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.

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.

David Jones Visits The Delaware

       When we last left off from following David Jones through his journal, he was just beginning to wrap up his tour of the Shawnee towns and proceed on.  We’ll pick up his story there.

       No company presenting, and matters not wearing the best aspect, concluded not to go to the Waindots [Wyandottes], but to direct my course to the Delaware Indians; having got a horse through the kindness of Mr. Irwine, which cost me twenty-five dollars: and being somewhat furnished with provisions for my journey, on Monday February 8 [1773], about ten o'clock, parted with my good friends at Chillicaathee [Chillicothe], and set out alone, passing through Pickaweeke [Piqua]; came before night to Kiskapookee [Kispoko Town?], which is situated on a creek that soon empties into Siota [Scioto].  The town is near one mile from the river.  This day's journey was more than twenty miles—the course near northeast and by north.   For the first eight miles, was not without some apprehensions of being pursued, but after that, was very little disturbed in mind.  At this town my lodging was with Mr. Richard Butlar, brother to William Butlar before mentioned.  His usage was kind and generous, not only preparing wheat cakes for my journey, but he also gave me two pair of leggins to barter for provisions by the way; for these Indians as yet have not the use of money.  In the morning my horse could not be found, and by that  means missed of company: however about one o'clock passed over Siota in a canoe, in company with Mr. Butlar, who was so kind as to see me over, because I could not converse with Indians about my ferriage.    The lad that brought me over is a white captive.  When I spoke to him, was very sorry to see him shake his head, and reply, "Motta keeno toleeh neekaana,” i.e. I do not understand you, my friend.  There remain a considerable number of captives in this nation, which were all to have been restored at the conclusion of the last peace, and without doubt the agent has in this point been deficient.  The country through which I passed to day, appears very excellent, only it abounds very much with bogs, or what may be called fresh marshes, so that perhaps it may not be best for health; but promises to be extraordinary for stock.  My course to day was about northeast.  As I passed a certain place called the Great Lick, saw the last flock of parrots [Carolina parakeets].  These birds are in great abundance about Siota in winter, and in summer 'tis probable they may be seen much further towards the north.  Having set out very late, night came on before I arrived to the next town.  My road was very small, and the night dark in this wide wilderness, made my travelling more disagreeable than can be easily expressed: but before nine o'clock, came safe to Mr. McCormick's at the Standing Stone.  This town consists chiefly of Delaware Indians.  It is situated on a creek called Hockhockin [sic]. The soil about this is equal to the highest wishes, but the creek appears muddy.  Though it is not wide, yet it soon admits large canoes, and from hence peltry is transmitted to Fort Pitt.  Overtook here Mr. David Duncan, a trader from Shippen’s town, who was going to Fort Pitt.

       Wednesday 10, intending to travel forty miles, set out early in the morning—our course more northerly than northeast—the land chiefly low and level—and where our horses broke thro' the frost, it might be called bad road and good land.  There were no inhabitants by the way.  Before night, came to the designed town, called Dan. Elleot's wife's; a man of that name was said to have here a fquaa [sic] for his pretended wife.  This is a small town consisting of Delawares and Shawannees.  The chief is a Shawannee woman, who is esteemed very rich—she entertains travellers— there were four of us in company, and for our use, her negro quarter was evacuated this night, which had a fire in the middle without any chimney (This woman has several negroes who were taken from Virginia in time of last war, and now esteemed as her property).  This woman has a large flock, and supplied us with milk.  Here also we got corn for our horses at a very expensive price: but Mr. Duncan paid for me here, and in our journey till we parted.  About a mile before we came to this town, we crossed a clear large stream, called Salt Lick Creek, which empties into Muskingum, on which the chief Delaware town is situated.  The country here appeared calculated for health, fertile and beautiful.

       Thursday 11, set out for a small town called Conner's, a man of that name residing there.

       Our course was near northeast—the distance was less than the preceding day's journey, so that we arrived to town some time before sunset.  Travelled this day over a good country, only wanting inhabitants.  This town is situated near no creek, a good spring supplying them with water—the land about it is level and good, the timber being chiefly blackoak, indicates it will produce good wheat, if a trial was made.  Mr. Conner, who is a white man, a native of Maryland, told me that he intended to sow wheat in the fall following, and was resolved to proceed to farming at all events.  'Tis probable that he will be as good as his word, for he is a man that seems not to fear God, and it is likely that he will not regard man.  His connections will favour his attempts, for according to their way, he and the chief Indian of this town are married to two sisters.  These women were captives, and it is likely from childhood, for they have the very actions of Indians, and speak broken English.  It seemed strange to me to see the captives have the exact gestures of Indians.  Might we not infer from hence, that if Indians were educated as we are, they would be like us?  This town consists of Shawannees and Delawares; and some of them dwell in pretty good log houses well shingled with nails.  Mr. Conner keeps a sort of a tavern, and has moderate accommodations, and though he is not what he should be, yet he was kind to me.

       Friday 12, here we parted with some of our company, whose absence was very agreeable, and in company with Mr. Duncan, set out for New-Comer's Town, which is the chief town of the Delawares.  Had gone but a few miles till we came to the Little Shawannee Woman's Town.  This is situated on the well side of Muskingum, and chiefly consists of Shawannees.  Here we crossed the river in a canoe, our horses swimming by it's [sic] side. The country began to be hilly, interspersed with some barren plains.  We passed Captain White Eye's Town, but this noted Indian was down Ohio, perhaps with my old interpreter, so that I could not have the satisfaction of seeing him this time, but I saw him several times the first visit.  He was the only Indian I met with in all my travels, that seemed to have a design of accomplishing something future.  He told me that he intended to be religious, and have his children educated.  He saw that their way of living would not answer much longer—game grew scarce—they could not much longer pretend to live by hunting, but must farm,  &c.— But said, he could not attend to matters of religion now, for he intended to make a great hunt down Ohio, and take the skins himself to Philadelphia.  I was informed that he accomplished this, and went round by the gulf of Florida to Philadelphia.  On this occasion, could not but think of that text of scripture, which says, "one went to his farm and another to his merchandise."  And it may be said, the Indian went to his hunting.  This was the case last year, and perhaps something as important may employ the next year, and so the life of man is spent, few remembring [sic] that ONE THING is needful. ¹

       How many others are like this Indian, or like Festus, who was waiting for a more “convenient season” to hear the Gospel message (Acts 24:25)?  We are not promised tomorrow; today salvation is offered through repentance and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.  We ought to respond to God’s gracious call today and not put it off until a “tomorrow” which we may never see.

       A FEW miles north of White Eye's town, there is a small town, where we obliged our horses to take the river, following them in a small canoe belonging to the Indians.  Thence travelled over very hilly land till we came within two or three miles of New-Comer's Town, and from that to town the land is agreeable and appears good for wheat.  Came to town before night, and found it was a great triennial feast, consequently little could be done till that ended.  From the great town Chillicaathee to this chief town of the Delawares, is called one hundred and thirty miles.  The course may be estimated near northeast, but as the path goes, it varies in many places.  This town is situated on the west side of the river Muskingum, which is a pretty large stream.  The proper pronunciation in Indian is Mooskingung, i.e. Elk Eye River.  In their language an elk being called moos.  This town takes its name from the name of the king, who is called Neetotwhealemon, i.e. New-Comer. ²

       When we pick up Jones’ story again, Lord willing, we will meet another familiar friend.

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)      David Jones, A Journal of Two Visits Made to Some Nations of Indians on the West Side of the River Ohio in the Years 1772 and 1773 (Burlington, NJ: Isaac Collins, 1774), p. 63-7. 

2)      Ibid., p. 67-8.