The Stragglers Head For Home & Lewis Wetzel Hunts For a Horse

       In my last post, we looked at some incidents related to the retreat of Crawford’s army after it failed expedition to take the Indian town of Sandusky in June of 1782.  There were several members of the American army who had become separated from the main force in its retreat back across the Ohio.  These men were truly left to “fend for themselves.”  Some made it home; others did not.  In this post we’ll look at some of their stories, as well as a “bonus” Lewis Wetzel sighting!

       Some of the stragglers from the army, who became separated from it on the night the retreat began, got very much confused, as might be expected, in their endeavors to find the trail of the retreating troops.  A few, in despair of regaining it, and others out of abundant caution, struck directly through the wilderness, taking a due east course for the Ohio.  Some became completely bewildered.  Nicholas Dawson, a volunteer from Westmoreland, father of John Dawson of Fayette county, and then living about four miles from Beesontown, had become separated from his companions when the army began its homeward march, and was endeavoring to make his way eastward, when he was discovered by James Workman and a companion, going exactly from the Ohio and toward Sandusky!  These men endeavored to persuade him that he was wrong; but Dawson insisted, with equal pertinacity, that he was right.

       After some further attempts to convince him of his mistake, with no better success, they told him he would certainly be killed if he continued upon the course he had been traveling, and as he had better be shot by white men than be tortured to death, they would kill him to prevent him falling into the hands of the savages!  This argument proved successful, and he turned about reluctantly.  All arrived home in safety.

       In the confusion attending the commencement of the retreat from the battle-field of Sandusky, Philip Smith, who, it will be remembered, was wounded in the elbow during the action, became separated from his company.  With him was a companion named Rankin.  Smith was a young man—born in Frederick county, Maryland, in February, 1761—then residing near Beesontown (Uniontown), in Westmoreland county (in that part which soon after became Fayette), at the time of volunteering for the expedition.  Concerning the previous history of Rankin, nothing is known.

       Both had lost their horses.  They had their rifles and ammunition with them, but were without provisions.  Their guns were of little service, as they did not dare to shoot for fear of Indians.  They were compelled, therefore, to a very scanty diet, as a general thing, of berries, roots, and young birds (when these could be caught).  They traveled usually by night, wisely avoiding all trails.  After awhile, they came across an Indian pony which they resolved to kill for food.  As they were afraid to shoot it, Smith determined to dispatch the animal with his tomahawk.  This, however, proved no slight affair.  It dodged all blows aimed at its head.  Finally, Rankin held his hat over the pony's eyes, which enabled Smith to deal a blow that felled it to the ground.  The animal was then killed, cut open, and its liver taken out, which, after being broiled, was, to the two hungry men, a savory dish indeed!

       About the third night of their retreat, two men on horseback overtook them, and they then all traveled on together until a stream was reached having high banks, where the party fell into an ambuscade of savages, who had doubtless followed them from the Plains.  There were four of the enemy.  The two men on horseback were shot dead—their bodies falling into the stream.

       When the firing took place, Smith was in the act of drinking—he had just stooped down to the water.  A ball passed very near his head; he was, however, unhurt.  Seizing the gun of one of the men who had been shot, he ran up the bank, and turned around to fire at the Indians; but the savages were too quick for him and dodged behind trees.

       In the meantime, Rankin, who was also unharmed, was running for life.  Smith threw aside his gun and ran after his companion; the latter mistook him for an enemy and three times turned to shoot him; but Smith saved himself each time by "treeing."  Rankin finally discovered who it was so eagerly pursuing him; when he slackened his pace and was soon joined by Smith.  The two now ran on together and escaped the savages.  The men who were killed had been with them but a few hours, and their names they did not learn.

       The two did not halt the next morning as daylight appeared, but continued their journey, fearing pursuit by the Indians.  They came soon after upon a deserted Indian camp, which, it appeared from the signs, a number of savages had just left.  A man lay there scalped and dead, but his body was still warm.  He had drawn his hand over the scalp-wound several times and smeared himself with blood from it, showing that he had been scalped while still alive!  He had been shot apparently while on horseback.  It was the opinion of both Smith and Rankin that he was not one of the volunteers, as he rode a shod horse, and none to their knowledge in the expedition had shoes on.  The Indians, after killing him, had immediately fled, for what cause was of course unknown.  Their fires were yet burning, over which corn (hominy) was cooking.  This the two half-famished men tasted, but did not eat, for fear of its being poisoned;—the temptation was great, as may be imagined.

       After leaving this camp, no more Indians were seen; but that night, as Rankin was making himself a pair of moccasins from the skin of a horse they had found (his moccasins being worn out), savages were heard at a great distance, whereupon the two extinguished their fire and pursued their journey.  They reached home in ten days from the time of their leaving the battleground—foot-sore, nearly naked, and well-nigh perishing with hunger.

       The volunteers who had been fortunate in not losing their horses, found their animals very much jaded and reduced in flesh upon their return to the settlements.  Their progress homeward was, therefore, as a general thing, very slow.  Some came singly, others in squads; not a few were on foot.  No discharges had been given; none were expected.  Quite a number came on together as far as Catfish, dispersing thence to their homes.  John Sherrard left his companions at this point, to visit a cousin, Hugh Sherrard, on Miller's run.  He found his relative in mourning for a son who had been killed by the Indians, in April previous—the same sad story, so often repeated upon the border; in this instance, intensified by the fact of a young wife being left a widow.

        The home of Sherrard was with the widowed mother of James Paull, in what is now Dunbar township, Fayette county—where he soon after arrived, but could give no intelligence of the widow's son.  The last time he had seen James, was on the night of the commencement of the retreat, when, just as the army was about to start, he was observed fast asleep.  Sherrard gave him a shake, calling to him: "Up, James, and let us be off; they are all starting, and we shall soon be left behind!"  He saw him spring to his feet, but immediately lost sight of him in the darkness, and had not seen him since or heard of him.  The disconsolate mother had now the most fearful forebodings.  She was a woman regarded as a sincere Christian.  As her son's companions returned to the neighborhood, she would immediately send a messenger to inquire whether James had been seen or heard of.  But no intelligence came.  Sherrard vainly endeavored to console her with the assurance that her son would undoubtedly be home in a short time; but, like Rachel of old, she would not be comforted, because he was not.

       But of all those who suffered from hope deferred until the heart grew sick indeed, and then, when the facts were known, from a recital of them, none was more to be commiserated than the wife of the commander of the expedition.  Hannah Crawford had parted with her husband with a heavy heart.  As the volunteers, one after another, returned to her neighborhood, with what anxiety did she make inquiries of them concerning her companion!  But no one could give the disconsolate wife a word of information concerning him.  Her lonely cabin by the Youghiogheny was a house of mourning now.  After three weeks of dreadful suspense she learned the sad news of her husband's death in the wilderness. ¹

       Sherrard, whom we left at his home at the widow Paull's, as soon as he had obtained a little rest, started for Beesontown to return the pack-saddle to the wife of Daniel Harbaugh, which, it will be remembered, he had taken from his dead companion's horse, on the banks of the Sandusky.  The story of the tragic death of his comrade was a most heart-rending one to the distracted wife.  There was, nevertheless, this consolation in her deep sorrow: she knew he was dead, and knew, too, the particulars of his last moments.  It was not with her as with a few who never after heard of their loved ones—not a fearful uncertainty, until death itself would have been a relief.

       Nearly all those who had become separated from the main body of the army, had, upon their return, the same story to tell of suffering from hunger; as only a few were fortunate enough to have preserved a sufficient supply of provisions.  Several had lost either their guns or ammunition; they could not therefore rely upon killing any game on the way.  It is related of one volunteer who reached home nearly famished that he cut up in small pieces his buckskin breeches and ate them with a relish.  Many saved their lives by eating serviceberries, which at that season of the year were ripe, and in some places found in abundance.  That some may have died in the wilderness of starvation, is not improbable, though the number must have been small.

       As might be expected, those on horseback were the first usually to reach their homes.  Some had been compelled to leave their horses in the wilderness and pursue their way, as best they could, on foot.  Thomas Mills met with this mishap.  His animal gave out at a spot near where St. Clairsville, county-seat of Belmont county, Ohio, now stands, and whither he had wandered in his endeavors to reach the Ohio.  He left his horse at what was known as the "Indian Spring," about nine miles from the river; then in the wilderness of course, now on the National Road.  Mills soon after reached Wheeling in safety.  He then proceeded to Van Metre's fort; when, after a day or two of rest, he began to think of returning for his horse.  At this time there was at the fort the famous hunter and Indian fighter, Lewis Wetzel.  Mills applied to Wetzel to accompany him in search of his horse.  The cautious backwoodsman discouraged the attempt and cautioned him of the danger.  But Mills was determined to recover his animal at every hazard; and Wetzel was not the one to refuse help because of peril, however imminent it might be.  So the two started.

       Rapidly, but cautiously, they made their way into the wilderness.  Approaching the spring, they discovered the horse, not however as he had been left, tut tied to a tree.  Wetzel at once comprehended the danger, signaled his companion, and then turned and ran for life.  Mills, however, rushed up to unfasten his animal, when instantly a discharge of rifles followed, and the unfortunate man, after having escaped all the dangers of the Sandusky campaign, fell mortally wounded.  The volley did not slacken the speed of Wetzel, who plunged through the enemy's ambuscade, followed now by four fleet savages, whooping in proud exultation of soon overtaking their intended victim.

       After a chase of half a mile, one of the most active of his pursuers approached so close that Wetzel was afraid he might threw his tomahawk, and suddenly wheeling, shot the savage dead in his tracks.  It was now that the habit he had acquired, of loading his gun while in full run, was put in requisition.  Keeping in advance of the Indians for another half-mile, a second one came up so close to him that he was again compelled to turn at bay.  But the savage this time was so near him as to catch the end of his gun, and for a time the contest was doubtful.  At one moment, the Indian, by his great strength and dexterity, brought Wetzel to his knee, and had nearly wrenched the rifle from the grasp of his antagonist, when the latter, by a renewed effort, drew the weapon from the savage, and thrusting the muzzle against the side of his neck, pulled the trigger, killing him instantly.

       By this time the two other Indians had nearly overtaken Wetzel; but by leaping forward he eluded their pursuit until his unerring rifle was a third time loaded.  Anxious to have done with this kind of sport, he slackened his pace, and even stopped once or twice to give his pursuers an opportunity to face him.  Every time he looked around, however, the Indians "treed," unwilling any longer to encounter his destructive weapon.  After running some distance further, in this manner, he reached an open piece of ground, and turning quickly around, the foremost Indian jumped behind a tree; but, as this did not screen the savage, Wetzel fired and mortally wounded him.  The remaining Indian thereupon made an immediate retreat, and the intrepid backwoodsman soon after reached the settlements in safety, to relate his daring exploit.  ²

       Of those who didn’t return to their homes, those who were killed outright were the most fortunate.  There were others who prayed to be killed quickly so as to avoid the fate that awaited them.  Among those was the expedition’s leader.  Lord willing, we’ll pick up the story soon.

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)      C.W. Butterfield, An Historical Account of the Expedition Against Sandusky (Cincinnati, OH: Robert Clarke & Co., 1873), p. 283-9. 
2)      Ibid., p. 291-4.

The Indians Counter-Attack, July 1782

       In my last post, we saw the American forces scrambling, after the battle of Sandusky, to retreat in an orderly fashion while also trying to stave off the attempts of the Indian forces and their British allies to annihilate the retreating forces.  The various pockets of Patriot forces were able, for the most part, to make it to the Ohio River and thence to safety.  Not all of the “retreaters” were so fortunate though, and Lord-willing we’ll look at their story in another post.  With the collapse of the American offensive movement, panic began to spread along the backcountry.  Those who had settled along the frontier expected that Indian reprisals were sure to come their way.  Here is an anecdote on one of the more interesting incidents that happened shortly after Crawford’s defeat.

       The frontiers were harassed during the summer months by frequent inroads of the enemy.  On the 11th of July [1782], three sons of Mr. Chambers, of Westmoreland county, were tomahawked and scalped; and on Saturday afternoon, the 13th of the month, Hanna's-town, the county-town of that county, was burned by a large party of Indians, and a number of the inhabitants killed and captured.  This place was about thirty-five miles in the rear of Fort Pitt, on the main road leading to Philadelphia.  "The express," wrote Irvine to Moore, on the 16th, "sent by Mr. Hoofnagle, through timidity and other misconduct, did not arrive here till this moment (Tuesday, 10 o'clock), though he left Hanna's-town Sunday evening; which I fear will put it out of my power to come up with the enemy, they will have got so far away.  However, I have sent several reconnoitering parties to try to discover whether they have left the settlements, and what route they have taken."

       The people were greatly alarmed.  "I fear," continued Irvine in his letter to Moore, "this stroke will intimidate the inhabitants so much that it will not be possible to rally them or persuade them to make a stand.  Nothing in my power shall be left undone to countenance and encourage them."

       About the I5th of July, a party of seven Wyandots made an incursion into one of the settlements, some distance below Fort Pitt, and several miles from the Ohio river.  Here, finding an old man alone in a cabin, they killed him, packed up what "plunder" they could find, and commenced their retreat.

       The news of the visit of the Indians soon spread through the neighborhood, and a party of eight good riflemen was collected in a few hours for the purpose of pursuit.  Among those assembled were two brothers —Andrew and Adam Poe.  These were both famous for courage, size, and activity.

       The party commenced the pursuit of the Indians with a determination, if possible, not to suffer them to escape, as they usually did on such occasions, by making a speedy flight to the river, crossing it, and then dividing into small parties, to meet at a distant point, in a given time.  The pursuit was continued the greater part of the night.  In the morning, the borderers found themselves on the trail of the savages, which led to the Ohio.  When they had arrived within a little distance of the river, at a point in what is now Hancock county,West Virginia, about two miles below the mouth of Yellow creek, a western confluent of the Ohio, Andrew Poe, fearing an ambuscade, left the party who followed directly on the trail, to creep along the bank of the stream, under cover of the weeds and bushes, to fall on the rear of the Indians, should he find them lying in wait.

       He had not gone far before he saw some Indian rafts at the water's edge.  Not seeing any savages, he stepped softly down the bank with his rifle cocked.  When about half way down, he discovered two Indians —one very large, the other small.  Both were standing with their guns cocked, and looking in the direction of the party which was approaching by the trail, and was some distance down the bottom.  Poe took aim at the big Indian, but his rifle missed fire.  The two hearing the snap of the gun, instantly turned round and discovered their foe, who, being too near to retreat, dropped his weapon and sprang from the bank upon the savages.  He seized the larger one with a powerful grip, at the same time embracing the neck of the smaller one, and threw them both upon the ground—all three falling together, but Poe uppermost.

       The small Indian soon extricated himself, ran to the raft, got a tomahawk to dispatch Poe, while the big Indian held the latter with all his might, the better to enable his companion to effect his purpose.  Poe, however, watched the motions of the Indian so well, that when in the act of aiming a blow at his head, by a vigorous and well-directed kick, he staggered the savage, and knocked the tomahawk out of his hand.  This failure on the part of the smaller Indian was reproved by the larger one with an exclamation of contempt.

       In a moment the Indian caught up his tomahawk, approached more cautiously, brandishing it, and making a number of feigned blows, in defiance and derision.  Poe, however, still on his guard, averted the real blow from his head, by throwing up his arm, and receiving it on his wrist.  He was severely wounded, but still able to use his hand. In this perilous moment, by a violent effort, he broke loose from the big Indian, snatched up one of the guns of the savages, and shot his assailant through the breast as he ran up the third time to tomahawk him.

       Meanwhile the prostrate Indian got upon his feet, and now, seizing Poe by the shoulder and leg, threw him, in turn, upon the ground; but the latter instantly regained his standing; when the savage again grasped him, and another struggle ensued; which, owing to the slippery state of the bank, ended in both being precipitated into the river.  Each now endeavored to drown the other.  Their efforts were continued for some time, with alternate success—first one being under the water, then the other.  Poe, at length, seized his antagonist by the tuft of hair on 'the scalp, and held his head down until he supposed him drowned.

       Relaxing his hold too soon, Poe found his gigantic foe ready instantly for another combat.  Again they grasped each other; but, in the contest, they were carried into the water beyond their depth.  This compelled each to loose his hold and swim for life.  Each sought the shore, to seize a gun, and end the strife.  The Indian proved the best swimmer and reached the land first.  Poe, seeing this, immediately turned back into the water to escape being shot, if possible, by diving.  Fortunately, the savage caught up the rifle with which Poe had killed the other warrior!

       At this juncture, Adam Poe, missing his brother from the party, and supposing from the report of the gun, that he was either killed or engaged in conflict with the Indians, hastened to the spot.  On seeing him, Andrew called out to him from the water to "kill the big Indian."  But Adam's gun, like that of the Indian's, was empty.  The contest was now a question of time only—as to which would load first.  The savage, in using his ramrod, was not as quick as his antagonist.  This gave Adam the advantage; and, just as the Indian was raising his gun, he shot, mortally wounding him.

        Adam now jumped into the river to assist his wounded brother to the shore; but Andrew, thinking more of the honor of carrying home the scalp of the big Indian as a trophy of victory, than of his own safety, urged him to go back and prevent the struggling savage from rolling himself into the stream and escaping.   But Adam's solicitude for the life of his brother prevented him from complying with his request.  The consequence was that the Indian, although in the agonies of death, succeeded in reaching the water and getting into the current; so that his scalp was not obtained.

       During the conflict, and just as Adam had arrived at the edge of the bank for the relief of Andrew, one of the party who had followed close behind him, seeing a person in the river, and supposing him to be a wounded Indian, shot and wounded him in the shoulder.  It was the struggling Andrew who thus received the second wound; but, from these injuries, he afterward recovered.  In the meantime, the remaining Indians had been overtaken by the borderers, and all but one killed; with the loss, however, of three of the pursuers—one, a young man by the name of Cherry.  The Indian shot by Adam Poe, was a noted chief of the Wyandots, known as Big Foot.  ¹

       Such was the nature of the conflict that raged along the Ohio River valley in those days.  It was the intrepidity and courage of men such as the Poe brothers that secured the western frontier for the fledgling United States.

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)      C.W. Butterfield, An Historical Account of the Expedition Against Sandusky (Cincinnati, OH: Robert Clarke & Co., 1873), p. 268-74.

The American Forces Retreat From Sandusky, June 5-6, 1782

       In my last post, we saw the American forces under the command of Col. William Crawford defeat the opposing Indians forces that were arrayed against them.  Crawford’s force held the field at the cessation of the fighting on May 4, but the Americans were not out of the proverbial “woods” yet.  In this post, we’ll take up the story on the following morning.

       At six o'clock on the morning of the 5th, the firing was renewed between the contending parties, but in a desultory manner, and at long shot only, and so continued during the day.  Little damage was done on either side.  The relative position of the belligerents was unchanged.  The Americans still occupied the island of timber, with their outposts extending well up to the edge of the prairie surrounding them.  The Wyandots on the north and the Delawares on the south were abundantly satisfied with being able to hold the foe between them until reinforcements, hourly expected, should arrive; while the Americans attributed the slackness of their fire to the chastisement of the evening previous.

       Crawford would gladly have attacked the foe at early dawn, but there were obstacles in the way.  Some of his men were sick from the fatigues of the march, some from the extreme heat of the weather, and others from the bad water they had been compelled to drink since leaving the river; and, as already mentioned, there were several wounded.  To give all of these the proper attention and care would require the services of several of the volunteers; and it was thought best, as the savages were in such force, not to attack them until every soldier, unless sick or disabled from wounds, could take part in the engagement.  It was, therefore, determined not to make a general attack upon the Indians until after nightfall.  "We were so much incumbered with our wounded and sick," is the language of [Lt. John] Rose, "that the whole day was spent in their care, and in preparing for a general attack the next night."

       The volunteers felt confident of an easy victory; and there was much in the conduct of the troops the previous day to inspire such a belief in the mind of the commander.  Orders had been obeyed cheerfully; and the officers displayed much bravery and coolness.  The firing interfered but little with the active measures being taken for the coming conflict.  The loss of the Americans through the entire day was four wounded.  Crawford was making every effort to be fully prepared to strike a decisive blow.  Plans were discussed and fully matured for the attack in force.  Suddenly, however, all wore a changed aspect!

       The afternoon was not far advanced when the quick eye of a sentinel, stationed in a small copse to the northeast of the grove, caught sight of an advancing troop, partly to the left and in the rear of the Wyandots, rapidly approaching the lines of the latter.  That they were all mounted he plainly saw.  The next moment disclosed to his astonished vision that they were a body of white troops.  It was [Lt. Col. John] Butler's Rangers.  They had encamped, the evening previous, six miles north, at the mouth of Tymochtee creek.  Crawford was soon informed of this sudden apparition of a civilized foe.  That the savages would be able, in any event, to obtain aid from Detroit, had not been dreamed of by any one in the American army.  It was surmised now, that they had been stationed at Lower Sandusky or upon the Miami of the Lake—the Maumee—and had thus been enabled to reach the Plains in so short a time.  Their appearance was certainly well calculated to strike dismay to the hearts of the whole army. ¹

       It must have been a great surprise for the Patriot forces to see British-aligned Tory forces coming to the support of the Indian forces.  This was Capt. William Caldwell’s company of Butler’s Rangers that had been dispatched to the British stronghold of Detroit.  Because of their supposed involvement in the Wyoming Valley and Cherry Valley massacres of 1778, they were regarded as no better than their savage allies by the Patriot settlers of the backcountry.  Certainly the appearance of this band must have given the Americans no little concern.

       Crawford saw that the contemplated attack must be abandoned, and that a defensive policy would have to be adopted. He immediately called a council of war of the field officers, to take into consideration the changed aspect of affairs.  While they were deliberating, a large reinforcement—apparently two hundred strong— of Shawanese was discovered advancing from the south.  They moved along in full view, and took up a position to the west of the Delawares; so that the trail from the south, which had been followed by the Americans, ran along between the two camps of the savages.  At a distance, in the prairie, parties of the enemy were seen to pass to and fro, and small squads were discovered constantly arriving as reinforcements.  "They kept pouring in hourly from all quarters," are the words of Rose.

       The council of war unanimously resolved upon a retreat that night, as the succors of the enemy rendered their entire force so much superior in numbers, that to risk an engagement would be, in the judgment of all, hazardous in the extreme.  Besides, it was now fairly to be presumed that the enemy would continue to be reinforced.  "Prudence, therefore, dictated a retreat," wrote Rose to the commandant at Fort Pitt. Orders were given, and preparations at once begun, for a retrograde movement, to commence at nine o'clock.  There was, it was evident, no other course to be pursued.

       The volunteers killed were now buried, and fires burned over their graves to prevent discovery.  Of the twenty-three wounded, seven were in a dangerous condition.  Biers were prepared for these.  The wounds of the others were mostly slight; none so bad but they could ride on horseback.  The whole body was to form in four lines, or divisions, keeping the wounded in the center.  By sundown the arrangements were all complete.

       During the afternoon, as in the early part of the day, occasional shots were interchanged between the outposts of the contending parties, but usually at a distance of from two to three hundred yards.  Dunlevy, who was engaged in the edge of the prairie watching the enemy, frequently heard, as during the battle the day before, the voice of Simon Girty.  He was very well acquainted with the renegade, and thought there could be no doubt of his identity, and so expressed himself to his comrades at the time.  It was generally believed among the volunteers—though in this they were mistaken—that Girty had the chief command of the enemy; and many afterward so reported.

       The day had been as hot as the one previous; and, as then, there had been much suffering for the want of water.  John Sherrard sought the pool from which he had supplied his comrades during the battle; but, to his surprise, found it entirely dry.  His narrative of what followed is interesting: "After searching the grove around, I was fortunate enough to find another supply, and again busied myself relieving the men of my company.  At length, overcome with heat and fatigue, I sat down at the foot of a large oak tree, and in a short time fell asleep.  How long I slept I can not say.  I was aroused by some bark falling upon my head from above, which had been knocked off the tree by the balls of the enemy.  I then resumed my task of carrying water."

       It was no sooner dark than the officers went on the outposts and brought in the men as expeditiously and quietly as possible.  The whole body was then formed to begin the march, with Crawford at the head.  Each of the four divisions was commanded by the same field officer as on the outward march, except that of Major Brinton.  This officer being wounded, Major Leet had already taken command of his division.  Just at this time the enemy discovered the intentions of the Americans, and opened a hot fire. Some of the men became alarmed.  This precipitated matters.  A few in the front lines hurried off, and most of those in the rear were not slow to follow, leaving the seven dangerously wounded men; some of whom, however, got off on horseback by the help of kind comrades, who waited for and assisted them.

       It was the express order of Crawford that the wounded should all be taken along; and it was only the confusion arising from the army being so unexpectedly attacked, just at the critical moment the retreat was to have commenced, that interfered with that humane command.  It was, indeed, generally supposed by the officers that all the wounded had been brought off; hence Rose to Irvine: "We secured all our wounded."  Lieutenant Ashley was carried from the field by the brave and magnanimous Captain Biggs, unknown, however, to the army.  Only two, it is believed, were left to the insatiate vengeance of the savages.

       The whole army was soon in motion, with Crawford at their head; and the only wonder is, that the movement did not degenerate at once into a total rout.  Such, however, was not the case, although there was considerable confusion and a great noise.  Says Rose to Irvine, apologetically: "In a body trained to the strictest discipline, some confusion would have arisen, upon such an occasion."  Major McClelland led the division in front, and was soon engaged with the Delawares and Shawanese.  It had been determined at the council to retreat on the same route followed by the army in their march out.  This led due south from the battle-field for a short distance, until the Indian trace was struck, which would then take the army in a course toward the southwest—directly between the two camps of the savages.  It was at this point that McClelland's line suffered severely.  That officer fell from his horse, desperately wounded.  Calling to John Orr, who was near, he told him to take his horse (Orr was on foot) and "clear himself," which he did.  Little did the unfortunate major imagine the awful fate that was awaiting him—or he certainly would have craved the mercy of a bullet through his heart!  Orr afterward related that he heard several of the men who were in the conflict, say that the horsemen on the retreat rode over McClelland; and it was the general belief that he was killed where he fell.  Such, however, was not the fact.  Frightful tortures by the merciless savages were doled out to him afterward.

       Although the enemy had early discovered the movement of the Americans, and had opened fire upon them, yet they were in great confusion and apparent alarm.  It was not clear to them that a retreat was really intended by Crawford.  They were fearful it was only a feint— a ruse or maneuver of some kind, not a flight.  It was, perhaps, this uncertainty', or the well-known aversion of the Indians to night contests, that saved the borderers.  Certain it is the enemy did not make an immediate effort to pursue them.

       While McClelland's party was hotly engaged with the Delawares and Shawanese in front, the other divisions, to avoid the savages, bore off in a southwest direction, leaving the combatants to the left.  This brought them near the swamp before spoken of, into which, owing to the darkness, rode some of the Americans.  The rear division was here attacked by the Indians, and suffered some loss.  Several of the men were compelled to leave their horses hopelessly entangled among the bogs, or stuck fast in the oozy soil.

       The march was continued around the western margin of the swamp with considerable confusion.  When it was supposed by the volunteers that they were entirely beyond the enemy's lines, they changed their course to the southeast.  A little before daylight, the trail they had followed on the inward march was reached; and, at break of day, they came to the site of the deserted village of the Wyandots—Upper Sandusky, Old Town— when a halt was called.

       The three divisions, in their march from the battlefield, had described the half of a circle, the center of which is the site of the present town of Upper Sandusky; but McClelland's division had marched, in a greatly demoralized condition, along the trail leading by the springs, and had already arrived irregularly and in much confusion, at the Old Town.  It was evident they had suffered severely in their contest with the combined forces of the enemy; luckily, however, they had not been pursued far by the savages.

       Detached parties continued to arrive at the deserted village, and the army, in a short time, numbered about three hundred.  It was now discovered that Colonel Crawford was missing—"whose loss," says Rose, "we all regretted."  No one could give any information concerning him;—whether killed, captured, or making his escape through the wilderness, was a matter of conjecture with every one.  Dr. John Knight and John Slover were also missing.  Major McClelland was reported killed.

       The command of the army now devolved upon Williamson, who immediately exerted himself in collecting the different parties, and in bringing order out of the general confusion.  He was powerfully aided by the gallant Rose, and the retreat was again continued.

       It will be remembered that, on the march out, as the army passed along the Indian trace in the woods before reaching the deserted village of the Wyandots, a sugar-camp had been noticed, where, apparently in the early spring, maple sugar had been made by the savages.   Isaac Vance, one of the volunteers from Washington county, as the army was passing along, espied a brass kettle that had been used by the Indians in this camp to boil sap in, and which had apparently been left in the hush through an inadvertence.   This kettle, in the eyes of the backwoodsman, was a prize of too much value to be left in the enemy's country; so, dismounting, and seizing a bowlder [sic], he soon had the utensil flattened, ready for transportation.   It was then securely fastened to his saddle; and, notwithstanding the stirring scenes through which the finder soon after passed, was transported all the way to the home of the borderer. ²

       Not long after the army had reached the open country southeast of the mouth of the Little Sandusky creek, and was well on its way in the Plains, a large body of the enemy was discovered a considerable distance in the rear.  It consisted of mounted Indians and the British light cavalry.  At noon, the army had reached a point on the trail due south of the present site of Bucyrus, in Bucyrus township, Crawford county.  "The enemy," says Rose, "hung on our rear through the Plains;” and they now began to press the Americans.

        The eastern verge of the prairie was now not very far ahead.  By two o'clock, the woodland had almost been reached, when the enemy crowded hard upon their rear, and began a flank movement of the Americans both right and left.  "It was evidently their design," wrote Rose to Irvine," "to retard our march, until they could possess themselves of some advantageous ground in our front, and so cut off our retreat, or oblige us to fight them at a disadvantage.  Though it was our business studiously to avoid engaging in the Plains, on account of the enemy's superiority in light cavalry, yet they pressed our rear so hard, that we concluded on a general and vigorous attack, whilst our light-horse secured the entrance of the woods."  ³

       The Americans, once on the verge of total victory, now seem to be on the verge of annihilation themselves.  The retreat had not turned into a total rout, but the Patriot forces were now without their commander and desperately trying to keep from being surrounded by their savage foes.  Lord willing we’ll pick up the story in my next post.

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)      C.W. Butterfield, An Historical Account of the Expedition Against Sandusky (Cincinnati, OH: Robert Clarke & Co., 1873), p. 214-16. 
2)      Ibid., p. 217-25. 
3)      Ibid., p. 227-28.

The Battle of Sandusky - June 4, 1782

       In my last post, we looked at the beginning of Col. William Crawford’s expedition to punish the Indian tribes north of the Ohio River.  Here we pick up the story just as the forces are about to engage each other.

      The army crossed the river just below the site of the old town, at a point half a mile from the deserted Moravian huts, following the Indian trace, which led across a broad, level bottom, in a northerly direction, to the bluffs, or high ground, beyond.  Three miles from the starting point brought them to the springs, where Upper Sandusky is now located; when, after marching a mile further, some of the men, for the first time, expressed a desire to return home—alleging they had but five days' provisions in reserve.  [Col. William] Crawford, stopping the march, immediately called a council of war, consisting of the captains and field officers.  [Dr. John] Knight and [Lt. John] Rose were also invited, as were [John] Slover and [Jonathan] Zane. The opinion of the latter had great weight with Crawford, who knew Zane to be exceedingly well versed in Indian strategy.

       Zane advised an immediate return. He was of opinion that the Indians would, in the end, bring an overwhelming force against them.  A further march into their country, he reasoned, even though the army had supplies in abundance, would only be giving more time to the enemy to gather reinforcements.  That none of the Indians had, as yet, been discovered in the Plains was a sure evidence, in his judgment, that they were concentrating at some point not far away for a determined resistance.  The views of Crawford coincided with those of Zane.  It was finally determined by the council that the army should continue its march that afternoon, but no longer.

       Crawford had previously formed a company of light-horse to act as scouts in advance of the army.  These could now move a considerable distance in front of the main body with comparatively little risk—the woods having, to a great extent, disappeared, and there being no bushes or undergrowth in the groves for ambuscades by the enemy.  From this company Crawford had detached a small party for observation, soon after leaving the old village.  They followed along the Indian trail, and were now reconnoitering the open country to the northeast of the spot where the council of war was deliberating.  To the left of the trace they saw a beautiful island, or grove, which seemed to beckon them from the fierce heat of the sun.  They drew up for a moment to enjoy the cool shade of its clustering oaks.

       The spot where the party halted was slightly elevated above the surrounding country, and, notwithstanding the overshadowing branches of the thickly-growing trees, was covered with a luxuriant growth of the tall, wild grass of the Plains.  To the north and west the prairie spread out before them—a broad champaign of exceeding beauty, with here and there, in the distance, small island-groves, to break the otherwise uninterrupted view.  Eastward, at not more than a mile away, a long line of forest trees of the usual variety of the country, decked the margin of the Sandusky.  Midway, and near the edge of the Plains, the Indian trace led onward in a direction nearly northeast to the Wyandot town— the Half King's residence—only a little over two miles distant.  Not very far off, in a southwest direction, there was a large swamp, impassable to horsemen.  The scouts had passed to the right of this swamp .without discovering it.

       They now struck out into the open prairie to the north, moving leisurely on, when, at a distance of a mile from the grove they had just left, they suddenly came in full view of the enemy, having unsuspectingly reconnoitered, very near the rendezvous of the latter.  When first seen, the Indians were running directly toward them.  The scouts immediately drew together, and dispatched one of their number, riding their fleetest horse, as an express, to inform Crawford of the discovery of the savages; and then wheeling about, retired slowly as the foe advanced.

The Indians had chosen a favorable point for the assembling of their forces.  It was not far distant from the two traces—the one leading northeast to the Half King's town; the other, northwest to Pipe's town,—branching off from the springs, the spot where Upper Sandusky now stands.  The warriors in advance were the Delawares under The Pipe, their famous war-chief.  With him were Wingenund and [Simon] Girty.  Their object in moving south was to secure the grove before the arrival of the Americans.  The Wyandots under Zhaus-sho-toh were held back by [Capt. Matthew] Elliott for the present.

       Just as the officers of the American army had ended their council of war, the scout from the north came riding up at full speed, announcing the discovery and advance of the savages.  The news was received with evident satisfaction by the whole army.  Rapidly the volunteers mounted and fell into line. Crawford immediately prepared to meet the enemy he had been so anxiously looking for.  An advance was ordered, which was obeyed with alacrity.  The army was now joined by the retiring scouts, who reported the Indians just ahead in considerable force, evidently prepared to offer them battle.

       The resplendent genius of Rose, the aid of Colonel Crawford, began now to exhibit itself.  As the belligerents rapidly approached each other he aroused himself.  Although his keen, dark eyes flashed with excitement, yet his voice exhibited no trepidation.  In all his movements he was cool and collected.  The genial, complaisant, and retiring gentleman was now the bold, dauntless, and spirited soldier.  He rode the best horse in the army; and as he galloped up and down the lines carrying the orders of his commander, his gallantry and martial bearing attracted general attention.  It was well, as we shall presently see, that Irvine consented to spare his aid-de-camp to Crawford.

       The Americans had advanced scarcely a mile when the enemy were discovered immediately in front, taking possession of the grove the light-horse had so recently abandoned.  Crawford, instantly detecting the advantage this would give the foe, ordered his men to dismount; and a quick, forward movement, with brisk firing by the Americans, soon drove the Indians out of the wood into the open prairie to the north, the former getting full possession of the grove.  The savages then attempted to gain a small skirt of woods on the right of our army, but were prevented by the bravery and vigilance of Major Leet, who had command in that quarter.  Just then the Delawares, who had bravely met the first shock of the battle, were reinforced by the Wyandots under Zhaus-sho-toh.

Elliott, who was now present and in command of the entire force of the enemy, ordered The Pipe, with his Delawares, to flank to the right and attack Crawford in the rear.  This was quickly accomplished, the Indians passing along just beyond the edge of the grove on the west; and the action became at once general, close, and hot.  This skillful maneuver of the savages came well nigh proving fatal to the Americans; but the latter, having the advantage of position, maintained their ground, although clearly outnumbered by their assailants.  The firing began at four o'clock and continued very warm on both sides.  Girty was conspicuous in his excitement and endeavors.  The enemy were sheltered by the grass which grew high and rank upon the Plains, so that they could scarcely be seen, when on foot, at any great distance away.  On the other hand, the Americans were better protected by the grove they had so bravely secured.

       At times it was doubtful how the day would end, as the battle continued with varying success.  After a while, however, it was evident to Crawford that the Indians were slacking their efforts.  Toward sunset they became more cautious in their attacks, being evidently less inclined to expose themselves to the deadly aim of the frontiersmen; and finally, at dusk, they drew back farther into the Plains, and the firing ceased as daylight disappeared.

       The afternoon had been unusually hot.  Little or no air was stirring.  The river was over a mile away from the battle-ground, and the soldiers suffered very much from thirst.  No spring was near nor running stream.  Many canteens were emptied long before the battle was ended.  Several of the volunteers went in search of water.  John Sherrard was one of the number—his gun having become useless to him from forcing a bullet into the barrel without powder.  After a while, in wandering about, he came to a spot where a tree had been blown down and a considerable depression in the ground had been caused by the upheaval of the roots.  Here he found some stagnant water.  After quenching his thirst he filled his canteen and hat, and, thus supplied, made his way to his company—the men eagerly drinking of the water, bad as it was.  The residue of the time, during the battle, Sherrard employed in traveling back and forth with canteens filled at the pool, the bullets flying thickly around him, but he escaped unhurt.

       As the battle progressed, the savages, skulking in the high grass of the prairie, would frequently get within close range of the guns of the Americans, generally to be shot before they could make good their retreat; for, in all maneuvers of that sort, the volunteers were the equals of the Indians.  Some of the borderers climbed trees, and from their bushy tops took deadly aim at the heads of the enemy as they arose above the grass.  Daniel Canon was conspicuous in this novel mode of warfare.  He was one of the dead-shots of the army; and, from his lofty hiding-place, the reports of his unerring rifle gave unmistakable evidence of the killing of savages.  "I do not know how many Indians I killed," said he, afterward, "but I never saw the same head again above the grass after I shot at it!"

       "About a hundred feet off," says Philip Smith, "an Indian was hid in the tall grass, firing at me.  I felt the bark of a tree, where I stood, fly in my face several times.  Having discovered the position of the savage I fired several shots; and, at the seventh one, catching sight of his body, I brought him down.  No more balls came from that quarter.  After waiting a reasonable time, I crawled along to find his body, but it had been dragged away.  I could see plainly the trail of blood it made."

       Another soldier, who had climbed one of the trees of the grove, witnessed, from his lookout in its scrubby top, the pursuit of the gallant Rose by a party of mounted Indians, who were so close to him, at times, as to throw their tomahawks!  They were, however, finally baffled by his coolness and superior horsemanship.  It was, according to the narrator's account, a most exciting race—even to a forgetfulness, by the latter, of his own dangerous position.

       Francis Dunlevy, who belonged to Captain Craig Ritchie's company, had, during the fight, been engaged with an Indian of huge proportions.  The latter, as evening approached, crept carefully and cautiously toward Dunlevy, through the top of a tree lately blown down, which was full of leaves, when, getting near enough as he supposed, he threw his tomahawk, but missed his aim, and then escaped.  This Indian was afterward recognized by Dunlevy, as he believed, in "Big Captain Johnny," who, in the war of 1812, was with the friendly Shawanese at Wapakoneta.  "In a campaign in which I served," writes A. H. Dunlevy, "under General William Henry Harrison, in 1812—13, I frequently saw this Indian.  He must have been seven feet in height!  He was as frightfully ugly as he was large."

       At dark, the victory was clearly with the Americans.  The enemy drew off, "with the loss of several scalps," afterward wrote Rose to Irvine.  How many savages were killed must be left entirely to conjecture.   The loss of the enemy was doubtless severe—much more so than with the borderers.  No prisoners were captured on either side.

       Although Crawford was left in full possession of the battle-field, yet the Indians were far from being dispirited.  They well knew that reinforcements were hastening to their relief; that these would certainly reach them on the morrow.  The American army, during the three hours and a half contest, lost five killed and nineteen wounded.   Of the latter were Major Brinton, Captains Munn and Ross, Lieutenant Ashley, Ensign McMasters, and Philip Smith.  Captain Ogle was killed; also, private John Campbell, of Pigeon creek, Washington county.

       Both parties lay on their arms during the night, and both adopted the policy of kindling large fires along their lines and then retiring some distance in the rear of them, to prevent being surprised by a night attack.  The camp of the Wyandots was in the prairie north of the grove; that of the Delawares, in the open country to the south.

       The battle of Sandusky was fought in and around the grove since well known as "Battle Island," in what is now Crane township, Wyandot county, three miles north, and half a mile east, of the court-house in Upper Sandusky.  This spot has always been readily identified, by reason of the scars upon the trunks of the trees, made by the hatchets of the Indians in getting out the bullets after the action.  But the "Island" may now be said to have disappeared.  Cultivated fields mark the site where the contest took place.  Occasionally an interesting relic is turned up by the plowshare, to be preserved by the curious as a memento of the battle. ¹

       Although the Americans seemed to be victorious, the campaign wasn’t over yet.  The Indians were hoping to receive reinforcements; the Americans were hoping to just hold on.  Lord willing, we’ll pick up the story in my next post. 

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)      C.W. Butterfield, An Historical Account of the Expedition Against Sandusky (Cincinnati, OH: Robert Clarke & Co., 1873), p. 202-13.