The Tortuous Death of Col. William Crawford

       In my last post, we saw that John Slover and Dr. Knight had been able to elude their Indian captors and eventually, through various hardships, they were both able to make it back to the American settlements.  Col. William Crawford, the commander of the American expedition, was about to meet his Creator.  WARNING: the following narrative contains very graphic depictions of immolation and tortures.

       In the capture of Crawford, the Delawares had secured the "Big Captain" of the invading army—a prize they were determined should not be lost, as evinced by his being guarded, from the Sandusky to the Tymochtee, by their two war-chiefs—The Pipe and Wingenund.  Common prisoners were tomahawked with little ado; but Crawford was reserved for a more terrible death.

       There was a fire burning at the spot where, on the afternoon of the 11th of June, we left Crawford in charge of the Delawares, to follow the fortunes of Knight.  Around that fire was a crowd of Indians— about thirty or forty men, and sixty or seventy squaws and boys.

       A few Wyandots were there, and Simon Girty with them, as already mentioned; also Captain [Matthew] Elliott, it is believed, as he did not arrive at the Shawanese towns, where Slover was held captive, until after this date.  "Dr. Knight thinks a British captain was present," wrote Irvine to Washington, on the 11th of July.

       "He says he saw a person there who was dressed and appeared like a British officer."  There, too, was Samuel Wells, the negro boy, who had been captured by the Indians, as previously stated, and who afterward stoutly affirmed to early white settlers in the Sandusky country that his employment, at the time, was the holding of Girty's horse.  A spectator, likewise, but an unwilling and horrified one, was Dr. Knight, who stood at a short distance from the fire, securely bound and guarded by the rough-visaged Tutelu.

       Within hearing distance at least, if not in the crowd around the fire, was Christian Fast, a boy seventeen years of age, who, the year previous, having enlisted in that part of Westmoreland which soon after became Fayette county, as a member of the expedition from Western Pennsylvania that descended the Ohio river in aid of George Rogers Clark, was captured when near the Falls (Louisville) and taken to Sandusky.  Fast, it seems, saw Crawford either at the Half King's town or at Wingenund's camp, and had a conversation with him, the particulars of which are unknown.

       Crawford was stripped naked and ordered to sit down.  It is a tradition seemingly well authenticated that his clothes, especially his hat, which was made of leather, were long after in the keeping of the Delawares.  The Indians now beat him with sticks and their fists; and, presently after, Knight was treated in the same manner.  The fatal stake—a post about fifteen feet high—had been set firmly in the ground.  Crawford hands were bound behind his back, and a rope fastened—one end to the foot of the post, and the other to the ligature between his wrists.  The rope was long enough for him to sit down, or walk around the post once or twice and return the same way.  Crawford then called to Girty and asked if they intended to burn him.  Girty answered, "Yes." He then replied he would take it all patiently.  Upon this, Captain Pipe made a speech to the Indians, who, at its conclusion, yelled a hideous and hearty assent to what had been said.

       The spot where Crawford was now to be immolated to satisfy the revengeful thirst of the Delawares for the blood of the borderers, was in what is now Crawford township, Wyandot county—a short distance northeast from the present town of Crawfordsville. ¹

       That the stake was planted in the immediate vicinity, so abundantly described, there can be no doubt.  Besides, we have the positive statement of Knight that the place was three-quarters of a mile from "Captain Pipe's house"—the Delaware village upon the Tymochtee.  Here, then, at about four o'clock in the afternoon, of Tuesday, June 11, 1782, the torture began.

       The Indian men took up their guns and shot powder into Crawford's naked body from his feet as far up as his neck.  It was the opinion of Knight that not less than seventy loads were discharged upon him!  They then crowded about him, and, to the best of Knight's observation, cut off both his ears; for when the throng had dispersed, he saw the blood running from both sides of his head!

       The fire was about six or seven yards from the post to which Crawford was tied.  It was made of small hickory poles burnt quite through in the middle, each end of the poles remaining about six feet in length.  Three or four Indians by turns would take up, individually, one of these burning pieces of wood, and apply it to his naked body, already burnt black with powder.

       These tormentors presented themselves on every side of him, so that, whichever way he ran round the post, they met him with the burning fagots.  Some of the squaws took broad boards, upon which they would carry a quantity of burning coals and hot embers and throw on him; so that, in a short time, he had nothing but coals of fire and hot ashes to walk on!

       In the midst of these extreme tortures, Crawford called to Girty and begged of him to shoot him; but the white savage making no answer, he called again.  Girty then, by way of derision, told Crawford he had no gun; at the same time turning about to an Indian who was behind him, he laughed heartily, and, by all his gestures, seemed delighted at the horrid scene!

       Girty then came up to Knight and bade him prepare for death.  He told him, however, he was not to die at that place, but was to be burnt at the Shawanese towns.  He swore, with a fearful oath, that he need not expect to escape death, but should suffer it in all its extremities!  He then observed that some prisoners had given him to understand, that if the Americans had him they would not hurt him.  For his part, he said he did not believe it; but desired to know Knight's opinion of the matter.  The latter, however, was in too great anguish and distress, on account of the torments Crawford was suffering before his eyes, as well as the expectation of undergoing the same fate in two days, to made [sic] any answer to the monster.  Girty expressed a great deal of ill-will for Colonel Gibson, saying he was one of his greatest enemies—and more to the same purpose; to all which Knight paid but little attention.

       Crawford, at this period of his suffering, besought the Almighty to have mercy on his soul, spoke very low, and bore his torments with the most manly fortitude.  He continued, in all the extremities of pain, for an hour and three-quarters or two hours longer, as near as Knight could judge; when, at last, being almost spent, he lay down upon his stomach.

       The savages then scalped him, and repeatedly threw the scalp into the face of Knight, telling him that was his "great captain."  An old squaw, whose appearance, thought Knight, every way answered the ideas people entertain of the devil, got a board, took a parcel of coals and ashes, and laid them on his back and head.  He then raised himself upon his feet and began to walk around the post.

       They next put burning sticks to him, as usual; but he seemed more insensible of pain than before.  Knight was now taken away from the dreadful scene.

       It was a tradition, long after repeated by the Delawares and Wyandots, that Crawford breathed his last just at the going down of the sun.  On the following morning, when Knight started for the Shawanese towns, he was conducted to the spot where Crawford had suffered, as it was partly in the direction he and his Delaware guard were taking.  He saw the bones of his commander, lying among the remains of the fire, almost burnt to ashes.  The Delaware told Knight that was his "Big Captain," at the same time giving the scalp halloo.

       After Crawford died—so runs the tradition—the fagots were heaped together, his body placed upon them, and around his charred remains danced the delighted savages for many hours.

       When the news of the torture reached the Shawanese villages the exultation was very great.  Not so when the awful story was repeated in the settlements upon the border.  A gloom was spread on every countenance.  Crawford's melancholy end was lamented by all who knew him.  Heart-rending was the anguish in a lonely cabin upon the banks of the Youghiogheny.  There were few men on the frontiers, at that time, whose loss could have been more sensibly felt or more keenly deplored.

       The language of Washington, upon this occasion, shows the depth of his feeling: "It is with the greatest sorrow and concern that I have learned the melancholy tidings of Colonel Crawford's death.  He was known to me as an officer of much care and prudence; brave, experienced, and active.  The manner of his death was shocking to me; and I have this day communicated to the honorable, the Congress, such papers as I have regarding it."  In a letter to Irvine, at Fort Pitt, written on the 6th of August, he says: "I lament the failure of the expedition against Sandusky, and am particularly affected with the disastrous death of Colonel Crawford."  ²

       Thus ends one of the most disastrous American military campaigns in history.  The death of Col. William Crawford is not only one of the most iconic episodes in the history of the colonial frontier, it is also one of those incidents in history that reveals the awful depravity of the human heart.  It is a story that haunts the reader.  As Crawford was said to have commended his soul to God before his demise, it is hoped that we may see him in the next life.

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. 379-84. 
2)      Ibid., p. 387-92.

Accounts of the Various Captives

       In my last post, we saw that several of the American stragglers from Col. William Crawford’s defeated army had been captured by the Indians who were hovering around the dispersed Patriot bands.  In this post, we will begin to see what ultimately happened to the distressed captives.

       It was three o'clock in the afternoon of Friday, the 7th of June, that Crawford and Knight were led captives to Wingenund's camp.  On Sunday evening following, five Delawares, who had posted themselves some distance on the road of the army, east, brought to the camp the scalps of Captain Biggs and Lieutenant Ashley; likewise, an Indian scalp taken by the former upon the field of battle.  These Indians also brought in the horses of Knight and Biggs.  The two young men who ran off when Crawford and Knight were taken, again escaped the savages.

      The Delawares had nine other prisoners at their camp besides Crawford and Knight; all securely guarded, and with very little to eat.  John McKinly, formerly an officer in the Thirteenth Virginia regiment, was one of the captives.  Several of the Indians spoke English quite fluently.  Some were personally known both to Crawford and Knight.  All very soon learned that the former was the commander of the expedition—the "Big Captain" of the Americans.  This information had been immediately carried to The Pipe and Wingenund, at the Half King's place.  Some of the Delawares at the camp were Christian Indians from the Muskingum, who, it is inferred, had gone back into heathenism.  Two of these, who were personally known to Knight, brought in scalps of the volunteers.

       On Monday morning, the 10th of June, the prisoners were all paraded to march, as they were told, to Sandusky—the Half King's town—about thirty-three miles distant, by way of the Indian trail.  There were seventeen Delawares having the captives in charge.  They carried with them the scalps of four white men.

       Crawford had been told that Simon Girty, who, it will be remembered, was an old acquaintance, was at the Half King's village; and being very desirous to see him, was permitted to go to the town the same night, with two warriors to guard him; the rest of the prisoners were to go no farther than Upper Sandusky Old Town that day.  Crawford's guards had orders to go by the route taken by him from the battle-field, that they might, if possible, find the horses he and the young man had been compelled to leave behind, on the morning after the retreat began.

       The prisoners were all marched together on the trace leading west, for three miles, when Crawford and his two guards struck off to the right—in a northwest direction, while the others were taken on to the Old Town.  The point where they separated was about eight miles almost due east from the present town of Bucyrus,—in what is now Jefferson township, Crawford county.

       Crawford reached the Half King's town some time during the night, and had an interview with Girty.  Very little has been preserved of their conversation.  "Tom Jelloway," as he was called, a Christian Indian from the Muskingum, speaking pretty plain English and French, was near and heard what was said.  Enough was reported by this Indian to Captain Pipe and Wingenund, who were in the village, to convince them that Crawford had made an earnest appeal for his safety.  He offered Girty a thousand dollars to save him; and the white savage promised, with no intention of keeping his word, to do everything in his power.  Crawford's offer of money only made the two Delaware chiefs more determined against him.

       Crawford clearly saw that the Indians, particularly The Pipe, were very much enraged against the prisoners.  Girty informed the Colonel that William Harrison and young William Crawford were made prisoners by the Shawanese, but had been pardoned at their towns.  This information was true as to their capture, but false as to their lives being spared.  The Wyandots had a few prisoners at their town; what became of them is entirely unknown—tradition, even, is silent, concerning them.  They were probably, soon after the visit of Crawford, tomahawked and their heads stuck upon poles, as was the usual custom of the Indians.  It is certain they were not tortured to death; as the Wyandots were more merciful, in this respect, than their allies, as has already been explained.

       Knight and his nine fellow-prisoners reached the Old Town late in the afternoon, as they had to travel a distance, from Wingenund's camp, of twenty-five miles.  Here they were securely guarded during the night.  Early in the morning — Tuesday, June 11th, the two Delaware chiefs, Captain Pipe and Wingenund, came up the river to them, from the Half King's town; and the former, with his own hands, painted the faces of all the prisoners black!  As he was painting Knight, he told him (the war-chief spoke very good English) he should go to the Shawanese towns and see his friends: Knight knew but too well the ominous import of these words, notwithstanding the blandness of the wily savage.

       About an hour after, Crawford also arrived up the river, whither he had been brought, as he had been told, to march into the Half King's village with the other prisoners.  The two Delaware chiefs, who had avoided seeing him at the town below, now came forward and greeted him:- he was personally known to both.  They had frequently seen each other before the disaffection of the clan to which these two Indians belonged. At the treaty of the 17th of September, 1778, at Fort Pitt, between the Delawares and the American government, Crawford and The Pipe were present, each taking part in the negotiations, and each signing the articles agreed upon.  The dissembling war-chief told the Colonel he was glad to see him, and that he would have him shaved—that is, adopted as an Indian—when he came to see his friends, the prisoners, at the Wyandot town; but, at the same time, he painted him black!

       The whole party now started on the trail leading to the village of the Wyandots, eight miles below; but, as the march began, Crawford and Knight were kept back, guarded by The Pipe and Wingenund.  They were soon ordered forward; but had not traveled far, before they saw four of their comrades lying by the path tomahawked and scalped; some of them were at a distance of a half a mile from the others.  The Delaware chiefs guarded well their two prisoners to the springs where Upper Sandusky now stands, when, to their dismay, another trail, than the one leading to the village of the Wyandots, was taken.  Their course was now to the northwest, toward the Delaware town upon the Tymochtee, instead of to the northeast in the direction of Sandusky.  If any spark of hope had been kept alive in the breasts of the two captives, it must now have been extinguished.  Onward they marched between their two guards, who seemed determined to make sure of their victims.

       Passing out of what is now Crane township into the present township of Salem, they soon reached the Little Tymochtee creek, where they overtook the five prisoners that remained alive.  The Indians now caused all their captives to sit down on the ground— Crawford and Knight with the rest; the two last, however, some distance from the others.  Knight was then given in charge of one of the Indians to be taken, on the morrow, to the Shawanese towns.

       At the place they had halted, there were a number of squaws and boys, who now fell on the five prisoners and tomahawked them all.   An old squaw cut off the head of John McKinly, and kicked it about upon the ground.   The young Indian fellows came often where Crawford and Knight were, and dashed the reeking scalps in their faces.

       Again the march began.  They were in what is now Crawford township, they were soon met by Simon Girty and several Indians, on horseback.  The former, well knowing what was to be the fate of Crawford, had come from the Half King's town across the Plains to The Pipe's village, to be present upon the arrival of the two Delaware chiefs with their prisoners, but, becoming impatient, had started out on the trail to meet the savages and their captives.  He rode up to Crawford and spoke to him; but did not inform him of the determination of The Pipe and Wingenund.  At this point the two prisoners had become separated, Crawford being about one hundred and fifty yards in advance of Knight.

       Girty had promised, it will be remembered, at the meeting with Crawford the night previous at the Half King's home, to do all he could for him; but that promise, as we have seen, he did not intend to keep; for now, at his first meeting with the Delaware chiefs since parting with Crawford, he made not the slightest effort in his behalf.  Nor is there any reason for believing, that he could have made any impression upon either The Pipe or Wingenund, had he been inclined to make the trial.

       The two war-chiefs of the Delawares were the archenemies of the Americans.  They had been, as we have seen, the prime movers in the alienation of their tribe from its neutral policy.  They drew with them from the Muskingum the war-faction, which not only set up its lodges upon the banks of the Sandusky and Tymochtee, but also formed a close alliance with the British Indians.  Besides, in the battles just fought, several of their bravest warriors had been killed.  It is not surprising, therefore, that no mercy was to be shown the prisoners who had fallen into their hands.¹

       As the party moved along toward the Tymochtee, almost every Indian the prisoners met, struck them with sticks or their fists.  Girty waited until Knight was brought up, and asked, "Was that the doctor?"  Knight answered him in the affirmative, and went toward him, reaching out his hand; but the savage bid him begone, calling him a damned rascal; upon which the Indian having him in charge pulled him along.  Girty rode up after him, telling him he was to go to the Shawanese towns.

       A short distance further brought them near to the Tymochtee, and another halt was made.  They had now arrived within three-quarters of a mile of the Delaware village, which was further down the creek.  Just here— a memorable locality—when the afternoon was well advanced, we will leave the unfortunate Crawford, to relate the incidents which afterward befell Knight, who, for over two hours before leaving the place, drank to the dregs, it may be premised, a cup of inexpressible horror!  He was then taken to Captain Pipe's house, at the Delaware village, where he lay bound all night.

       The next morning, the I2th of June, Knight was untied by the savage who had him in charge — a Delaware Indian, whose name was Tutelu, a rough looking fellow— and again painted black!  They then started for the Shawanese towns, which the Indian said was somewhat less than forty miles away.  Tutelu was on horseback, and drove Knight before him.  The latter pretended he was ignorant of the death he was to die, affected as cheerful a countenance as possible, and asked the savage if they were not to live together as brothers in one house when they should get to the town.  Tutelu seemed well pleased, and said, "Yes."  He then asked Knight if he could make a wigwam.  Knight told him he could.  He then seemed more friendly.

       The route taken by the Delaware was the Indian trace leading from the Delaware town to Wapatomica.  It led off in a direction partly southwest.  They traveled, as near as Knight could judge, the first day about twenty-five miles.  The doctor was then informed by Tutelu, that they would reach the town the next day a little before the sun was on the meridian.  The prisoner was again tied, and both laid down to rest.  Knight attempted very often to untie himself, but the Indian was extremely vigilant and scarce ever shut his eyes.  At daybreak he got up and untied his captive.

       Tutelu now began to mend up the fire; and, as the gnats were troublesome, Knight asked him if he should make a smoke behind him.  He said, "Yes."  The doctor took the end of a dogwood fork, which had been burnt down to about eighteen inches in length.  It was the longest stick he could find, yet too small for the purpose he had in view.  He then took up another small stick, and taking a coal of fire between them, went behind the savage; when, turning suddenly about, he struck the Indian on the head with all his force.  This so stunned the savage that he fell forward with both his hands in the fire.  He soon recovered and got up, but ran off howling in a most fearful manner.  Knight seized his gun and followed him, with a determination to shoot him down; but by pulling back the cock [hammer] with too great violence, broke the mainspring, as he believed.  The Indian continued to run, still followed by Knight, who was vainly endeavoring to fire his gun.  The doctor, however, soon gave up the chase and returned to the fire, where we will leave him for the present, to narrate what befell Slover and his two companions in captivity, whom we left just approaching, on the 11th of June, the upper Shawanese town, in what is now Logan county.

       The inhabitants of the village, which they were nearing, came out with clubs and tomahawks—struck, beat, and abused the three captives greatly.  They seized one of Slover's companions, the oldest one, stripped him naked, and with coal and water painted him black!  The man seemed to surmise that this was the sign that he was to be burnt, and shed tears.  He asked Slover the meaning of his being blacked; but the Indians, in their own language, forbade him telling the man what was intended.  They assured the latter, speaking English to him, that he was not to be hurt.

       A warrior had been sent to Wapatomica, to acquaint them with the arrival of the prisoners, and prepare them for the frolic; and, on the approach of the captives, the inhabitants came out with guns, clubs, and tomahawks.  The three were told they had to run to the council-house, about three hundred yards distant.  The man who was painted black was about twenty yards in advance of the other two in running the gauntlet.  They made him their principal object; men, women, and children beating him, and those who had guns firing loads of powder into his flesh as he ran naked, putting the muzzles of their guns up to his body; shouting, hallooing, and beating their drums in the meantime.

       The unhappy man had reached the door of the council-house, beaten and wounded in a shocking manner.  Slover and his companion having already arrived there, had a full view of the spectacle—a most horrid one!  They had cut him with their tomahawks, shot his body black, and burnt it into holes with loads of powder blown into it.  A large wadding had made a wound in his shoulder whence the blood gushed very freely.

       The unfortunate man, agreeable to the declarations of the savages when he first set out, had reason to think himself secure when the door of the council-house was reached.  This seemed to be his hope; for, coming up with great struggling and endeavor, he laid hold of the door, but was pulled back and drawn away by the enemy.  Finding now that no mercy was intended, he attempted several times to snatch or lay hold of some of their tomahawks; but being weak, could not effect it.

       Slover saw him borne off; and the Indians were a long time beating, wounding, pursuing, and killing him!  The same evening, Slover saw the dead body close by the council-house.  It was cruelly mangled; the blood mingled with the powder was rendered black.  He saw, also, the same evening, the body after it had been cut into pieces,—the limbs and head about two hundred yards on the outside of the town, stuck on poles!

      The same evening Slover also saw the bodies of three others at Wapatomica, in the same black and mangled condition.  These, he was told, had been put to death the same day, and just before his arrival.  Their bodies, as they lay, were black, bloody,—burnt with powder.  One of these was William Harrison, the son in-law of Crawford; another, young William Crawford, a nephew.  Slover recognized the visage of Harrison, and saw his clothing and that of young Crawford, at the town.  The Indians brought two horses to him, and asked him if he knew them.  He said they were those of Harrison and Crawford.  The savages replied they were.

       The third body, Slover could not recognize, but he believed it to be Major John McClelland, fourth in command of the expedition.  The next day, the bodies of these men were dragged to the outside of the town, and their corpses given to the dogs, except their limbs and heads, which were stuck on poles!  Such were the awful results of the wild orgies at Wapatomica.  What a gorge of infernal revelry did these unfortunate prisoners afford the infuriated savages! ²

       Slover saw Tutelu, the Delaware Indian, coming into Wapatomica.  He said that the prisoner he was bringing to be burnt, and who he said was a doctor, had made his escape from him.  Slover knew this must have been Dr. Knight, who went as surgeon of the expedition.  The Indian had a wound four inches long in his head, which he acknowledged the doctor had given him; he was cut to the skull.  His story was, that he had untied the doctor, being asked by him to do so, Knight promising that he would not go away; that while he was employed in kindling a fire, the doctor snatched up the gun, came up behind him, and struck him; that he then made a stroke at Knight with his knife, which the latter laid hold of, and his fingers were cut almost off, the knife being drawn through his hand; that he gave the doctor two stabs—one in the back, the other in the belly.  He said Knight was a big, tall, strong man!  Slover contradicted the doughty Delaware.  He told the warriors that he knew the doctor, and that he was a weak, little man; at which they laughed immoderately, and did not credit the brave Tutelu!

       On the last day of the council, save one, a "speech" came from Detroit, brought by a warrior who had been counseling with De Peyster, the commanding officer at that place.  The "speech" had long been expected, and was in answer to one sent some time previous to Detroit.  It was in a belt of wampum, and began with the address—" My Children:" and inquired why the Indians continued to take prisoners.  "Provisions are scarce; when prisoners are brought in we are obliged to maintain them; and some of them run away and carry tidings of our affairs.  When any of your people fall into the hands of the rebels, they show no mercy; why then should you take prisoners?  Take no more prisoners, my children, of any sort—man, woman, or child."

       Two days after, all the tribes that were near, being collected in council—Ottawas, Chippewas, Wyandots, Mingoes, Delawares, Shawanese, Monseys, and a part of the Cherokees—it was determined to take no more prisoners; and in the event of any tribes not present, taking any, the others would rise against them, take away the captives, and put them to death.  Slover understood perfectly what was said in these deliberations.  They laid plans also against the settlements of Kentucky, the Falls (Louisville), and toward Wheeling.  There was one council held at which Slover was not present.  The warriors had sent for him as usual, but the squaw with whom he lived would not suffer him to go, but hid him under a large quantity of skins.  It may have been done that Slover might not hear the determination she feared would be arrived at, to burn him.  About this time, twelve men were brought in from Kentucky, three of whom were burnt in Wapatomica; the remainder were distributed to other towns, and shared, as Slover was informed by the Indians, the same fate.

       The day after the last-mentioned council, about forty warriors, accompanied by George Girty, an adopted Delaware, a brother of Simon and James Girty, came early in the morning round the house where Slover was.  He was sitting before the door.  The squaw gave him up.  They put a rope around his neck, tied his arms behind his back, stripped him naked, and blacked him in the usual manner.  Girty, as soon as he was tied, cursed him, telling him he would get what he had many years deserved.  Slover was led to a town about five miles away, to which a messenger had been dispatched to desire them to prepare to receive him.  Arriving at the town, he was beaten with clubs and the pipe ends of their tomahawks, and was kept for some time tied to a tree before a house door.  In the meantime, the inhabitants set out for another town about two miles distant, where Slover was to be burnt, and where he arrived about three o'clock in the afternoon.  They were now at Mac-a-chack, not far from the present site of West Liberty, in Logan county.

       At Mac-a-chack there was a council-house also, as at Wapatomica; but part only of it was covered.  In the part without a roof was a post about sixteen feet in height.  Around this, at a distance of four feet, were three piles of wood about three feet high.  Slover was brought to the post, his arms again tied behind him, and the thong or cord with which they were bound was fastened to it.  A rope was also put about his neck, and tied to the post about four feet above his head.  While they were tying him, the wood was kindled and began to flame.  Just then the wind began to blow, and in a very short time, the rain fell violently.  The fire which, by this time, had began to blaze considerably, was instantly extinguished.  The rain lasted about a quarter of an hour.

       When it was over, the savages stood amazed, and were a long time silent.  At last, one said they would let him alone till morning, and have a whole day's frolic in burning him.  The sun at this time was about three hours high.  The rope about his neck was untied; and making him sit down, they began to dance around him.  This they continued until eleven o'clock at night; in the meantime, beating, kicking, and wounding him with their tomahawks and clubs.

       At last, one of the warriors, the Half Moon, asked him if he was sleepy.  Slover answered, "Yes."  The head warrior then chose out three men to take care of him.  These took him to a block-house.  They tied his arms until the cord was hid in the flesh; once around the wrist and once above the elbows.  A rope was fastened about his neck and tied to a beam of the house, but permitting him to lie down on a board.  The three warriors constantly harassed him, saying: "How will you like to eat fire to-morrow?  You will kill no more Indians now."  Slover was in expectation of their going to sleep, when at length, about an hour before daybreak, two laid down; but the third smoked a pipe, and talked to the captive, asking him the same painful questions.  About half an hour after, he also laid down.  Slover heard him begin to snore.  Instantly he went to work; and as his arms were perfectly benumbed, he laid himself down on his right one, which was behind his back.  With his fingers, which still had some life and strength, he slipped the cord from his left arm over his elbow and wrist.

       One of the warriors now got up and stirred the fire.  Slover was apprehensive that he would be examined, and thought it was all over with him; but the Indian laid down again, and his hopes revived.  He then attempted to unloose the rope about his neck; tried to gnaw it, but all in vain, as it was as thick as his thumb and very hard, being made of a buffalo hide.  He wrought with it a long time; finally gave it up; and could see no relief.  It was now daybreak.   Again he made an attempt—almost without hope, pulling the rope by putting his fingers between it and his neck,— when, to his great surprise, it came easily untied.  It was a noose, with two or three knots tied over it.

       Slover now stepped over the warriors as they lay; and having got out of the house, looked back to see if there was any disturbance.  He then ran through the town into a corn-field.  In the way, he saw four or five children and a squaw lying asleep under a tree.  Going a different way into the field, he untied his arm, which was greatly swollen and turned black.  Having observed a number of horses in a glade he had run through, he went back to catch one.  On his way he found a piece of an old rug or quilt hanging on a fence, which he took with him.  Catching the horse,—the rope with which he had been tied serving as a halter,—he mounted the animal and rode rapidly off. ³

Slover and Dr. Knight had been able to elude their captors.  Others were not so blessed.  Col. Crawford himself is still at the mercy of his merciless 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. 330-8. 
2)      Ibid., p. 341-7. 
3)      Ibid., p. 351-6.

"Stragglers Captured By The Savages"

       In my last post, I mentioned that some of the stragglers from Col. William Crawford’s army were not able to elude their Indian pursuers following the battle of Sandusky in June of 1782.  In this post, we will see what happened to the American commander and some of his men, as related by Butterfield.

       The confusion attending the commencement of the retreat of the Americans from their encampment in the grove, upon the Sandusky Plains, on the evening of the 5th of June, was the cause of the separation of Crawford from his command.  Just as the army moved off, he missed his son, John Crawford; his son-in-law, William Harrison; and William Crawford, his nephew; and, very naturally, at once made an effort to find them.  He called aloud for them, but there was no response.  His aid, too, Major Rose (he was called "major" by all the volunteers, although his real rank in the regular army was lieutenant, as we have already seen), was not just then by his side; so he called out for him also.

       At this moment, Dr. Knight came up and remarked to Crawford that he thought they were all ahead of them. He then said those he was looking for were not in front, and begged Knight not to leave him.  The doctor promised him he would not.  Both waited and continued calling for the absent men until the troops had all passed them.  The colonel then told the doctor that his horse had almost given out; that he could not keep up with the troops, and wished some of his best friends to remain with him.  He then exclaimed against the militia for riding off in such an irregular manner, and leaving some of the wounded behind, contrary to his orders.  Presently there came two men riding after them, — one an old man, the other a lad.  These were inquired of as to whether they had seen any of the missing men before mentioned.  They answered in the negative.

       By this time, there was very hot firing before them; near where the main body of the army was, as they judged.  Their course was then nearly southwest.  They had arrived near the cranberry marsh in which some of the volunteers were struggling, in vain endeavors to disengage their horses from the oozy soil.  Crawford and his three companions now changed their course to the north, traveling in that direction about two miles.  They were then in what is now Crane township, Wyandot county, about a mile and a half northwest of the battle-ground.

       At this point, judging themselves to be out of the enemy's lines, they changed their route, traveling due east, taking care to keep at a distance of fifteen or twenty yards apart, and directing themselves by the north star.  They reached the Sandusky river, distant three miles, a little before midnight, crossing that stream just above the mouth of Negro run, a small affluent of the Sandusky, flowing from the eastward.

       The old man who was with them often lagged behind; and, when this happened, he never failed to call for those in front to halt for him.  When they were near the river, he fell one hundred yards behind, and called out, as usual, for the party to wait.  While the others were preparing to reprimand him for making a noise, an Indian was heard to halloo, at a distance of about one hundred and fifty yards, as believed by, Knight, from the man, and partly behind him.  After this, he was not heard to call again, and they saw him no more.

       They then traveled onward, soon passing into what is now Eden township, in the county last mentioned.  By daylight, they had crossed into the present county of Crawford, at a point about two miles northwest of the spot where the town of Oceola, in Todd township, is now located,—only eight miles distant, in a direct line, from the battle-field.  Their progress had necessarily been slow on account of the darkness, and the jaded condition of their horses; those that Crawford and the young man were riding now gave out, and they left them.

       They again continued their journey—in a direction, however, more to the southeast.  At two o'clock in the afternoon [June 6], they fell in with Captain Biggs, who had carried Lieutenant Ashley from the field of action, dangerously wounded.  Traveling an hour longer, the heavy rain set in, which has been previously described; and they concluded it was best to encamp, as they were now incumbered [sic] with the wounded officer.  It was just as they came up with Biggs and Ashley that the battle of Olentangy commenced—particulars of which have already been narrated.  The battle-field was at a point in the Plains six miles distant, in a southeast direction. The place where the party made their camp was in what is now Holmes township, Crawford county, nearly two miles north of Bucyrus.  They had traveled only about nine miles since daylight.  They were in the woods and had been ever since midnight; the open country was two miles to the south of them.¹

        [June 7^th] As Lieutenant Ashley was still riding Biggs' horse, Knight now lent the latter his.  Crawford and the doctor, both on foot, went about one hundred yards in front, Biggs and the wounded officer in the center, and the two young men behind.  They were now traveling along the south bank of the Sandusky, and a mile and a half brought them to the point just east of Leesville, where the army, when outward bound, first struck the river.  Here several Indians started up within fifteen or twenty steps of Crawford and Knight.  As only three were at first discovered, the doctor got behind a large black oak, made ready his piece, and raised it to take sight, when Crawford called to him twice not to fire.

       One of the Indian's ran up to Crawford and took him by the hand.  The colonel again told Knight not to fire, but to put down his gun, which he did.  At that instant one of the Indians came up to him, whom he had formerly seen very often, calling him "doctor," and taking him by the hand.  The party had fallen into an ambuscade of Delaware Indians, whose chief was Wingenund, and whose camp was only half a mile away, in a northeast direction—Wingenund's camp, previously mentioned, distant twenty-eight miles in a straight line east of the battle-field.  As soon as the Indians were discovered by Biggs he fired among them, but did no execution.  "They then told us to call these people," says Knight, "and make them come there, else they would go and kill them, which the colonel did; but the four got off and escaped for that time.  The colonel and I were then taken to the Indian camp."  Captives to the Delaware Indians, we will leave Crawford and Knight at this point, to follow the fortunes of other stragglers from the army on the night of the 5^th of June.

       It will be remembered, that when the army left the grove on the evening the retreat began, three divisions, in marching around the camp of the Shawanese, struck the marsh that lay to the southwest of the battle-field, and that some of the men there lost their horses, which had stuck fast in the mire.  Among those who were unfortunate in this respect were John Slover, the pilot, and James Paull.  These men, with five others, all now on foot, being pressed by the savages, struck off together in a northerly direction, hoping thereby, as had Crawford and Knight, to avoid the enemy by taking a different direction from that followed by the army.  Two of the party, who had been in the same company with Slover, had lost their guns in the swamp.²

       During the night [June 6] they got out of the Plains, having crossed the paths made by the army in its advance, at a point about five miles east of the present site of Bucyrus.  They had traversed nearly the entire length of the open country—about forty miles from the Tymochtee creek by the route traveled; not very rapid walking, it is true; "but we would have made much greater progress," is the conjecture of Slover, "had it not been for two of our companions who were lame: the one having his foot burnt; the other being troubled with a swelling in his knee of a rheumatic nature."

       The party struck the woodland near the northeast corner of what is now Whetstone township, Crawford county, designing, very wisely, to keep north of the trail of the army, and to come in to Fort Pitt by way of Fort Mclntosh—the mouth of Beaver.  After traveling a few miles further into the woods, in a northerly direction, they changed their course due east, leaving the present sites of Crestline and Mansfield some distance to the south of them.

       During the day—the 7th of June, and the second after the retreat began—one of the company, the person affected with a rheumatic swelling, was left behind some distance in a swamp.  "Waiting for him some time," is the language of Slover," I saw him coming within one hundred yards, as I sat on the body of an old tree mending my moccasins; but, taking my eye from him, I saw him no more.  He had not observed our tracks, but had gone a different way. We whistled on our chargers, and afterward hallooed for him, but in vain."  He was fortunate, however, in missing his party, as he afterward arrived safe at Wheeling.³

       The six men started at daybreak the next morning [June 8], and at nine o'clock were within about twenty miles of the Tuscarawas, in what is now Wayne county.  Here they were ambuscaded by a party of Shawanese who had followed their path all the way from the Sandusky Plains.  The Indians killed two of the men at the first fire.  Paull was untouched, and, notwithstanding his burnt foot, ran for life and escaped.  Slover and the other two men were made prisoners.  Strange to say, one of the Indians was of the party which captured Slover when a boy, in Virginia.  He was recognized by him; came up and spoke to him, calling him by his Indian name—Mannucothe.  He upbraided him, however, for coming to war against them.

       The three prisoners were taken back to the Plains, where the Indians had some horses they had taken which had belonged to the Americans.  These were found; and after the whole party had mounted, they started for the Shawanese towns upon the Mad river, in what is now Logan county.  On the third day after their capture, they came in sight of a small Indian village.  Hitherto, the savages had treated their prisoners kindly, giving them a little meat and flour to eat, which they had found or taken from other captives.  Now, however, the Indians began to look sour.  The town they were approaching was not far from Wapatomica, their principal village—situated just below what is now Zanesfield, in Logan county—to which the savages intended to take their prisoners.  We will here leave the three unfortunate borderers, for the present, to narrate other incidents which transpired upon the Sandusky, after the enemy relinquished their pursuit of the retreating army.⁴

        The story of the captives is not over yet.  The details of their sufferings, Lord willing, we’ll look at 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. 311-4. 
2)      Ibid., p. 316-8. 
3)      Ibid., p. 319-21. 
4)      Ibid., p. 322-3.