USA > Ohio > Sketches and statistics of Cincinnati in 1859 > Part 10
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our fire, and courting repose, I presently heard a crackling in the bushes, near me, and began to wonder if it was possible, after the long distance we had retreated, and almost within call of Ft. Wash- ington, that the Indians could be upon us. After a little further reconnoissance, I made out that the alarm proceeded from a fine, fat heifer, that came smelling its way toward our party. When it was within two or three yards, I fired at it, and it fell. Just at the same moment, it happened that a burning log, from a heap in our neighborhood, fell from its place on the foot of a sleeping soldier, and awakening him with the cry of pain, "O, Lord! O, Lord!" This created a universal panic, and all believed that the Indians were upon us, sure enough. The officers from the block-house, and the various neighboring parties, could be heard jumping, one after another, into the creek, to make their way into Cincinnati. My own party shared the panic, till I was able to re-assure them and explain matters, when, telling them there were now provisions at hand, they fell to and cut and broiled some steaks, and made a hearty meal, and then lay down and slept undisturbed, either by indigestion or Indians, till morning.
Fearing, in the morning, that provisions might prove scarce at Fort Washington, also, my men, after their breakfast, asked my permission to load themselves with as much of the fresh beef as they could conveniently carry, and thus ladened, we made our way to the fort. Here General Wilkinson, espying us, eagerly inquired of me where we had passed the night? "At Ludlow's Station," was the reply. "Why were you not all massacred by the In- dians?" " We are here now, at all events, General." We were then told that parties had been arriving, at short intervals, during most of the night, each bringing the same report, that the Indians were fallen upon Ludlow's Station, and making murderous havoc with the retreating forces.
The General made us relate all the circumstances, at which he laughed heartily, and ever after, as long as I remained in the army, whenever he saw me, he would recall the circumstances of the attack on Ludlow's Station, with great and mirthful gratification.
Such was the panic among the inhabitants of Cincinnati, that I could have bought the best lots in the city at five dollars each, but I did not think proper to make the investment.
I had continued, under a re-enlistment, in the army nearly six years in all. Our company was at one time under the command
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of General Wm. H. Harrison, late President of the United States, and I was able to bear testimony, in my old age, as I felt called upon one occasion to do, to his bravery, humanity, and kind con- descension to the poor soldier, even when yet a subaltern.
I was present, also, at the victory of General Wayne, at the bat- tle of the foot of the rapids of the Maumee. By the kindness of General Wilkinson, after the treaty of Greenville, and the pacifica- tion of the Northwestern Territory, I obtained my discharge some two or three months before the period of my enlistment expired, at Fort Wayne, in August, 1795.
I again moved out to Ohio in 1801, and settled myself on the banks of Rush creek, where I have continued to reside ever since. In June, of this year, on visiting some relatives in Cincinnati, I yielded to their suggestion and re-visited the site of Dunlap's Station. No remains of our stockade could be seen, but I could identify it amid the cornfields, by the familiar bend of the river, on which it was located.
At the siege of Dunlap's Station, there was no cannon in the fort. The contrary I have seen stated, but it was a mistake. A small piece was sent to us a few days after the siege was raised, but during the attack we had nothing but muskets and rifles. It was also stated that a man was killed in the fort, but that, too, was an error; for there was none even wounded, save McVickar, in the mill-house, in the morning, as I have already related.
No person but myself was in the canoe crossing the river, on the occasion referred to. The contrary has been several times erro- neously stated. Neither did any person leave the fort during the siege, either by night or by day, before I thus crossed the river.
I give Mr. Hahn's narrative in his own words:
My father's name was Michael Hahn. He was born in York, Pennsylvania, and removed to Tygart's Valley, Virginia, where I was born, March 1, 1777. My father removed, while I was a small boy, to George's creek, near Redstone old Fort, now Brownsville, on which stream he built a grist-mill. He afterward emigrated to Paris, Kentucky, and finally, in 1789, to Ohio. We first settled at Colerain, Hamilton county, on the Big Miami. I was. a stripling of twelve years when we came to Ohio.
It was at this period that John Cleves Symines had issued his proposals to settle the country between the two Miamis, but the surveys had not been regularly begun. John Dunlap, one of the
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surveyors on the Miami, had laid off a town in what is now the northwest corner of Hamilton county, for settlement to all new comers, which he called Colerain, naming it after his native place, in Ireland, and which he professed to own. To this we came, our family consisting of father and mother, four sisters, and three brothers; two sisters and one brother being older than myself. Every settler located as much land as he was prepared to cultivate, and for the sake of guarding against the Indians, whose marauding parties led down as far as the Ohio, the families built their cabins together, and facing each other with the lower ends to the outside. These were connected together with pickets eight feet high, com- posed of small timber, split in half, sharpened at the ends, and set a sufficient depth into the ground.
Under some apprehensions of an immediate attack from the In- dians, a detachment of troops, consisting of twelve or thirteen men, under command of Lieut. Kingsbury, had been sent out from Fort Washington. Orderly-sergeant Wiseman belonged to the party. The settlers, to the number of thirty, men, women, and children, all resided within the fort, which went by the name of Dunlap's Station.
Early in February, John S. Wallace, accompanied Abner Hunt, who was a surveyor, with two other persons, Sloan and Cunning- ham, on surveys on the west bank of the Great Miami. On the night of the 6th, they encamped there. Next morning, after they had been roasting venison, on which they breakfasted, they set out to explore the Miami bottoms above where the Colerain settlement, or station, was located. They had hardly left their camp seventy yards be- hind, when they were beset by the savages on their rear, who fired a volley of eight or ten guns. Cunningham was killed on the spot. Hunt, having been thrown from his horse, was made a prisoner be- fore he could recover, and Sloan, although shot through his body, kept his seat and made his escape, accompanied by Hunt's loose horse. Two of the Indians pursued Wallace more than a mile and a half, but, owing to his uncommon activity, he made out to over- take Sloan, with the spare horse, which be mounted, and succeeded in crossing the Miami in Sloan's company. In his flight on foot, he was twice shot at, but without effect. His leggings had been getting loose, and at the moment of the first shot, he tripped and fell. Supposing him struck by the bullet, the Indians raised a a shout, Wah! hoo! calculating, to a certainty, on his scalp; but
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hastily tying his leggings, he resumed his flight and effected his escape. After crossing the Miami, Sloan complained of faintness from his wound, when Wallace advised him to thrust a part of his shirt into the bullet hole, to stop the flow of blood. Leaving the river, they directed their course to Cincinnati.
On the morning of the 7th of February, 1791, which was either Sunday or Monday, and just before daylight, the fort was attacked by a party of five hundred Indians, commanded by Simon Girty. His brother George was of the party. Our first notice of their presence was given by a large black dog, belonging to my father, which sprang from a stump, on the outside, upon the cabin, and began barking furiously. Had he not then given the alarm, the Indians would have been in at the gates, and every soul in the garrison been massacred, so secret and quiet had been their ap- proaches.
The Indians, finding us prepared, as far as possible, commenced a parley with us, and for that purpose put forth Abner Hunt, whom they compelled to ask its surrender, which, in hope of saving his life, he did, in most pressing terms, promising that life and property " should be held inviolate. But Kingsbury, who was in command, had no confidence in their promises.
Another application was made by the assailants, and the garri- son threatened with massacre, if they did not surrender at once; but Kingsbury was inflexible, and the savages began their attack by a general discharge of rifles at the port-holes of the block-houses, which formed the corners of the fort, and where the effective force of the garrison was stationed.
The Indians were hidden behind standing and fallen timber, in front of the fort. This fallen timber, consisting of large logs and trec tops, had been cut down a short time previous, by the garrison, under the notion that it would promote their safety, in hindering a too nigh approach, without being seen, of an enemy; and if time had been allowed us to heap together the logs and limbs, and burn them, no doubt the cutting down of the timber would have been an advantage. But the Indians came upon us before we were pre- pared in this, as in other respects.
One of the Indians had got behind a tree, the fork of which was as high as his head, from which he fired into the port-hole oppo- site, as he had opportunity. At this point my older brother was stationed, and it proved a trial of skill and patience which would
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get the advantage of the other. At last my brother got a shot at him, and broke his back. He fell, and lay there all day; but the Indians did not dare to come to his relief, or drag him off.
The attack on and defence of our fort, by rifle firing, continued throughout the whole day. When night came on, and gave the enemy an opportunity of leaving their hiding-places, burning ar- rows were fired upon the roofs. But the rain, which had fallen during the day and had frozen into sleet, as it fell after night, pro- tected us from the threatened danger. During the night and at a late hour, finding that they could do nothing with us, they brought up Hunt, within a short distance of the fort, for the purpose of burning him alive. Accordingly, having stripped and fastened him to a log, they kindled a fire of dead limbs upon his belly, and com- menced a horrid dance, whooping and yelling around the wretched object of their revenge. The screams of Hunt were plainly heard by the garrison, in the midst of these yells, for a long time, grow- ing fainter as life expired. Such another night of horrors I had never witnessed, and never expect to; and I shall carry to my grave the impression it made upon my boyish memory.
During the night, or rather toward morning, William Wiseman, who had volunteered to make his way down to Fort Washington, for the purpose of obtaining aid from the garrison there, was ac- companied to the river by my father and myself, and pushed off, by us, in a canoe, which was kept there by our settlers for the purpose of crossing the Miami, as they needed to do.
Wiseman returned, in the course of the next day, with a party from Columbia and Fort Washington, but the Indians had de- camped, early in the morning, after doing all the mischief they could, by shooting all the cattle within their reach.
John Young, one of the settlers, was the first one of our garri- son to leave the inclosure, to reconnoitre, and found that the enemy had actually left. During the siege, the women had been em ployed running bullets for the men of our party. To the un- common darkness of the night, and the freezing of the rain, we no doubt owed our escape from the overpowering force of the savages.
A short time before the attack on Dunlap's Station, John Crum and David Gibson, two of our settlers, were captured by the In- dians, who were always lurking about. Crum, who was a boy of thirteen, had gone to the woods for grapes, which, having given
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his sisters, they returned for home. He left his hat, unfortunately, at the foot of the tree he had climbed to get to the grape-vines. A party of five Indians passed by, and observing the hat, cast their eyes up the tree, and bade him get down.
David Gibson was captured under my own eyes. He had gone out into the woods hunting, and just below the fort, perhaps a mile off, in the bend of the river, and clearly visible from the station, had shot a deer. This he hung up across the limb of a tree, and re- turned to get his horse for the purpose of taking the carcase home. The Indians lay concealed, not far off, behind a large tree that had fallen out of root. The horse smelled them, and broke for home, although tied to a sapling, which was attributed, by Gibson, to the presence of the deer. While he was gone to regain his horse, the Indians, knowing now where he would fasten the animal, placed themselves in ambush nigher hand, and after Gibson tied his horse more carefully, crept up, and surrounding him, made him their prisoner. There were eight or ten of them in number.
Gibson, while in captivity, married a white woman who had been made a prisoner by the Indians, and, together with his wife and Crum, was released, with various other captives, at the time of Wayne's treaty.
My brother and father both lost their lives afterward, and by In- dian rifles. My brother had been taking a cow out from Fort Washington to Dunlap's Station. He was in company with a party of three from the garrison, and on their way out called upon Col. Riddle, of our city, then a blacksmith, and paid him three dollars on account of a bill he had owed at the shop for some time. "You had better give me more," jocularly observed the Colonel, " the Indians will get the rest." "Never fear," was the careless reply. In the course of two hours afterward, he had a bullet put through him, his scalp taken, and the residue of his money carried off. The party had imprudently fastened a bell to the cow, which en- abled the Indians to surprise and massacre them.
My father was killed, April 25, 1792. He had been out with Martin Burkhardt and Michael Lutz, viewing some lots on what was called the Blue Bank, on the Miami, not far from the station, when they were fired on by Indians. They were all large, heavy Penn- sylvania Dutchmen, and afforded easy marks to the savages. Lutz was killed and scalped on the spot, besides being afterward stab- bed in different parts of the body. They shot Hahn through the
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body, and followed him in sight of the garrison; but, finding they could not get his scalp, they fired at him a second time, and killed ' him. Burkhardt was shot through the right shoulder, and in an effort to clear himself, took to the river to swim, but was drowned, and was found at North Bend six weeks afterward.
August 14, 1792, John Macnamara, Isaac Gibson, jr., Samuel Carswell, and James Barrett, were bringing up a hand mill-stone, in a canoe, and at the rifle below the station, they were fired at by the Indians. Macnamara was killed, Gibson wounded in the knee, and Carswell in the shoulder; Barrett being the only one escaping without injury.
I close this narrative of Indian warfare with a statement given me by Garret Burns, at our last interview, in March, 1850. He is now, doubtless, no longer to be numbered among the living. No individual of that pioneer band, by whose labors and courage the broad and fertile fields of the west have been won from the savage beasts and more savage aborigines, the original occupants, has passed through a longer series of frontier service than Mr. Burns, as his narrative will clearly and fully exhibit.
I was born in Burroughs, county Carlow, Ireland, on the 24th of December, 1770, and am, therefore, in the eightieth year of my age. My grandfather, Wm. Burns, and the grandfather of Robert Burns, the great poet of Scotland, were brothers. William was a family name, and borne by my father, and Robert's father also, I believe. My grandfather was out, in 1745, with the Pretender, while his brother favored the opposite side. After the battle of Culloden had destroyed all hopes for the Jacobite party, my grand- father, with many others, was obliged to leave the country. He went over to Ireland, and settled in county Tyrone.
My father removed to county Carlow, after marrying there, and emigrated to America, in 1784, with his family, consisting of wife and four children, of whom I was the youngest. The family re- mained in Maryland, near Fredericktown. I had learned the hat- ting business at Baltimore, and, having a desire to see the west, concluded to engage in that business beyond the mountains. I left Baltimore in 1788, worked at Catfishtown now Washington, and Pittsburg. Pa., during the winter and the ensuing spring. I came to Bourbon county, Ky., in 1789, and in that and Campbell county have now resided more than sixty years. In 1790, I en- rolled myself, at Paris, Ky., as a substitute for a man named
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Jacoby, who had been drafted, and his mother being a widow, and having no other son, could not spare him from the farm. I re- ceived twenty dollars as substitute, and was to get three dollars per month pay as militiaman. The Kentucky militia, four hundred strong, commanded by Maj. Hall, marched down to where Coving- ton was since built, waiting the arrival of Col. Paull, with the Penn- sylvania troops. As soon as these arrived, we crossed the Ohio, and the whole corps being under the command of Colonel Hardin, we started up the Little Miami river, in advance of the regulars, four or five hundred strong, and commanded by General Harmar, himself. They overtook us the day after leaving Cincinnati. When we got within twenty or thirty miles of the Maumee towns, where. we had just encamped, General Harmar detached five or six hun- dred men, under the command of Hardin, Hall being second in command, for the purpose of destroying their towns. We started off', sun an hour high, perhaps, and reaching the towns, found that the Indians had evacuated their cabins, and set them on fire. They were still burning when we got there. These towns were principally in a great bend of the Maumee, which river is formed of a junction of the St. Mary's and St. Joseph's, the latter coming in from the north. By this bend the Maumee is brought round nearly to the St. Joseph's itself. As we crossed the Maumee to- ward the St. Joseph's, there were two or three mounted Indians visible, at whom we fired, but at too great a distance to be of any effect. We then took possession of the gathered corn, which was in heaps, the husks left upon the corn, and carefully plaited through each other, like onions on a string .* A messenger was dispatched to Harmar, with word that we had taken the towns and found pro- vision enough to last the whole army for several days.
On the third day, the residue of the army, with its three or four pieces of cannon, came up. Harmar then sent out detachments to burn and destroy the corn in the neighboring towns. These were beset on their return, in the night, by the savages, and nearly one hundred killed. Twenty-six out of thirty of the regulars, alone, being of that number. This was the affair in which Captain Arm- *trong lay out all night, in a pond of water, with his head only out. We lay there all next day, the cannon firing every fifteen minutes,
* This was done, no doubt, to enable it to be carried, if necessary, across the backs of the Indian ponies.
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1
to let the stragglers, who had dispersed in the defeat, know the direction and proximity of the camp. On the 21st of October, being the third day, we marched back eight miles. Hardin had left a few scouts at the deserted towns to report to him any signs of Indians. These reached camp that night, with word that there was a large body of the savages, who had returned to the villages, soon after he had left the ground. Harmar then directed Hardin to raise a party to attack them. This was made up of fourteen men from every company, as an average, and Major Fountain, with his cavalry, and Major Wyllys commanding some sixty-five regu- lars. Hall and McMullen commanded the Kentucky, and Major Truman the Pennsylvania militia. Hardin had, of course, charge of the whole detachment. All started together, but when we got near the towns, we separated, in order to surround the Indians supposed to be there. McMullen, with his party, missed their way, and did not get up to participate at all in the fighting that took place. As we approached the villages, two or three Indians, who had been burying one of their number, killed the day before, were seen and fired on. This raised a general alarm among the savages, who rallied in great force and gathered in our rear, as we were able to see them along the St. Joseph's for more than a mile in distance. Some thirty or forty of the Indians had been hid in a hazel patch, from which, as we approached it, they fired on us. We fired in return, rather at random, having nothing to guide us but the smoke of their guns. Major Fountain, who was at the head of the column with his cavalry, gave orders to charge, but was not obeyed; only two of his troopers following him. He was killed, and the men wounded, and all three of the horses shot down. The Indians in the hazel patch then broke. By this time, the Indians in the rear, supposed to be nine hundred strong, came on, whooping and yelling like so many incarnate devils. Wyllys formed his regulars in the hazel patch alluded to, although advised and even directed, by Hardin, to cross the St. Joseph's, in order to obtain an opportunity of treeing. Hardin, with the rest of the com- mand, crossed the river, leaving Wyllys to his fate. As soon as the Indians came up to the hazel patch, the firing commenced by Wyllys, and was kept up, for a few minutes, with great spirit, until but eight or ten of the regulars were left alive, who finally made their escape. Wyllys was killed early in the engagement. I saw him fall from his horse. By this time, Hardin, with his troops,
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were ranged up and down the west bank of the St. Joseph's, every man taking a tree that could find one, and firing on the savages across the stream, which was but of small breadth, although deep to its size. In this way we drove the Indians back three or four times. At last they divided, part crossing above and part below us. They attacked us with the utmost fury, rushing on the very rifles, tomahawk in hand. Our troops stood their ground until Hardin gave the word to retreat, saying, " Let every man do the best he can to escape!" Just before this, my right hand man, Wm. Arnold, ensign in Captain Caldwell's company, received a ball in his thigh, and exclaimed, " The Lord have mercy on me!" He fell, and an Indian ran up, tomahawk in hand, to brain him. He was within a few steps of Arnold, as I fired and shot him through the breast. I saw him fall, pitching on his face. Such was the noise of the fight, that it was only by the smoke of my rifle that I knew it to have been discharged. I assisted Arnold to mount behind a man riding off from the battle, and he effected his escape. He had been a neighbor of mine in Bourbon county, and remained such to the day of his death.
I also helped another of my neighbors, one George Sutherland, a young Scotchman, to a horse, when his right arm had been broken in the fight, and he had to be lifted on the saddle.
By this time the whole body of our troops separated and escaped as fast as possible. As to myself, I had run nearly a mile, at full' speed, and was almost exhausted, when a horseman galloped by. On the instant I seized the horse, a fine iron gray, by the tail, and held on in spite of the owner's remonstrances and threats, he having nothing but a light switch in his hand, and I holding on for life or death. When I got into camp, I was so stiff that I had to be greased and roasted by the fire for some time, before I could stand on my feet.
Of the four hundred that comprised the detachment, it was reported that little more than one-half escaped the battle and the pursuit. The carnage, in proportion to their numbers, was prin- cipally among the officers.
. The stragglers got back that evening, and the next day McMul- len and Hall proposed to return and bury the dead, but Harmar had no disposition to risk any more Indian battles.
Wc returned, without further molestation, to Fort Washington, where, with the rest of the Kentucky militia, I was discharged.
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