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
2) Ibid., p. 291-4.
A very good and informative article indeed. It helps me a lot to enhance my knowledge, I really like the way the writer presented his views.
ReplyDeletehorseback hunting