USA > Ohio > Sketches and statistics of Cincinnati in 1859 > Part 8
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On returning to the lines, I found the engagement begun. One of Captain Piatt's men lay near the spot I had left, shot through the belly. I saw an Indian behind a small tree, not twenty steps off, just outside the regular lines. He was loading his piece, squatting down as much as possible to screen himself. I drew sight at his butt, and shot him through. He dropped, and as soon as I had fired, I retreated into our lines to re-load my rifle. Find- ing the fire had nearly ceased, at this point, I ran to the rear line, where I met Colonel Darke, leading his men to a charge. These were of the six months' levies. I followed with my rifle. The Indians were driven by this movement clear out of sight, and the Colonel called a halt, and rallied his men, who were about three hundred in number. As an experienced woodsman and hunter, I claimed the privilege of suggesting to the Colonel, that where we then stood, there being a pile of trees blown out of root, would form an excellent breastwork, being of sufficient length to protect the whole force, and that we might need it. I judged by the shouting and firing, that the Indians behind us had closed up the
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gap we had made in charging, and told the Colonel so. "Now, if we return and charge on the Indians on our rear, we shall have them with their backs on us, and will no doubt be able to give a good account of them." " Lead the way, then," said he, and rode to the rear to march the whole body forward. We then charged on the Indians, but they were so thick we could do nothing with them. In a few minutes they were around us, and we found our- selves alongside of the army baggage and the artillery, which they had taken possession of. I then took a tree, and after firing twelve or fourteen times, two or three rods being my furthest shot, I dis- covered that many of those I had struck were not brought down, as I had not sufficient experience to know that I must shoot them in the hip to bring them down. As to the regulars with their mus- kets, and in their unprotected state, it was little better than firing at random.
By this time there were but about thirty men of Colonel Darke's command left standing, the rest being all shot down and lying around us, either killed or wounded. I ran to the Colonel, who was in the thickest of it, waving his sword to encourage his men, and told him we should all be cut down in five minutes more, if we did not charge on them. "Charge, then !" said he to the little line that remained, and they did so. Fortunately the army had charged on the other side at the same time, which put the Indians, for the moment, to flight. I had been partially sheltered by a small tree, but a couple of Indians, who had taken a larger one, both fired at me at once, and feeling the steam of their guns at the belly, I supposed myself cut to pieces. But no harm had been done, and I brought my piece to my side, and fired, without aiming, at the one that stood his ground, the fellow being so close to me that I could hardly miss him. I shot him through the hips, and while he was crawling away on all fours, Col. Darke, who had been dismounted, and stood close by me, made at him with his sword, and struck his head off. By this time the cock of my rifle's lock had worn loose, and gave me much trouble, and meeting with an acquaintance from Cincinnati, named McClure, who had no gun of his own, but picked up one from a militiaman, I told him my difficulty. "There is a first-rate rifle," said he, pointing to one at a distance. I ran and got it, having ascertained that my bullets would fit it.
Here I met Captain J. S. Gano, who was unarmed, and handing him the rifle I had gone into battle with, observed to him that we
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were defeated, and would have to make our own escape as speedily as possible ; that if we got off we should need the rifles for subsist- ence in the woods. The battle still raged, and at one spot might be seen a party of the soldiers gathered together, doing nothing, and having nothing to do but present mere marks for the enemy; they appeared stupified and bewildered with the danger. At an- other spot the soldiers had broken into the marquees of the officers, eating the breakfast from which these had been called into battle. It must be recollected that neither officers nor men had eaten any- thing the whole morning. Some of the men were shot down in the very act of eating. Just where I stood, there were no Indians visible, although their rifle balls were striking all around. At last I saw an Indian break for a tree, about forty yards off, behind which he loaded and fired four times, managing to bring down his man every fire, and with such quickness as to give me no chance to take sight in the intervals of his firing. At length I got a range of two inches inside his backbone, and blazed away-down he fell, and I saw no more of him.
A short time after, I heard the cry given by St. Clair and his Adjutant, Sargent, to charge to the road, which was accordingly done. I ran across the army to where I had left my relative, Capt. Piatt, and told him that the army was broken up, and in full retreat. " Don't say so," he replied, " you will discourage my men, and I can't believe it." I persisted a short time, when, finding him ob- stinate, I said, " If you will rush on your fate, in God's name do it." I then ran off toward the rear of the army, which was making off rapidly. Piatt called to me, saying, " Wait for me." It was no use to stop, for by this time the savages were in full chase, and hardly twenty yards behind me. Being uncommonly active in those days, I soon got from the rear to the front of the troops, al- though I had great trouble to avoid the bayonets of the guns which the men had thrown off in their retreat, with the sharp points toward the pursuers.
The retreat began about 1 o'clock, the battle having lasted about three hours and ten minutes. It has been stated that the Indians followed us thirty miles, but this is not true. The distance was not more than six, and my duty as surveyor having led me to mark the miles, every day, as we proceeded on our march out, it was easy to ascertain how far we were pursued. The Indians, after every other fire, fell back to load their rifles, and regained lost
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time by running on afresh. Wearied out at length, and anxious for plundering, they returned to the baggage, artillery, camp- stores, etc., which had been abandoned on the battle-ground to their fate. Here they finished their work by scalping the dead, and those of the wounded who had been too much disabled to escape. Even during the last charge of Colonel Darke, the bodies" of the dead and the dying were around us, and the freshly-scalped heads were reeking with smoke, and in the heavy morning frost looked like so many pumpkins in a cornfield in December. It was on the 4th of November, and the day severely cold for the season; my fingers became so benumbed, at times, that I had to take the bullets into my mouth and load from it, while I had to take the wiping-stick in my hand to force them down.
We came on to Fort Jefferson, and six miles beyond it we met Colonel Hamtramck, who had been detached to hurry on the pro- visions, as well as to escort them in safety, to the camp. He had five or six hundred men under his command. Hearing the firing, he had abandoned the business he was sent on, and was making a forced march to the field of battle, when he was met by the whole body in retreat.
The following narrative was gathered from the lips of several individuals concerned in the pioneer struggle to which it relates.
In the early settlement of Hamilton co., as the settlers advanced into the interior, leaving that protection which the garrison of Fort Washington afforded the infant town of Cincinnati, they were com- pelled, as a means of safety, to form stations of a few cabins con- tiguous to each other, and connected with palisade stakes around the inclosed ground, usually a very limited space. One of these defences, perhaps the feeblest of all, was White's Station, so named after Captain Jacob White, the most active member of the little settlement. It was located about half a mile southeast of the present village of Carthage, and may be described as follows:
It embraced some half dozen cabins, three of which were on each side of Mill creek, and close to the creek banks. One of the cabins on the southeast side of the creek was built block-house fashion, and was surrounded by a log fence, made rather for the purpose of shutting out hogs and cattle, than for defence. This was occupied by Captain White himself. The other two on the same side of the creek, belonged, one to Andrew Goble, the other to old Mr. Flinn and family, two of his sons-stout young men-
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Stephen and Benjamin Flinn, forming a part of it. On the oppo- site side of the creek, resided Andrew Pryor, John S. Wallace, and a man named Winans. Wallace, with his family, was absent at Cincinnati on the day the attack was made. Mrs. Moses Pryor, a widow, whose husband had been killed by the Indians, in 1792, resided, with her three children, in the family of her brother-in-law, Andrew Pryor, already alluded to-the whole male force of the station consisting of six men and one boy of twelve years, Provi- dence White, the last son of Captain White, yet living and resident now in Missouri.
On the morning of the 19th of October, 1793, an express, dis- patched by General Wayne, passed the station on its way to Cin- cinnati, with the intelligence of the defeat of Lieutenant Lowry, with his command, about thirty miles north of Fort Hamilton.
This of course greatly alarmed the inhabitants of the station, and put them on their guard. Nothing, however, had any tendency to increase that feeling until that night. The dogs belonging to the station had been observed .barking incessantly for some time before night, on a hill about three or four hundred yards out in the woods. Half an hour before sundown, probably, Andrew Goble proposed to some of the men to go out and see whether the dogs had not treed a raccoon. White objected to any persons leaving the sta- tion, as he thought it might be Indians at which the dogs were barking, and issued his orders accordingly, that no man should leave his premises. Goble, however, being rather fool-hardy than prudent, put out about sundown, saying that he would have the coon, Indians or no Indians. He had hardly left the station more than half the distance to the dogs, when he received a volley from the rifles of the savages, and fell pierced, as it was afterward dis- covered, by a dozen balls.
The Indians, who, if they had not been disturbed, would doubt- less have concealed themselves, according to their usual habit, until daybreak, now burst forth from their covert, under cover of the banks of the creek, and fired at two little children which belonged to the widow Pryor, and had been playing on the north side of the creek. One was shot dead on the spot, and the other ran as fast as possible to its parent's dwelling. The mother, who had seen what was passing, rushed out on the first aların, seized the dead body and returned instantly to aid the other in its flight. Just as she overtook and was about to seize it, a rifle ball struck the child,
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and it fell mortally wounded. She succeeded, however, in reaching her cabin with the children, which, by this time, were both lifeless. The Indians were obliged to retreat from the creek bank, as they were exposed to the fire of both Winans' and Pryor's cabins, and if they had crossed the creek to take shelter under the other bank, they would have been exposed to the fire of the block-house : they accordingly withdrew for a few minutes to the high ground, and then, returning, made an assault on the block-house.
The savages were led by a very large Indian, who came on in advance of his comrades, springing forward and yelling at every jump he made. He succeeded in getting inside the log fence, when he was shot dead by Captain White. His followers, seeing their leader fall, retreated immediately, and kept at a more respect- ful distance. This was the only attack on the station itself, al- though a fire was kept up by the Indians for two hours or more. Of course, even if they had been within striking distance, none of the bullets from the settlers could reach them in the dark. While on their retreat from the station, several of the savages had been scen to fall victims to the rifles of the whites in making the first onset, but no dead bodies were found afterward by the whites, except that of the leader, who fell within the inclosure, and whose body was too heavy to lift over the substantial fence around the block-house. The bodies of whoever else might have been killed, were carried off' and concealed by burial at the first leisure of the Indians.
As soon as it was dark, Andrew Pryor and Winans brought their families over the creek to the block-house, and Pryor, mount- ing a horse, started off to Fort Washington for assistance. Ten dragoons, each of whom had an infantryman mounted behind him, were dispatched and returned as fast as possible to the station. They were accompanied by John S. Wallace, who reproached himself for being absent at the attack, although without cause, as the assault was entirely unexpected when he left for Cincinnati.
The party reached the station unmolested; but the Indians, it appeared, had finally withdrawn. They were judged by the tracks to be forty in number; and had they not been ignorant of the weak- ness of the party defending the station, might have casily carried their point.
Capt. White survived to the advanced age of ninety, in compara- tive vigor of mind and body-a fine specimen of the carly pioneers.
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In the spring of 1794, John Ludlow, who, with his brother Israel, had been residing in Cincinnati, left that place to take possession of his farm, near the junction of the old Hamilton road, and the Hill road to Carthage. The inhabitants of Cincinnati were still under the apprehension of Indian hostilities, inspired by Lowry's defeat, near Eaton, Preble county, on the 17th of October, 1793, - and the attack on White's Station, just narrated. As a measure of prudence and precaution, Israel Ludlow, with the company of militia under his command, accompanied his brother. Jacob White, of the station which bore his name, was of the party; the Ludlow farm being on the direct route to White's Station, which was half a mile from Carthage. The party reached the farm in safety, and com- menced unloading the wagon; White, with a sick horse in charge, proceeded on alone. When he was within two hundred yards of what has since been called Bloody run, he heard the firing of rifles, and discovered in a few minutes a party of pack horsemen, four in number, who had been waylaid and fired on by the savages. One was killed on the spot, being found lying in the run, which received its name from this circumstance. He had been toma- hawked and scalped. Another had been mortally wounded, who made out to reach Abner Boston's, at Ludlow's ford, on Mill creek, where he died. A third was slightly wounded, and the fourth escaped unhurt. White left the horse, and returned to Ludlow and his party. Pursuit by the whole company was immediately made, and the Indians, supposed by their trail to be five or six in- dividuals, were followed two or three miles, when the chase was given up, and the party returned and buried the dead man on the road side.
The remains of this poor fellow were plowed up three or four years since by Solomon Burkhalter, while employed in widening and improving the public road. The bones were carefully gathered and laid aside, and a hole being dug for the purpose, beneath the ditch of the road, they were deposited immediately under the spot where they originally lay.
One of the few marble monuments in the Presbyterian burying- ground, on Twelfth street, has been erected to the memory of one of the carly business men of this region, and, in some sense, one of the pioneers of the west. I refer to Colonel Robert Elliott, who, in connection with Colonel Eli Williams, of Hagerstown, Md., was one of the several contractors of supplies for Wayne's army, on his
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march to the Indian country. Various incorrect accounts having been published of the circumstances attending his death, I put upon record the following from an authentic source, and which I believe is the truth in the premises.
Colonel Elliott was a native of Pennsylvania; had settled in Hagerstown, and at the period to which I am about to refer, 1794, was out west superintending the deliveries of his contracts. He left Fort Hamilton, accompanied by a waiter, taking what is now called the Winton road, to Cincinnati. On reaching about four miles of his journey, he was fired on by savages, in ambush, and killed. He fell from his horse, which made his way back to Hamilton, fol- lowed by the servant upon the other horse.
Elliott was an uncommonly large man, being both tall and heavy, and weighed nearly three hundred pounds. He wore a wig, which of course came off, under the application of the scalping-knife, without exhibiting marks of blood, to the great surprise of the In- dians, who viewed it as a great imposition, and spoke of it after- ward as " a d-d lie."
The horse was a remarkable one, worth one hundred and twenty dollars in those days, when it required a good horse to bring seventy- five dollars. He was a dark brown, but just where a pillion would have been fastened to the saddle, and exactly corresponding with it in size and shape, was a space entirely white.
Elliott's body was boxed up and put into his own wagon, and sent the next day to Cincinnati for burial, the waiter accompanying it, and riding the Colonel's horse. Nearly, if not exactly, where El- liott had been killed the day before, a ball from Indians in ambush killed the servant also, the horse escaping, as before, to Hamilton, and the wagoner flying for his life. The box was broken open by the savages in expectation of it containing something of value. It was left, on discovering the contents, only the wagon-horses being carried off.
A party was then detached from the fort, which delivered the body at Fort Washington, and it was buried in the usual burying- ground, at the corner of Main and Fourth streets.
Many years after, his son, Commodore Jesse D. Elliott, then on a visit to this city, having ascertained the place of his interment, re- moved the body to the present burial-ground of the First Presby- terian Society, erecting, as the tablet itself states, the monument to the memory of his father, Colonel Elliott.
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Ellison E. Williams, who was yet living in Covington, Ky., as late as 1848, gave me his recollections of pioncer events, as fol- lows: In 1795, soon after the defeat of the Indians by General Wayne, I started for Detroit, where my brother William had been working for some time. My main business was to sell a stud horse there. I succeeded in obtaining five hundred dollars in - cash and trade for the beast. A part of the trade was a first-rate gelding, the finest brute I ever owned, and for which I got, at Dayton, afterward, one hundred and fifty-five dollars, although half the money would buy a pretty good horse in those days.
My brother accompanied me on my way home to Cincinnati. At Fort Defiance, we fell in with an old man, a cripple, who also kept company with us. When we got within ten or twelve miles of Dayton, which had been just laid out, and a few houses built there, we encamped, turned our horses loose to graze, and pre- pared to cook a meals-victuals, and rest ourselves. While I was kindling a fire for this purpose, I heard the old man, who had oc- casion to turn aside into the brush, call out that the Indians were catching our horses. The horses were in the high weeds and brush; the weeds being as high as themselves, we could not see them at a short distance. As I ran up, I saw an Indian who had caught my gelding, trying to mount him, but to no purpose. I stepped forward, laid my hands on the back of his shoulders, and jerked him heels over head. The villain struck me twice with his butcher-knife, and cut me through the arm with great violence. I knocked him down with my fist and stamped on him, and but for the persuasions of my party, would have killed him. My brother was about to interpose in an early period of the scuffle, when the other Indian leveled his rifle at him, exclaiming in very good Eng- lish, "Let them fight it out." Our whole party were unarmed, not apprehending any trouble; and it was almost a miracle that we all got off alive and safe from the Indians, who both had rifles.
Before this, however, and in the fall of 1790, I had volunteered in Harmar's expedition, and was on my road, when my horse, de- scending a piece of hill ground, got one foot entangled among the roots of a tree, and in his efforts to extricate himself, fell and broke his leg. In the fall I was so much hurt as to confine me to bed for two weeks, before I could again walk.
Next year my brother James and myself volunteered with St. Clair, among the troops from Kentucky, and continued with him
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till the defeat. I assisted in building Forts Hamilton, and Jeffer- son, and Greenville. I was not in the battle, being detached, with the troops under Maj. Hamtramck, back to Fort Hamilton to escort on the provisions, clothing, etc., of which the army stood in want. When we had nearly reached, on our return, the place where we had left the army, we met the flying stragglers. I then returned- to Kentucky.
Wayne sent on troops, in 1792, and came on himself, in 1793, and encamped his entire force at "Hobson's Choice," a strip of dry ground above Mill creek, reaching, at its upper range, somewhere about the present gas works, and started thence about the 1st of August. James and I were sent for as old Indian fighters, and a corps of about sixty-five scouts was formed and put under the com- mand of Captain Ephraim Kibby, of Columbia. We moved on the line of forts already constructed, built Fort Recovery-St. Clair's battle-ground-Fort Wayne, in the forks of the Maumee, and Fort Defiance, on the Auglaize. We then went on to the rapids of the Maumee, where Wayne defeated the Indians. Here, again, I es- caped the battle, although less danger was incurred in it than usual in Indian fights, the regulars having driven the enemy with such spirit, and at such a rate, that the volunteers, and especially the mounted men, who were compelled to take an extensive circuit to get round the fallen timbers where the charge was made, were not able to overtake either the pursuers or pursued, who were driven two miles on a run at the point of the bayonet. Captain Kibby's company had been detached across the river to scour the woods, and rouse the Indians, who were supposed to be concealed on that. side, and likely to endanger the rear of the American troops, as they could easily have crossed by wading the ripple above the rapids. It appeared, however, that there were none at that place.
I returned home, being regularly discharged. There was hardly any money in circulation. A few of the officers drew enough to pay their expenses home, but the private soldiers and volunteers did not get their pay for many months afterward.
In 1850, I had the pleasure of bringing together, after a separa- tion of sixty years, two of the surviving defenders of Dunlap's Station, which, it will be remembered, was attacked by the Girtys, and a large body of savages, on the 7th February, 1791. Thesc were William Wiseman, Orderly-sergeant to Lieutenant Kingsbury, who commanded on that occasion, and Samuel Hahn, who, with
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his father, mother, four brothers, and three sisters, formed one of the families which were invested in the fort. Wiseman was nearly twenty-one, and Hahn between thirteen and fourteen years of age at the time-the first being, in 1850, in his eighty-first year, and the other over seventy-three. Both were of uncommon vigor of mind and body, for their respective ages. Wiseman is since dead, but Hahn still survives, residing at Newtown, in this county.
The narrative they gave of that interesting scene, differs in many particulars from the popular version of the event, and as I had an opportunity of conversing with both before they had seen each other, I found that they corresponded to a degree which corrobo- rated both statements. I give the personal narrative of Wiseman as a matter of preference in his own words, proposing to follow it with that of Mr. Hahn.
I was born February 10, 1770, in St. Mary's county, Md., and on the Chesapeake Bay, where I resided for some years of my minority. In 1786, I left, in company with my elder brother, Robert, to reside in Hagerstown. In the fall of 1790, I enlisted in the United States service, in the company of Capt. Alexander Truman, who afterward lost his life while bearing a flag of truce to the Indians. I had been at the residence of Dr. Jacob Schnelly, and found Captain Truman enlisting soldiers to go to the west. I had long contemplated a visit to that land of promise, and thought I could never see it under more favorable circumstances than pre- sented themselves at this time. I accosted the Captain, therefore, and inquired of him if he did not want another soldier? He re- plied that it was out of his power to take me, for he had neither arms, ammunition, nor clothing for another recruit. I was about withdrawing, when he called me back, and told me that he had a great mind to take me any how, in my citizens' clothes, and that I should be supplied with rations from his own table. He promised, also, that if I would behave myself as I ought, he would be a father to me. I agreed to this arrangement, and started with the rest, reaching Cincinnati in December, 1790. We reported ourselves at Fort Washington, on our arrival, to General Harmar, who com- manded that post. As one of the youngest men in the army, I was soon put on active duty. The settlers at Dunlap's Station, on the Great Miami, had complained to General Harmar of Indian dep- redations, and even massacre, and asked a detachment for their protection, being in momentary expectation of an attack from the 8
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