USA > Ohio > Sketches and statistics of Cincinnati in 1859 > Part 7
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Here General Wilkinson issued a general order to the effect that the severity of the season had compelled him to abandon one object of the expedition, the destruction of an Indian town fifteen miles below, on a branch of the Wabash, that he would send back the regulars to Fort Washington, and that the mounted men would pro- ceed to the battle-ground, with the public sled, to bring off such of the artillery and other property as might be recovered. We encamped next night eight miles this side of the field of battle, which last spot we reached the succeeding morning at 11 o'clock.
On this day's march, and when we were about half way to the battle-field, we arrived where the pursuit had ceased, and on counting the number of dead bodies which appeared to have been dragged and mutilated by wild beasts, I made it seventy-eight, be- tween that spot and the battle-ground. No doubt there were many more who, finding themselves disabled, crawled into the woods and perished there.
We were ordered to encamp directly where the artillery, etc., had been left, I suppose with the view of beating down the snow to facilitate finding what we were in search of. Here we found
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the artillery dismounted, except one piece, a six pounder. Some of the carriages had been destroyed, as far as they could be, with fire. We brought off that piece and two carriages, with the irons of the rest, together with several muskets. We previously buried the dead by the fatigue parties digging a large pit, into which as many of the dead were thrown as it would contain. We had not a sufficiency of spades, etc., to do justice to the undertaking, and left great numbers unburied, as we worked little more than the residue of that day. The men had been all scalped, and so far as their clothing was of much value, all stripped. Hardly one could be identified, the bodies being blackened by frost and exposure, although there did not appear any signs of decay, the winter having set in early, and proving very severe. One corpse was judged, by Gen. Gano and others, to have been, that of Gen. Richard Butler. They had noticed the spot where he fell during the action, and entertained little doubt as to his identity. He lay in the thickest of the carnage, the bodies on one side actually lying across each other in some instances. The pile in the pit was so numerous that it raised quite a mound of earth above the surface of the ground when we covered it up. The main body had been encamped on a large open flat, and the advanced corps of Kentuckians occupied timbered ground in front, from which they were driven in by a general assault of the savages, who then occupied sheltered ground, to pour in a destructive fire on the Americans. Two ravines, one on each side of the main encampment, put down to the creek, which were also occupied by the Indians, who were thus enabled to creep under shelter of the edges to attack their enemies.
We then traveled to Cincinnati, where the public horses were given up, and the troops dispersed home, many of the volunteers being frost bitten on the route.
Most of the pieces of artillery had been carried off, and of course escaped our search at the time. Several were afterward found in the bed of the creck. One piece, a six pounder, was plowed up a number of years after, on the battle-ground, by some person who occupied the field, and taken down to Cincinnati and sold for sixty dollars to a Captain Joseph Jenkinson, who commanded a volunteer artillery corps in the place.
Most of my readers are familiar with the narrative of the late Oliver M. Spencer, and have read, in various shapes, the account of his capture by the Indians, between Cincinnati and Columbia,
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while on his way home to the latter settlement, in July, 1792. There is a legend connected with that event very current among early settlers, which refers to an incident connected with that nar- rative, to wit: the escape from those Indians of Mrs. Coleman, by her floating down to Cincinnati, supported by her clothes, which are stated to have buoyed her up all the way from the scene of those events, a distance of four miles.
A visit to Montgomery, in this county, has given me an oppor- tunity to inquire of Mr. Jesse Coleman, son of the lady named, and who, at the period referred to, was a boy old enough to know some- thing of the circumstances. He is now considerably over seventy, and his intellect is clear and strong. He gave me the following statement, which he has repeatedly heard made by his mother, by which it appears that the distance she thus floated was not more than a mile, and affords some interesting particulars I had never known.
The scenery of the Ohio, between Columbia and Cincinnati, was, in those days, truly romantic; scarcely a tree had been cut on either side, between the mnouth of Crawfish and that of Deer creek, a distance of more than four miles. The sand-bar, now ex- tending from its left bank, opposite to Sportsman's Hall, was then a small island, between which and the J'entucky shore was a nar- row channel, with sufficient depth of water for the passage of boats. The upper and lower points of this island were bare, but its centre, embracing about four acres, was covered with small cotton-wood, and surrounded by willows extending along its sides almost down to the water's edge. The right bank of the river, crowned with its lofty hills, now gradually ascending, and now rising abruptly to their summits, and forming a vast amphitheatre, was from Co- lumbia, extending down about two miles, very steep, and covered with trees quite down to the beach. From thence, nearly opposite the foot of the island, its ascent became more gradual, and for two miles farther down, bordering the tall trees with which it was cov- ered, was a thick growth of willows, through which, in many places, it was difficult to penetrate. Below this, the beach was wide and stony, with only here and there a small tuft of willows, while the wood on the side and top of the bank was more open. Not far from this bank and near the line of the present turnpike, was a narrow road leading from Columbia to Cincinnati, just wide enough for the passage of a wagon, which, winding round the point of the
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hill above Deer creek, descended northwardly about four hundred feet, and crossing that creek, and in a southerly direction ascend- ing gradually its western bank, led along the ground, now Symmes street, directly toward Fort Washington, and diverging at the inter- section of Lawrence street to the right and left of the fort, entered the town.
The river between Columbia and Cincinnati is thus minutely de- scribed, not only to give an idea of its former appearance to those who have become residents here since, but also to explain the state- ment which Mr. C. gave me.
Spencer, as he tells us in his own narrative, had got on board a canoe at the bank in front of Fort Washington, which was just ready to put off from the shore on the afternoon of the 7th of July. It was a small craft, and hardly fit to accommodate the party, which thus consisted of a Mr. Jacob Light, a Mr. Clayton, Mrs. Coleman, young Spencer, a boy of thirteen, and one of the garrison soldiers, which last individual, being much intoxicated, lurched from one side of the canoe to the other, and finally by the time they had got up a short distance above Deer creek, tumbled out, nearly overset- ting the whole party. He then reached the shore, the water not being very deep at the spot. Spencer did not know how to swim, and had become afraid to continue in the canoe, and was therefore at his own request put on shore, where they left the soldier, and the party in the boat and Spencer on shore proceeded side by side. Light propelled the boat forward with a pole, while Clayton sat at the stern with a paddle, which he sometimes used as an oar, and sometimes as a rudder, and Mrs. Coleman, a woman of fifty years, sat in the middle of the boat. One mile above Deer creek, a party of market people, with a woman and child, on board a canoe, passed them on their way to Cincinnati. Light and the others had rounded the point of a small cove, less than a mile Below the foot of the island, and proceeded a few hundred yards along the close willows here bordering the beach, at about two rods distance from the water, when Clayton, looking back, discovered the drunken man staggering along the sho. e, and remarked that he would be "buit for Indians." Hardly had he passed the remark, when two rifle shots from the rear of the willows struck Light and his com- rade, causing the latter to fall toward the shore, and wounding the other by the ball glancing from the oar. The two Indians who had fired, instantly rushed from their concealment to scalp the dead
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and impede the escape of the living. Clayton was scalped, and Spencer, in spite of all his efforts to get off, was made prisoner, but Light soon swam out of reach of his pursuers, and Mrs. Cole- man, who had also jumped out, preferring to be drowned to falling into the hands of Indians, had floated some distance off. The In- dians would probably have re-loaded and fired, but the report of their rifles brought persons to the opposite shore, and, fearing to create further alarm, they decamped with their young prisoner in haste, saying, " squaw must drown." Light had first made for the Kentucky shore, but, finding himself drifting under all the exer- tions he could make in his crippled state, directed his way out on the Ohio side. Mrs. Coleman followed as well as she could, by the use of her hands as paddles, and they both got to shore some dis- tance below the scene of these events. Light had barely got out when he fell, so much exhausted that he could not speak, but after vomiting blood at length came to. Mrs. Coleman floated nearly a mile, and when she reached the shore, walked down the path to Cincinnati, crossed Deer creek at its mouth, holding on to the wil- lows which overhung its banks; the water there in those days flow- ing in a narrow current that might almost be cleared by a spring from one bank to the other. She went direct to Captain Thorp, at the artificer's yard, with whose lady she was acquainted, and from whom she obtained a change of clothes, and rested a day or two there to overcome her fatigue.
The following narrative I obtained from the lips of Major Jacob Fowler, the finest specimen of a western pioneer I ever saw, and who died but a short time since at the age of eighty-eight years. When I saw him last, at the age of eighty-four, he could see to read without spectacles, all his teeth were perfect, and not a gray hair in his head; his step was still firm, and his form erect:
In 1789, I engaged in a trading expedition to Marietta and Kanawha, with one Benjamin Hulin. We loaded a flatboat with whisky, cider, and store goods. These we sold out at Kanawha and on Elk river, one of its branches, and leaving Hulin at Point Pleasant, I set out for Cincinnati, which had been laid out a few months before. Here I found Major Doughty engaged in building Fort Washington, after having put up four block houses opposite the mouth of Licking river. My motive for stopping there, was to see Matthew, a young brother, who had become one of the set- there under Ludlow, Patterson, and Denman. I found my brother 7
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there, owning an in and out-lot, and entered with him into a con- tract to supply the town and garrison with meat. This continued for some time, until the contractor fell behind in his payments, and the town increasing in population, we found sufficient market there, together with what was bought by General Harmar, and a few of the officers who knew what good living was, and were fond of it. We were paid 2d per pound for buffalo and bear meat, and 2jd for venison. This was Pennsylvania currency, seven shillings and sixpence to the dollar. The skins and hides we sold to a tanner, Archer, I think, by name. His tan-yard was where Jesse Hunt afterward followed the business. We got our pay from the con- tractor finally, in goods, at a high price; and Captain Pratt, who bought on the officers' account, paid us in gold.
The place was called Cincinnati when I first saw it, although the giving of that name is said to have been done by St. Clair after- ward. I am positive of the fact. At that time, there appeared forty or fifty cabins in the town, and but one or two stone chimneys among them all, The timber on the site of the built parts had been a heavy growth of sugartree, beech, and oak, with a few black walnuts, mostly large, and the cabins were surrounded with standing timber, as well as with large butts of logs, considered too difficult and unprofitable to split, and which were therefore left to decay. The corners of the streets, as far as practicable, were blazed on the trees.
Our hunting-ground was usually some ten or fifteen miles in the interior of Kentucky. Occasionally we hunted on Mill creek, four or five miles from the town, where there was a good supply of game. Our usual crossing-places from Kentucky, were at Yeat- man or Sycamore street cove, or at the stone landing, a cove higher up, so called because the stone wanted for Fort Washington was landed there.
Next spring I went up the river to collect what money re- mained due on my trading adventure to Elk creek, which I failed to accomplish that time, and did not get my pay till the succeeding year. On my return to Point Pleasant, I found my old partner, Hulin, who had made his way, on the day before, from the Upper Kanawha, having effected a narrow escape from the savages a few miles outside of Point Pleasant. He was making his way toward town along the hill which skirts the Kanawha, on the opposite side, when he was discovered by a party of five or six Indians. The
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path wound down the hill, which is very steep just at that spot, nearly doubling the direct distance to Point Pleasant, but finding no readier way of escape, and the thicket of the woods hindering the view of the whole danger before him, he sprang off a precipice and fell through the top of a large buckeye, which grew on the side of the bank, so high as to reach the level of the hill top, making a plunge of fifty-five feet, four inches, as measured with a tape-line by Colonel Thomas Wilson and myself the next day. He alighted on a slope of damp ground, which broke his fall, but the impulse sent him forward two additional descents, one of seventeen feet, and the other of ten feet more. By the time he had finished his last jump, he was up to his knees in the soft mud of the river bottom, but he contrived to extricate himself, and to push on to the crossings, limping very badly for the first quarter of a mile. His calls then brought out some of the town's people to his assistance. His clothes were torn, and his limbs were scratched by the fall, and it was more than a month before he got over its effects. The Indians, warned by his disappearance, crept cau- tiously to the edge, and declined following him further. One of them had pushed on lower down the hill, and there found a hollow taking down in the proper direction for pursuit; but seeing Hulin keeping on apparently unhurt, he gave up the chase and returned to his companions. Had the others then followed that route, there can be no doubt they would have overtaken him before he could have reached the river in the crippled state in which he then was.
When I reached Point Pleasant, I saw Lewis Whetzel ranging the town as freely and unconcerned as though he had been on his own farm; while at the same time there was a large reward offered for his apprehension by General Harmar. While I remained there, Lieutenant Kingsbury, in scouting about town, met Whetzel uncx- pectedly. Lewis halted with great firmness in the path, leaving the Lieutenant to choose what course he pleased, feeling himself ready and prepared for whatever might be. Kingsbury, a brave man himself, had too much good will to such a gallant spirit as Whetzel to attempt his injury, if it were safe to do so. He con- tented himself with shouting to him, "Get out of my sight, you Indian killer!" and Lewis, who was implacable only to the sav- ages, retired slowly and watchfully, as a lion draws off, measuring his steps in the presence of the hunters, and as ready to avoid
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danger unnecessarily as to seek it when duty called him to act. Lewis had made his escape but a short time before from Marietta, with handcuffs on, and when he saw an acquaintance of his, Isaac Wiseman by name, fishing in a canoe, not daring to swim the river in that condition, nor to call to the opposite shore, for fear of being within hearing of some of the party in pursuit, waved his hat with his hands, until he succeeded in attracting his attention and assist- ance to escape.
Once on the Virginia side, he feared nothing, as he indeed had none but well-wishers there, who would have shed their blood, if necessary, in his defence. Years, however, had to elapse, and Harmar to return to Philadelphia, before Wiseman dared acknowl- edge the service, the whole country being under military rule, and no civil authority at that time to interfere.
I returned to Cincinnati in the summer of 1791. Harmar's ex- pedition had occurred during my absence up the river, but I found General St. Clair just starting off to give the Indians battle, and break up their stations. St. Clair was a good tactician of the old school, but unfitted for Indian fighting; knowing, indeed, nothing of the savages, their character, nor mode of warfare.
In the summer of 1791, General St. Clair set out on his unfor- tunate enterprise. I had accompanied the army with a view of supplying game to help out with what I knew would be an inade- quate supply,-the public rations; and was engaged in dressing deer skins, at Fort Hamilton, for moccasins, which were in request for the troops, when I received the unsolicited appointment from the General of Assistant Surveyor to John S. Gano, then command- ing the surveys. St. Clair had about twenty-four hundred men in force, the United States regulars being commanded by Major Hamtramck, and the residue, who were enlisted for six months in this service, were placed under the command of General Richard Butler, of Pittsburg. We marched as far as the site of Fort Jeffer- son, and built the fort. Leaving Major Shaylor in command, we marched thence to Greenville, six miles, and encamped at the bank of the creek there, and halted three or four days to build a bridge over it. On the evening after the bridge was built, General St. Clair directed me to meet Captain Lemmon and his company, - of Kentucky, at the end of the bridge, at daybreak next morning, and accompany him on an exploration after the Indians, of some twenty miles on a northwest course. It was in my post of surveyor
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that I was attached to this corps to direct its route. Accompanied by two trusty scouts, I preceded the party.
After accomplishing nearly the allotted distance, we spied a smoke before us, and came, before we were aware, on a party of savages. Our route lay through a rich wet land, and the weeds, which were breast high, had hid the party from our eyes, and served also to conceal our approach as we crept up cautiously to reconnoitre. Having previously arranged our mode of proceeding, one of the scouts was dispatched back to the Captain, with the un- derstanding that as soon as his party heard us fire, they were to rush up to our support. The other scout and myself then took a tree not forty yards from the Indians. It was a large white-oak, five or six feet across, affording us ample room and protection, one on each side of it. I had never fired at a man before, and while I was steadying my rifle, which shook in my hands from the momen- tary excitement of the scene, one of the Kentuckians, in the rear, fired into where he must have judged, by the smoke, that they lay, but from such a distance as to make it a perfect random shot. The Indians sprang to their feet, and disappeared in an instant. We followed as far as we could, but as they ran for their lives, unin- cumbered by anything, they escaped.
Returning from the pursuit, we found venison stuck up all around the fire, and moccasins, leggings, blankets, and even some of their shot pouches, which they had left upon their springing up, so effectual had been the surprise. We now heard guns fired in front, probably as signals, for they were directly answered in greater numbers; and, addressing the Captain, I observed that if we meant to find Indians, we need not go a step further, and if we valued our lives, we had not a minute to lose in making our escape, for I was convinced that the main body of them, several hundreds, as I judged by the sound and direction of the firing, were just at our elbows. We struck a course due west, so as not to return by the track we had made on our way out, which would have beaten such a trace as would have enabled them to follow us, even after dark. We pursued this course till about 10 o'clock, at which time we left six of our party concealed behind a large log to ascertain if we were pursued. while we were to move a short distance fur- ther on, and encamp for the night. We told them we would finish the cooking of the venison, and save their share till they got up, which they were instructed to do by midnight, if they saw or heard
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nothing to alarm them before. We encamped accordingly, and as the Indians had not made their appearance, we were confident they were waiting for daylight to find our trail.
I was so exasperated with the militiaman for his exposing us to all this danger and fatigue, that I was for having him punished on the spot; but the Captain, whose authority was only nominal, told me privately that I might complain of him to the General, but that we could do nothing with him there.
As we approached the encampment of the army, we met a party of fre Kentuckians, who were on a hunt. We advised them to return, alleging that the Indians were in force, and we did not know how near us. They paid no attention to the advice, and had not gone far before they were fired on, and four out of the five were killed by the savages.
The army marched next day on an Indian trail, which we fol- lowed until it bore too far north, when we left it, bearing farther west. At the next encampment we made, there were new arrivals from Cincinnati, and word was brought us that my brothers, Ed- ward and Matthew, had been attacked near Fort Hamilton, by Indians, and Matthew killed. They had two horses with them, loaded with venison and deer skins. Edward made his escape on foot, unwounded, but the horses, with the skins and meat, fell into the hands of the Indians. We next encamped at Stillwater creek, and thence eight miles further to where the battle was fought.
It will hardly be believed, although an absolute fact, that St. Clair kept out no scouting parties during his march, with the single exception of the one on which I was detached, and this, too, for the last three days, when he knew we were in the Indian country, and ought to have been aware, as well as I was, that they were on our skirts all the time, and we should have been com- pletely surprised by the attack, when it was made, if it had not been that volunteer scouting parties from the militia were out the evening before, and the constant discharge of rifles through the night, warned us to prepare for the event. The militia were en- camped about a quarter of a mile in front of the residue of the army, so as to receive, as they did, the first shock of the attack, which was made a little after daybreak.
The camp was on the bank of a small creek, one of the heads of the Wabash river; the ground was nearly level, and covered. with a heavy growth of timber. As surveyor, I drew the rations
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and pay of a subaltern, but as an old hunter, was not disposed to trust myself among the Indians without my rifle; indeed I found it very serviceable on the march in procuring game, the army being upon not more than half rations the whole campaign.
My stock of bullets becoming pretty low from hunting, as soon as it was daylight that morning, I had started for the militia-camp to get a ladle for running some more, when I found that the battle had begun, and met the militia running in to the main body of the troops. I hailed one of the Kentuckians, who I found had been disabled in the right wrist by a bullet, asking him if he had balls to epare. He told me to take out his pouch and divide with him. I poured out a double handful, and put back what I supposed to be half, and was about to leave him, when he said: "Stop; you had better count them." It was no time for laughing, but I could hardly resist the impulse to laugh; the idea was so ludicrous, of counting a handful of bullets, when they were about to be so plenty as to be had for the picking up, by those who should be lucky enough to escape with their lives. "If we get through this day's scrape, my dear fellow," said I, " I will return you twice as many." But I never saw him again, and supposed he shared the fate which befel many a gallant spirit on that day. I owe the bul- lets, at any rate, at this moment.
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