The Attack on the Bozarth Cabin

Here is another interesting anecdote from Wither's Chronicles of Border Warfare.  While we often applaud examples of heroic Christian manhood from our history, we should be mindful not to forget the ladies either!  Here is a story of how one woman showed strength and courage in the face of a certain and horrible death.

     The alarm which had caused the people in the neighborhood of Pricket's fort [in modern day West Virginia], to move into it for safety, induced two or three families on Dunkard creek to collect at the house of Mr. Bozarth, thinking they would be more exempt from danger when together, than if remaining at their several homes. About the first of April [1779], when only Mr. Bozarth and two men were in the house, the children, who had been out at play, came running into the yard, exclaiming that there were "ugly red men coming." Upon hearing this, one of the two men in the house, going to the door to see if Indians really were approaching, received a glancing shot on his breast, which caused him to fall back. The Indian who had shot him, sprang in immediately after, and grappling with the other white man, was quickly thrown on the bed. His antagonist having no weapon with which to do him any injury called to Mrs. Bozarth for a knife. Not finding one at hand, she siezed [sic] an axe, and at one blow, let out the brains of the prostrate savage. At that instant a second Indian entering the door, shot dead the man engaged with his companion on the bed. Mrs. Bozarth turned on him, and with a well directed blow, let out his entrails and caused him to bawl out for help. Upon this, others of his party, who had been engaged with the children in the yard, came to his relief. The first who thrust his head in at the door, had it cleft by the axe of Mrs. Bozarth and fell lifeless on the ground. Another, catching hold of his wounded, bawling companion, drew him out of the house, when Mrs. Bozarth, with the aid of the white man who had been first shot and was then somewhat recovered, succeeded in closing and making fast the door. The children in the yard were all killed, but the heroism and exertions of Mrs. Bozarth and the wounded white man, enabled them to resist the repeated attempts of the Indians, to force open the door, and to maintain possession of the house, until they were relieved by a party from the neighboring settlement. – The time occupied in this bloody affair, from the first alarm by the children to the shutting of the door, did not exceed three minutes.  And in this brief space, Mrs. Bozarth, with infinite self possession, coolness and intrepidity, succeeded in killing three Indians. ¹

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)   Alexander Scott Withers, Chronicles of Border Warfare (Cincinnati, OH: Stewart & Kidd Company, 1912), p. 279-80.

The Attack On Harbert's Blockhouse

Here is another great story from Wither's Chronicles of Border Warfare. 

Anticipating the commencement of hostilities at an earlier period of the season, than usual, several families retired into [Thomas] Harbert's block-house, on Ten Mile (a branch of the West Fork,)[in modern day Harrison County, WV] in the month of February [1778].  And notwithstanding the prudent caution manifested by them in the step thus taken; yet, the state of the weather lulling them into false security, they did not afterwards exercise the vigilance and provident care, which were necessary to ensure their future safety.  On the third of March, some children, playing with a crippled crow, at a short distance from the yard, espied a number of Indians proceeding towards them; and running briskly to the house, told "that a number of red men were close by."  John Murphey stepped to the door to see if danger had really approached, when one of the Indians, turning the corner of the house, fired at him.  The ball took effect, and Murphey fell back into the house.  The Indian springing directly in, was grappled by Harbert, and thrown on the floor.  A shot from without, wounded Harbert, yet he continued to maintain his advantage over the prostrate savage, striking him as effectually as he could with his tomahawk, when another gun was fired at him from without the house.  The ball passed through his head, and he fell lifeless.  His antagonist then slipped out at the door, sorely wounded in the encounter.

Just after the first Indian had entered, an active young warrior, holding in his hand a tomahawk with a long spike at the end, also came in.  Edward Cunningham instantly drew up his gun to shoot him; but it flashed, and they closed in doubtful strife. Both were active and athletic; and sensible of the high prize for which they were contending, each put forth his utmost strength, and strained his every nerve, to gain the ascendency.  For a while, the issue seemed doubtful.  At length, by great exertion, Cunningham wrenched the tomahawk from the hand of the Indian, and buried the spike end to the handle, in his back.  Mrs. Cunningham closed the contest.  Seeing her husband struggling closely with the savage, she struck at him with an axe.  The edge wounding his face severely, he loosened his hold, and made his way out of the house.

The third Indian, which had entered before the door was closed, presented an appearance almost as frightful as the object which he had in view.  He wore a cap made of the unshorn front of a buffalo, with the ears and horns still attached to it, and which hanging loosely about his head, gave to him a most hideous aspect.  On entering the room, this infernal monster, aimed a blow with his tomahawk at a Miss Reece, which alighting on her head, wounded her severely.  The mother of this girl, seeing the uplifted arm about to descend on her daughter, seized the monster by the horns; but his false head coming readily off, she did not succeed in changing the direction of the weapon.  The father then caught hold of him; but far inferior in strength and agility, he was soon thrown on the floor, and must have been killed, but for the timely interference of Cunningham.  Having succeeded in ridding the room of one Indian, he wheeled, and sunk a tomahawk into the head of the other.

During all this time the door was kept by the women, tho' not without great exertion.  The Indians from without endeavored several times to force it open and gain admittance; and would at one time have succeeded, but that, as it was yielding to their effort to open it, the Indian, who had been wounded by Cunningham and his wife, squeezing out at the aperture which had been made, caused a momentary relaxation of the exertions of those without, and enabled the women again to close it, and prevent the entrance of others.  These were not however, unemployed.  They were engaged in securing such of the children in the yard, as were capable of being carried away as prisoners, and in killing and scalping the others; and when they had effected this, despairing of being able to do farther mischief, they retreated to their towns.

Of the whites in the house, one only was killed and four were wounded; and seven or eight children in the yard, were killed or taken prisoners.  One Indian was killed, and two badly wounded.  Had Reece engaged sooner in the conflict, the other two who had entered the house, would no doubt have been likewise killed; but being a quaker, he looked on, without participating in the conflict, until his daughter was wounded.  Having then to contend singly, with superior prowess, he was indebted for the preservation of his life, to the assistance of those whom he refused to aid in pressing need.

On the eleventh of April, some Indians visited the house of Wm. Morgan, at the Dunkard bottom of Cheat river.  They there killed a young man by the name of Brain, Mrs. Morgan, (the mother of William) and her grand daughter, and Mrs. Dillon and her two children; and took Mrs. Morgan (the wife) and her child prisoners.  When, on their way home, they came near to Pricket's fort, they bound Mrs. Morgan to a bush, and went in quest of a horse for her to ride, leaving her child with her.  She succeeded in untying with her teeth, the bands which confined her, and wandered the balance of that day and part of the next before she came in sight of the fort.  Here she was kindly treated and in a few days sent home.   Some men going out from Pricket's fort some short time after, found at the spot where Mrs. Morgan had been left by the Indians, a fine mare stabbed to the heart.  Exasperated at the escape of Mrs. Morgan, they had no doubt vented their rage on the animal which they had destined to bear her weight. ¹

Two things really struck me upon reading this story.  The first was the failure of Reece to do his duty as husband, father and neighbor in aiding in the defense of his friends and family.  Reacting only after his wife took the initiative, his resistance was too late and too futile.  The religion that teaches a man to stand idly by as his friends and family are being murdered is not a Gospel religion!  Such was not the admonition of Nehemiah (Neh. 4:14).  The other thing that struck me was the wasteful slaughter of the mare by the Indians because that seems to be contradictory to what modern scholars teach us about the eco-friendly Native American.  Wither's assumption is that they killed the animal out of rage, but there may have been another reason.  Perhaps the horse would have been an encumbrance to the Indians or would have aided the whites in tracking their party.  If that were the case the natives could have simply left the horse there, so this seems to lend credence to Wither's speculation.  In any case, this is just another example that helps to dispel the modern myth that the native tribes venerated animal life and were never wasteful in their use of it.

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)   Alexander Scott Withers, Chronicles of Border Warfare (Cincinnati, OH: Stewart & Kidd Company, 1912), p. 238-40.

The Attack on Logan's Station

One of the things that make history so exciting for me is to read of the daring exploits of those men who have gone before us.  These compelling stories should be more than just entertainment for us, they should be examples for us to follow and emulate in our quest for living a life of Christian manhood.  Here is another example from the days of the colonial frontier.

On the night preceding the commencement of the attack on the fort [Logan’s Station], the Indians had approached near to it unperceived, and secreted themselves in a cane brake, which had been suffered to remain around the cabins.

Early in the morning [May 30, 1777] the women, went out to milk, guarded by most of the garrison; and before they were aware of impending danger, the concealed Indians opened a general fire, which killed three of the men, and drove the others, hastily within the fort.  A most affecting spectacle was then presented to view, well calculated to excite the sympathies of human nature, and arouse to action a man possessed of the generous sensibility and noble daring, which animated the bosom of [Capt. Benjamin] Logan.

One of the men who had fallen on the first fire of the Indians and had been supposed by his comrades to be dead, was in truth though badly wounded, yet still alive; and was observed feebly struggling to crawl towards the fort.  The fear of laceration and mangling from the horrid scalping knife, and of tortures from more barbarous instruments, seemed to abate his exertions in dragging his wounded body along, lest he should be discovered and borne off by some infuriated and unfeeling savage.  It was doubtful too, whether his strength would endure long enough to enable him to reach the gate, even if unmolested by any apprehension of danger.  The magnanimous and intrepid Logan resolved on making an effort to save him.  He endeavored to raise volunteers, to accompany him without the fort, and bring in their poor wounded companion.  It seemed as if courting the quick embrace of death, and even his adventurous associates for an instant, shrunk from the danger.  At length a man by the name of Martin, who plumed himself on rash and daring deeds, consented to aid in the enterprise; and the two proceeded towards the gate.  Here the spirit of Martin forsook him, and he recoiled from the hazardous adventure. Logan was then alone. He beheld the feeble, but wary exertions of his unfortunate comrade, entirely subside; and he could not hesitate.  He rushed quickly through the gate, caught the unhappy victim in his arms, and bore him triumphantly into the fort, amid a shower of bullets aimed at him; and some of which buried themselves in the pallisades close by his head.  A most noble and disinterested achievement, and worthy of all commendation.¹

Amen!  Such selfless bravery is worthy of our commendation and emulation.

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)   Alexander Scott Withers, Chronicles of Border Warfare (Cincinnati, OH: Stewart & Kidd Company, 1912), p. 202-04.

Chronicles of Border Warfare

I am always fascinated, intrigued and stirred by many of the accounts of the struggles of the early settlers along the colonial frontier.   Like many other aspects of life, there was much wrong done by all parties involved be they natives, Europeans, or Americans.  Yet there are also stories of manly acts of courage and self-sacrifice, stories of risking one’s life in the course of saving the lives of others.  Here is a good example of that.

In October, 1764, about fifty Delaware and Mingo warriors ascended the Great Sandy and came over on New river, where they separated; and forming two parties, directed their steps toward different settlements--one party going toward Roanoke and Catawba--the other in the direction of Jackson's river. They had not long passed, when their trail was discovered by three men, (Swope, Pack and Pitman) who were trapping on New river. These men followed the trail till they came to where the Indian party had divided; and judging from the routes which, had been taken, that their object was to visit the Roanoke and Jackson's river settlements, they determined on apprizing the inhabitants of their danger. Swope and Pack set out for Roanoke and Pitman for Jackson's river. But before they could accomplish their object, the Indians had reached the settlements on the latter river, and on Catawba.

The Party which came to Jackson's river, travelled down Dunlap's creek and crossed James river, above Fort Young, in the night and unnoticed; and going down this river to William Carpenter's, where was a stockade fort under the care of a Mr. Brown, they met Carpenter just above his house and killed him. They immediately proceeded to the house, and made prisoners of a son of Mr. Carpenter, two sons of Mr. Brown (all small children) and one woman--the others belonging to the house, were in the field at work. The Indians then dispoiled the house and taking off some horses, commenced a precipitate retreat—fearing discovery and pursuit.

When Carpenter was shot, the report of the gun was heard by those at work in the field; and Brown carried the alarm to Fort Young. In consequence of the weakness of this fort, a messenger was despatched to Fort Dinwiddie, with the intelligence. Capt. Paul (who still commanded there,) immediately commenced a pursuit with twenty of his men; and passing out at the head of Dunlap's creek, descended Indian creek and New river to Piney creek; without making any discovery of the enemy. On Indian creek they met Pitman, who had been running all the day and night before, to apprise the garrison at Fort Young of the approach of the Indians. Pitman joined in pursuit of the party who had killed Carpenter; but they, apprehending that they would be followed, had escaped to Ohio, by the way of Greenbrier and Kenhawa rivers.

As Capt. Paul and his men were returning, they accidently met with the other party of Indians, who had been to Catawba, and committed some depredations and murders there. They were discovered about midnight, encamped on the north bank of New river, opposite an island at the mouth of Indian creek. Excepting some few who were watching three prisoners, (whom they had taken on Catawba, and who were sitting in the midst of them,) they were lying around a small fire, wrapped in skins and blankets. Paul's men not knowing that there were captives among them, fired in the midst, killed three Indians, and wounded several others, one of whom drowned himself to preserve his scalp—the rest of the party fled hastily down the river and escaped.

In an instant after the firing, Capt. Paul and his men rushed forward to secure the wounded and prevent further escapes. One of the foremost of his party seeing, as he supposed, a squaw sitting composedly awaiting the result, raised his tomahawk and just as it was descending, Capt. Paul threw himself between the assailant and his victim; and receiving the blow on his arm, exclaimed, "It is a shame to hurt a woman, even a squaw." Recognising the voice of Paul, the woman named him. She was Mrs. Catharine Gunn, an English lady, who had come to the country some years before; and who, previously to her marriage, had lived in the family of Capt. Paul's father-in-law, where she became acquainted with that gentleman--She had been taken captive by the Indians, on the Catawba, a few days before, when her husband and two only children were killed by them. When questioned why she had not cried out, or otherwise made known that she was a white prisoner, she replied, "I had as soon be killed as not--my husband is murdered--my children are slain--my parents are dead. I have not a relation in America--every thing dear to me here is gone--I have no wishes--no hopes--no fears--I would not have risen to my feet to save my life."

When Capt. Paul came on the enemy's camp, he silently posted his men in an advantageous situation for doing execution, and made arrangements for a simultaneous fire. To render this the more deadly and efficient, they dropped on one knee, and were preparing to take deliberate aim, when one of them (John M'Collum) called to his comrades, "Pull steady and send them all to hell." This ill timed expression of anxious caution, gave the enemy a moment's warning of their danger; and is the reason why greater execution was not done.

The Indians had left all their guns, blankets and plunder—these together with the three white captives, were taken by Capt. Paul to Fort Dinwiddie. ¹

Capt. Paul’s actions here are especially commendable.  In spite of the depredations that had just been carried out by the Indians in the way of the indiscriminate slaughter, Paul’s character was such that he would not stoop to the level of his enemies.  That’s something that we could all learn from.

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)   Alexander Scott Withers, Chronicles of Border Warfare (Cincinnati, OH: Stewart & Kidd Company, 1912), p. 96-9.

George Washington: Farmer

Every true American patriot holds the great men who birthed our country in high esteem.  They are, to quote the title of M.E. Bradford’s book, “A Worthy Company” to be sure.  The greatest of them all is undoubtedly the Father of our country, George Washington.  As he once stood literally head and shoulders above the men of his day, so even in this distant day he stands head and shoulders above our contemporary civil leaders as the great model of Christian manhood and godly character.  I’ve recently been reading an old book (that’s the norm for me!) entitled “George Washington: Farmer.”  My real interest in reading the book is to learn more about Washington’s agricultural practices but even in a book dedicated to his agrarian pursuits the discussion of Washington’s character is impossible to avoid.  Here is just an excerpt from that book:  

Benjamin Franklin knew the great men of earth of his time, the princes and kings of blood royal. Near the close of his life he wrote in his will: "My fine crabtree walking-stick with a gold head, curiously wrought in the form of a cap of Liberty, I give to my friend, and the friend of mankind, General Washington. If it was a sceptre, he has merited it, and would become it."

And thus Thackeray, who knew the true from the false, the dross from pure gold: "Which was the most splendid spectacle ever witnessed, the opening feast of Prince George in London or the resignation of Washington? Which is the noble character for ages to admire--yon fribble dancing in lace and spangles, or yonder hero who sheathes his sword after a life of spotless honor, a purity unreproached, a courage indomitable, and a consummate victory? Which of these is the true gentleman? What is it to be a gentleman? Is it to have lofty aims, to lead a pure life, to keep your honor virgin; to have the esteem of your fellow-citizens, and the love of your fireside; to bear good fortune meekly; to suffer evil with constancy; and through evil or good to maintain truth always? Show me the happy man whose life exhibits these qualities, and him will we salute as gentleman, whatever his rank may be; show me the prince who possesses them, and he may be sure of our love and loyalty."

'Tis often distance only that lends enchantment, but it is Washington's proud pre-eminence that he can bear the microscope. Having read thousands of his letters and papers dealing with almost every conceivable subject in the range of human affairs, I yet feel inclined, nay compelled, to bear witness to the greatness of his heart, soul and understanding.  He was human. He had his faults. He made his mistakes. But I would not detract a line from any eulogium of him ever uttered. Words have never yet been penned that do him justice. ¹

Amen… words have never been penned that do him justice.

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)      Paul Leland Haworth, George Washington: Farmer (Indianapolis, IN: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, 1915), p. 87-9.