drove his canoe rapidly up stream, cantiously followed by the
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Indians, who apparently expected to surprise him after he should encamp for the night. At dusk he landed on a brushy island opposite a point since known as the Quarry, three miles above the Forks. Perceiving that the Indians were still following, he drew up his canoe ostentatiously for the night, cnt brush, drove stakes and built a fire, as if intending to encamp, then taking his gun, compass and pack, he crossed to the west side of the river, and pushed on afoot. The Indians were completely disconcerted by this stratagem and gave no further annoyance. After proceeding a little way, Mr. Sullivant wrote an account of this adventure on a leaf of his note book, and left it in a split stick stuck in the ground beside a tree on which he carved his initials and the date. "A long time afterward," says his biographer, " when botanizing on the bank of the river above the quarry, I took refuge from a passing shower under the spreading branches of a large sugar tree. Some ancient ax marks on the bark attracted my attention, and, passing around the tree, I was surprised at seeing the letters L. S. and a date on the bark. This event, which I had heard related in my boyhood, instantly occurred to me, and I perceived 1 was standing on the precise spot where my father had left this memo- rial of himself, in the solitude of the wilderness, near fifty years before, when fleeing for his life, with naught but his own courage and self-reliance to sustain him.175
After rejoining his party, Mr. Sullivant continued his canoe voyage up the river and halted for several days on a creek, to which as a compliment to one of bis trusted scouts and hunters he gave the name of Boke.6
The following passages from the pen of Mr. Joseph Sullivant in the Sullivant Family Memorial, are of such local interest as to justify reproduction entire:
I have heard my father state that on another occasion, he was again ascending the Scioto with his party in canoes, in the latter part of April, and when a half mile below the place now known as the Marble Cliff quarries, with the wind blowing down stream, they encountered a most peculiar and sickening odor, which increased as they advanced, and some of the men were absolutely overcome with nausea occasioned by the intolerable effluvium.
When arriving opposite the cliff the cause was revealed, and it was found to proceed from a prodigious number of snakes, principally rattlesnakes, which, just awakened from their winter torpor, were basking in the spring sunshine. Mr. Sullivant said, unless he had seen it, he never could have imagined such a sight. Every available place was full, and the whole face of the cliff seemed to be a mass of living, writhing reptiles.
It will be remembered by the early settlers of Franklin Township that the fissures and holes in the rocky bank of the river were the resorts of great numbers of snakes, that came there every fall for winter quarters, and that several regular snake hunts, or rather snake killings, took place. The most famous snake den known was at the Marble Cliffs. There were two entrances into the rocks from three to five feet in diameter, leading into a fissure or cave of unknown extent, and the bottom part of these entrances was as smooth as polished glass, from the constant gliding in and out of these loathsome reptiles, which were the an- noyance of the whole neighborhood, as well as the especial dread of us boys, who had to go with our hags of grain to be ground at McCoy's Mill, about two hundred yards above.
Several times on my trips to the mill I saw the venomous reptiles sunning themselves in the road, and I always turned aside, and the horse, from some natural instinct, seemed to be equally averse to go near them. I have a lively recollection of one occasion, when, mounted on three bushels of corn on the back of "old Kate," we jogged until near the mill, when the old mare gave a snort and a shy that nearly threw me off, as she discovered a hnge old rattlesnake lying in the middle of the road, as if he owned all the premises. The old
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mare, of her own accord, gave his snakeship a wide berth, and continued to snort and exhibit uneasiness for some time, and I know I received such a fright the cold chills ran over me, although it was a hot summer day.
For years after the settlement of that neighborhood, frequent attempts were made to break up this resort, particularly when the premises were owned by Thomas Backus, who one cold winter, had large quantities of dry wood and brush carried into the eave, and set on fire in the spring; gunpowder was also used in an attempt to blow up this snake-den, as it was universally ealled, and one of the blasts found vent on top of a ridge a half a mile away, and formed a sinkhole which remains until this day. One of the most efficient means was building a hogpen, early in the fall, in front of the den, and the hogs were said to have destroyed great numbers. A pair of bald eagles had a nest in a tall cedar that formerly crowned the eliff, and they also killed many of these reptiles.
While engaged in bis surveying operations, Lucas Sullivant was careful to locate some choice tracts of land in his own right. He was much attracted by the fertility of the Seioto bottoms, of which he became, at an early date, an extensive owner. So far reaching were his acquisitions of the territories over which he sighted his compass that he came to be known as "monarch of all he surveyed."? The region about the Forks of the Scioto drew his attention especially. He was not only pleased with the fertility of its soil, and the luxurianee of its forests, but he foresaw its eligibility as a future seat of population. Its central position in the coming State then crystallizing into political form occurred to his mind. The use- ful relations which the Scioto River, then a navigable stream, might bear to a civilized community were considered. An additional hint was derived from the fact that the Indians, whose settlements have so often anticipated the location of the leading cities of today, had congregated in this neighborhood. After the Iro- quois conquest, they came here to hunt, and also, finally, to dwell. Within a few miles of the Forks of the Scioto, at the time of Sullivant's arrival, stood several of their villages. For many decades, apparently, their women had annually planted with Indian corn the rich bottom lying just below the Forks, within the bend of the river. Here, in a grove of stately walnut trees, skirting these Indian maize- fields, Lucas Sullivant, in August, 1797, laid out the town of Franklinton.
The first plat fronted on the river opposite the Forks, and was drawn en a liberal scale. The lots were to be sold on a certain day, but before the appointed time, an inundation of all the lowlands took place, which has been known in the traditions of that period as the great flood of 1798. The plan of the town was therefore changed, and made conformable to the boundaries of the higher grounds adjacent to the original location. Here Mr. Sullivant ereeted the first brick dwel- ling in the county, and established his permanent home. His children were born there, and there he resided until the day of his death.
To promote settlement, he offered te donate the lots on a certain street to such persons as would become actual residents. To this thoroughfare he gave the name of Gift Street, which it still retains. The very first family settlement in Franklin- ton was made by Joseph Dixon during the autumn of 1797. Several additional ar- rivals took place during the ensuing winter and spring. First among these early comers were George Skidmore, John Brickell, Robert Armstrong, Jeremiah Arm- strong, William Domigan, James Marshal, the Deardurfs, the McElvaines, the Sellses, John Lysle, William Fleming, Jacob Grubb, Jacob Overdier, Arthur O'Harra, Joseph Foos, John Blair, Michael Fisher and John Dill. The McElvaines emi-
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grated to Ohio from Kentucky in the spring of 1797. They remained at Chilli- cothe during the ensuing summer, and arrived at Franklinton during the spring of 1798. William Domigan came from Maryland, Michael Fisher from Virginia, Joseph Foos from Kentucky, and John Dill from York County, Pennsylvania.
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ORIGINAL PLAT OF FRANKLINTON.
The career of John Brickell, who was one of the first three or four white men who settled in Franklin County, was one of extraordinary adventure. . Brickell arrived at Franklinton in 1797. A few years later he bought a tract of ten acres on which the Ohio Penitentiary now fronts, and there built a cabin in which he dwelt during most of the remainder of his life. In 1842, the following deeply in- teresting sketch of his adventures, written by himself, was published in the American Pioneer :8
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FRANKLINTON. I.
I was born on the twentyfourth of May, 1781, in Pennsylvania, near a place then known as Stewart's Crossings, on the Youghiogheny River, and, as I suppose from what I learned in after life, about four miles from Beesontown, now Uniontown, in Fayette County. On my father's side, I was of Irish, and on my mother's of German parentage. My father died when I was quite young, and I went to live with an elder brother, on a preëmption settlement, on the northeast side of the Alleghany River, about two miles from Pittsburgh. On the break - ing out of the Indian war, a body of Indians collected to the amount of about one hundred and fifty warriors, and spread up and down the Alleghany River about forty miles, and by a preconcerted movement, made an attack on all the settlements along the river, for that dis- tance, in one day.
This was on the ninth of February, 1791. I was alone, clearing out a fencerow, about a quarter of a mile from the house, when an Indian came to me, and took my axe from me and laid it upon his shoulder with his riffe, and then let down the cock of his gun which it ap- pears, he had cocked in approaching me. I had been on terms of intimacy with the Indians, and did not feel alarmed at this movement. They had been about our house almost every day. He took me by the hand and pointed the direction he wanted me to go; and although I did not know him, I concluded he only wanted me to chop something for him and went without reluctance. We came to where he had lain all night, between two logs, withont fire. I then suspected something was wrong and attempted to run; but he threw me down on my face, in which position I every moment expected to feel the stroke of the tomahawk on my head. But he had prepared a rope, with which he tied my hands together behind me, and thus marched me off. After going a little distance, we fell in with George Girty, son of old George Girty. He spoke English, and told me what they had done. He said "white people had killed Indians, and that the Indians had retaliated, and now there is war, and you are a prisoner ; and we will take you to our town and make an Indian of you ; and you will not be killed if you go peaceably ; but if you try to run away, we won't be troubled with you, but we will kill you, and take your scalp to our town." I told him I would go peaceably, and give them no trouble. From thence we traveled to the crossings of Big Beaver with scarce any food. We made a raft, and crossed late in the evening, and lay in a hole in a rock without fire or food. They would not make fire for fear we had attracted the attention of hunters in chopping for the raft. In the morning, the Indian who took me, delivered me to Girty, and took another direction. Girty and I continued our course towards the Tuscarawas. We traveled all that day through hunger and cold, camped all night, and continued till about three in the afternoon of the third day since I had tasted a monthful. I felt very in- dignant at Girty, and thought if I ever got a good chance, I would kill him.
We then made a fire, and Girty told me that if he thought I would not run away he would leave me by the fire, and go and kill something to eat. 1 told him I would not. "But," said he " to make you safe, I will tie you." He tied my hands behind my back and tied me to a sapling, some distance from the fire. After he was gone I untied myself and laid down by the fire. In about an hour he came running back without any game. He asked me what I untied myself for ? I told him I was cold. He said : "Then you no run away ?" I said no. He then told me there were Indians close by, and he was afraid they would find me. . We then went to their camp, where there were Indians with whom I had been as in- timate as with any person, and they had been frequently at our house. They were glad to see me, and gave me food, the first I had eaten after crossing Beaver. They treated me very kindly. We staid all night with them, and next morning we all took up our march toward the Tuscarawas, which we reached on the second day, in the evening.
Here we met the main body of hunting families, and the warriors from the Alleghany, this being their place of rendezvous. I supposed these Indians all to be Delawares; but at that time I could not distinguish between the different tribes. Here I met with two white prisoners, Thomas Dick, and his wife, Jane. They had been our nearest neighbors. I was immediately led to the lower end of the encampment, and allowed to talk freely with them for about an hour. They informed me of the death of two of our neighbors, Samuel Chap- man and William Powers, who were killed by the Indians - one in their house, and the other near it. The Indians showed me their scalps. I knew that of Chapman, having red hair on it.
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HISTORY OF THE CITY OF COLUMBUS.
Next day about ten Indians started back to Pittsburgh. Girty told me they went to pass themselves for friendly Indians and to trade. Among these was the Indian who took me. In about two weeks they returned well loaded with store goods, whisky, etc.
After the traders came back the company divided; and those who came with us to Tus- carawas, and the Indian who took me, marched on towards Sandusky. When we arrived within a day's journey of an Indian town, where Fort Seneca since stood we met two warriors going to the frontiers to war. The Indian I was with had whisky. He and the two war- riors got drunk, when one of the warriors fell on me and beat me. I thought he would kill me. The night was very dark, and I ran out into the woods, and lay under the side of a log. They presently missed me, and got lights to search for me. The Indian to whom I belonged called aloud ; " White man, white man !" I made no answer; but in the morning, after I saw the warriors start on their journey I went into camp, where I was much pitied on account of my bruises. Next day we arrived within a mile of the Seneca town, and encamped for the night, agreeably to their manner, to give room for their parade, or grand entrance the next day. That took place about eight o'clock in the morning. The ceremony commenced with a great whoop or yell. We were then met by all sorts of Indians from the town, old and young, men and women. We then called a halt, and they formed two lines, about twelve feet apart, in the direction of the river They made signs for me to run between the lines towards the river. I knew nothing of what they wanted, and started ; but I had no chance, for they fell to beating me until I was brnised from head to foot. At this juncture, a very big Indian came up and threw the company off me, and took me by the arm, and led me along through the lines with such rapidity that I scarcely touched the ground, and was not once struck after he took me till I got to the river. Then the very ones who beat me the worst were now the most kind and officions in washing me off, feeding me, etc., and did their utmost to cure me. I was nearly killed, and did not get over it for two months. My impression is, that the big Indian who rescued me was Captain Pipe, who assisted in burning Crawford. The Indian who owned me did not interfere in any way.
We staid about two weeks at the Seneca towns. My owner there took himself a wife, and then started with me and his wife through the Black Swamp towards the Maumee towns. At Seneca I left the Indians I had been acquainted with near Pittsburgh, and never saw or heard of them afterwards. When we arrived at the Auglaize River, we met an Indian my owner called brother, to whom he gave me ; and I was adopted into his family. His name was Whingwy Pooshies, or Big Cat. I lived in his family from about the first week in May, 1791, till my release in June, 1795.
The squaws do nearly all the labor except hunting. They take care of the meat when brought in, and stretch the skins. They plant and tend the corn; they gather and house it, assisted by young boys, not yet able to hunt. After the boys are at the hunting age, they are no more considered as squaws, and are kept at hunting. The men are faithful at hunt- ing, but when at home lie lazily about, and are of little account for anything else, seldom or never assisting in domestic duties. Besides the common modes, they often practice candle hunting ; and for this they sometimes make candles or tapers, when they cannot buy them. Deer come to the river to eat a kind of water grass, to get which they frequently immerse their whole head and horns. They seem to be blinded by light at night, and will suffer a canoe to float close to them. I have practiced that kind of hunting much since I came to live where Columbus now is, and on one occasion killed twelve fine deer in one night.
The fall after my adoption, there was a great stir in the town about an army of white men coming to fight the Indians. The squaws and boys were moved with the goods down the Maumee, and there waited the result of the battle, while the men went to war. They met St. Clair, and came off victorious, loaded with the spoils of the army. Whingwy Pooshies left the spoils at the town and came down to move us up. We then found our- selves a rich people. Whingwy Pooshies's share of the spoils of the army was two fine horses, four tents, one of which was a noble marquee, which made us a fine house in which we lived the remainder of my captivity. He had also clothing in abundance, and of all de- scriptions. I wore a soldier's coat. He had also axes, guns, and everything necessary to make an Indian rich. There was much joy among them.
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I saw no prisoners that were taken in that battle, and believe there were none taken by the Delawares. Soon after this battle another Indian and I went out hunting, and we came to a place where there lay a human skeleton stripped of the flesh, which the Indian said had been eaten by the Chippewa Indians who were in the battle ; and he called them brutes thus to use their prisoners. During the time of my captivity I conversed with seven or eight prisoners, taken from different parts, none of which were taken from that battle, agreeably to my best impressions. One of the prisoners I conversed with, was Isaac Patton by name, who was taken with Isaac Choat, Stacy and others from a blockhouse at the Big Bottom, on the Muskingum. I lived two years in the same house with Patton. I think I saw Spencer once. I saw a large lad, who, if I recollect right, said his name was Spencer. He was with McKee and Elliot as a waiter, or kind of servant ; and, if I remember right, he was at the Rapids.
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