Source:
History of Belpre, Washington Co., Ohio
By C. E. Dickinson, D. D.
Formerly Pastor of Congregational Church
Author of the History of First Congregational Church
Marietta, Ohio
Published for the Author by
Globe Printing & Binding Company
Parkersburg, West Virginia
1920
CHAPTER III -
CONTINUED HOSTILITIES
Page 26
THE crops of the
settlers were confined chiefly to Indian corn, beans, potatoes,
turnips, and pumpkins, with a little wheat and rye. They
also raised hemp and flax for domestic use. Until the
erection of a floating mill in the fall of 1791, a noted era in
the annals of Belpre, their meal was all ground in the primitive
hand mill. But little wheat was raised until after the
close of the war, when mills were built on the creeks. By
the aid of a bolting machine, turned by hand in the garrison,
the floating mill furnished the flour for many a noble loaf of
bread, and the crusts of numerous pumpkin pies, the only fruit
afforded for this use in that day.
The winter following the first occupation of Farmers
Castle was one of severe privation in the article of meat.
Late in the fall of 1791, the fat hogs were all collected and
slaughtered in company, and hung up in an outhouse near the
garrison to cool and dry through the night. During this
period it accidentally took fire and burnt up all their winter
stock of meat, to their great loss and disappointment. A
number of other hogs which had been left at their outlots and
fattened in pens were also killed by the Indians. These
were visited by their owners once in three or four days, and fed
with corn left in the field for that purpose.
YOUNG MEN SENT TO RED STONE
Under these
discouraging circumstances the inhabitants contributed all the
money they could gather, which was but a small sum, and
dispatched two active young men to "Red Stone" to purchase a
supply of salt meat and a few barrels of flour. It was a
hazardous journey, not only in danger from the Indians, who,
since St. Clairs defeat, were still more harassing to the
inhabitants, but also from the inclemency of the season, it
being the first part of De-
[Pg. 27]
cember. They, however reached
head waters unmolested, made their purchases, and were ready to
descend the river when it closed with ice. In the meantime
nothing was heard from the two messengers by the inhabitants and
winter wore away in uncertainty of their fate. Some
thought they had decamped with the money, and others that they
had been killed by the Indians, as the news of St. Clairs defeat
had reached them soon after their departure; while the more
reflecting were firm in their confidence of the integrity of the
young men and attributed their silence to a want of opportunity
to send them a letter, as the river was closed, and no regular
mail was then established. The last of February the
ice broke up in the Ohio, with a flood of water that covered the
banks and inundated the ground on which the garrison was built.
Early in March the young men arrived with a small Kentucky boat
with provisions, and entering the garrison by the upper gate,
moored their ark at the door of the commandant, to the great joy
and relief of the inhabitants. After the disastrous events
of the Campaign of 1791, a small guard of United States troops
were stationed at Belpre, usually consisting of a corporal and
five men. Their principal duty was to watch the garrison,
while the inhabitants were abroad in their fields, or at any
other employment. They also served in rotation with the
inhabitants in standing sentry in the watch towers.
John L. Shaw, well known in Marietta, for many years after
the war, as an eccentric character, of great wit and power of
mimicry, was corporal of the guard for a time and a great
favorite with the inmates of the Castle. He was
subsequently a Sergeant in Captain Haskells Company from
Rochester, Mass. During Wayne's Campaign, while stationed
at Fort Recovery he had a narrow escape from the Indians.
In October, 1793, contrary to orders, he ventured out into the
forest near the fort to gather hickory nuts and had set his
musket against a tree. While busily engaged, with his head
near the ground, he heard a slight rustling in the leaves close
to him. Rising suddenly from his stooping posture, he saw
an Indian within a few yards, his tomahawk raised ready for a
throw, while at the same time he called out in broken English
"Prisoner, Prisoner!" Shaw having no relish for
captivity sprang to his gun, cocked it and faced round just as
the Indian hurled his hatchet. It was aimed at his
[Pg. 28]
head
but by a rapid inclination of the body, it missed its
destination and lodged the whole length of the blade in the
muscles of the loin. By the time he had gained an erect
position his enemy was within two steps of him with his scalping
knife. Shaw now fired his gun with such effect as
to kill him on the spot, and its muzzle was so near as to set
his calico hunting shirt on fire. Before he could reload,
another Indian rushed upon him, and he was obliged to trust his
heels in flight. He ran in the direction of the fort, but
a fresh Indian started up before him, and he was obliged to take
to the woods. Being in the prime of life and a very active
runner he distanced all his pursuers, leaping logs and other
obstructions which the Indians had to climb over or go around.
After fifteen or twenty minutes of hot pursuit, which the shrill
yells of the Indians served to quicken, he reached within a
short distance of the fort, and met a party of men coming out to
his rescue. They had heard the shot and at once divined
the cause, as no firing was allowed near the fort, except at the
enemy or in self defense. Shaws life was saved from
the rifles of the Savages only by their desire of taking a
prisoner to learn the intentions of General Wayne.
The first actual demonstration of hostility, after
the inhabitants had taken possession of their new garrison, was
on March 12ath by some of the same party who had attacked the
settlement at Waterford, and killed Captain Rogers at
Marietta. The settlers who had evacuated their farms, of
necessity left a part of their cattle and fodder on the
premises; while those near the castle were visited daily to feed
and milk their cows. On this morning Waldo Putnam,
a son of Colonel Israel Putnam, and grandson of the old
veteran General, in company with Nathaniel Little,
visited the possession of the former, half a mile below, to feed
and milk the cows. While Waldo was in the posture
of milking, Little, who kept guard, discovered an Indian
leveling his gun at him. He instantly cried out "Indians,
Indians!" Just as the gun cracked Waldo sprang to
one side, and the ball struck the ground under the cow where he
was sitting. They instantly ran for the garrison, when
three Indians sprang out from the edge of the woods and joined
in the pursuit, firing their rifles at the fugutives as
they ran, but happily without effect. They were soon with-
[Pg. 29]
in a short distance of the garrison, when a party of men rushed
out to their rescue and the Indians retreated, after killing
several of the cattle, and among them a yoke of oxen belonging
to Captain Benjamin Miles, which were noted for their
size, being fifteen inches high and large in proportion.
In the subsequent year, while Putnam and Little
were at the same place, very early in the morning, a small dog
that was a few rods in advance gave notice of danger by barking
violently at some hidden object which his manner led them to
suspect must be Indians. Thus warned they began slowly to
retreat, and look carefully for their enemy. The Indians,
three or four in number, watching them from their covert behind
a brush fence, now jumped from their hiding place and gave
chase. The two white men quickened their speed and crossed
a deep gully which lay in their path on a log, barely in time to
prevent the Indians from cutting off their retreat. They
had examined the ground and expected to take them prisoners or
kill them at this place. Seeing them past the defile they
now commenced firing at them , but missed their object. In
the ardor of pursuit they rushed up within a short distance of
the Castle, when Harlow Bull, a fierce little warrior,
who had just arisen from bed, and was only partly dressed heard
the firing and rushed out at the gate with his rifle and
discharged it at the Indians at the same time returning their
war whoop with a yell nearly as terrible as their own.
Several of the soldiers soon after appeared in the field, when
the Indians retreated to the forest, greatly disappointed in
their expected victims.
After the fugutives were safe within the wall
considerable alarm was for time felt for Major Bradford
who had gone out with them but fell a good way behind his
company on account of a lame foot, from a recent wound. He
had nearly reached the gully or defile when the Indians began
the pursuit, and, knowing he could not keep pace with the
others, he jumped down the bank of the river, near which he was
hobbling along, before he was seen by the Indians, and keeping
under shelter he reached the garrison unnoticed and came in at
one of the water gates. For a few minutes his family were
fully persuaded that he was killed as his companions could give
no account of him.
[Pg. 30]
MURDER OF BENONI HULBERT BY INDIANS.
On September 28th,
1791 Joshua Fleehart and Benomi Hulbert left the
garrison in a canoe to hunt and to visit their traps near the
mouth of the Little Hocking. Fleehart was a celebrated
hunter and trapper. Like many other backwoodsmen he
preferred following the chase for a living to that of
cultivating the earth. Numbers of them depended on the
woods for their clothing as well as their food.
Hulberts family from the oldest and youngest were clothed in
dressed deer skins. These men had hunted a good deal
together and supplied the garrison with fresh meat. As
they passed the narrows above the mouth of the creek they were
strongly inclined to land and shoot some turkeys which they
heard gobbling on the side of the hill, a few rods from the
river. It was a common practice with the Indians, when in
the vicinity of the whites, to imitate the note of these birds,
to call some of the unwary settlers within reach of their
rifles. After listening a few moments the nice,
discriminating ear of Fleehart satisfied him that they
were made by Indians. Hulbert did not believe it
but was finally induced not to land. They proceeded on and
entered the mouth of the creek, where his companion landed and
traveled along on the edge of the woods in search of game, while
Fleehart paddled the canoe further up the stream.
As they had seen no more signs of Indians, they concluded that
the gobbling this time was done by the turkeys themselves.
In a short time after Hulbert had left the canoe, the
report of a rifle was heard, which Fleehart at once knew
was not that of his companion and concluded was the shot of an
Indian. He landed the canoe on the opposite shore, and
running up the bank should they approach to examine the creek
for the canoe. He directly heard a little dog belonging to
his companion in fierce contest with the Indians trying to
defend the body of his master; but they soon silenced him with
the stroke of a tomahawk. After watching more than an
hour, so near that he could hear the Indians converse and the
groans of the dying man, but out of his sight and the reach of
his rifle the Indians being too cautious to approach where they
expected danger, he entered his canoe and returned to the
garrison, which he reached a little after dark and reported
[Pg. 31]
the
fate of his companion. The next morning a party of men,
conducted by Fleehart, went down by water, and found him
dead and scalped on the ground where he fell, with the body of
his faithful dog by his side. They brought him to the
Castle where he was buried.
Mr. Hulbert was over sixty years old, and had
moved into the country from Pennsylvania in the fall of 1788 and
lived for a time at Marietta. He served as hunter to a
party of Ohio Company Surveyors in 1789 and was esteemed an
honest, worthy man.
He was the first man killed by Indians in Belpre after
the war broke out.
The death of Mr. Hulbert was a source of
additional terror and dread to the elderly females in the
garrison, whose fears of the Indians kept them in constant
alarm, lest their own husbands or sons should fall prey to the
rifle or tomahawk of the Savages. They had but little
quiet except in the winter, during which period the Indians
rarely made inroads, or lay watching about the garrison.
But as soon as the Spring began to open and the wild
geese were seen in flocks steering their course to the north,
and the grogs heard peeping in the swamp, they might invariably
be expected lurking in the vicinity. So constantly
was his the case, that the elder females and mothers with the
more timid part of the community, never greeted this season with
the hilarity and welcome so common in all parts of the world,
and so desirable as releasing us from the gloom and storms of
winter. They preferred that season to any other, as they
then felt that their children and themselves were in a manner
safe from the attack of their dreaded foe. They therefore
regretted its departure, and viewed the budding of the trees and
the opening of the wild flowers with saddened feelings, as the
harbingers of evil; listening to the song of the blue bird and
the martin with cheerless hearts, as preludes to the war cry of
the Savage. Much of our comfort and happiness depends on
association; and through surrounded with all the heart may
crave, or our tastes desire, yet the constant dread of some
expected evil will destroy all peace of mind, and turn what
otherwise might be joy into sorrow. The barking of the
watch dog at night was anther source of terror as it was
associated
[Pg. 32]
with the thought that some savage foe was lurking in
the vicinity. The more timid females when thus awakened in
the night would rise upon the elbow and listen with anxious care
for the sound of the war whoop or the report of the rifle of the
watchful sentry; and when they again fell into a disturbed
slumber, the nervous excitement led them to dream of some
murderous deeds or appalling danger. Several amusing
incidents are related of the alarms in the garrison from the
screams of persons when asleep and dreaming that they were
attacked by Indians. Amid the peace and quiet of our happy
times, we can hardly realize the mental suffering of that
disastrous period.
MARY BANCROFT
DAUGHTER OF
CAPT. EDMUND AND ELIZABETH ATHERTON BANCROFT.
BORN NOVEMBER 14, 1752, PEPPERELL, MASS.
MARRIED
CAPT. WILLIAM DANA.
NOVEMBER 28, 1770.
DIED DECEMBER 31, 1831.
IN THE YEAR 1789, IN COMPANY WITH HER HUSBAND AND CHILDREN,
SHE MOVED TO BELPRE, OHIO, WHERE SHE SPENT THE REMAINDER OF HER
LIFE.
OLD BRICK MEETING HOUSE, BUILT 1821
STOOD IN ROCKLAND CEMETERY.
The following letters
written to her father by Mrs. Mary Bancroft Dana give us
an inside view of conditions during those trying years.
|
Belpre, June 24th, 1790. |
Honored sir,
I have an opportunity to send a few lines by General
Putnam which I gladly embrace to inform you that
we al still exist, and have the addition of another
son whom I shall call George. A fine
little boy he is. We are as usual, sometimes
sick and sometimes well. All of us at work for
life to get in a way to be comfortable. We got
through the Winter as well as I expected. We
are more put to our trumps than I ever expected for
bread. There is no corn nor flour of any kind
to be had. We at present live entirely without
it, as many of our neighbors do. There were
very few potatoes raised for want of seed. Our
whole family have not eaten two bushels since we
came here. We have a plenty of corn and
potatoes planted so that I expect to live in a short
time, things look promising. Mr. Dana
has worked himself almost to death to get things as
forward as he has; he is poor and pale, as are all
our family, but he is perfectly satisfied with what
he has done and depends on reaping the good of his
labor. I have passed through many scenes since
I left you and am still the same contented being
without fear from the natives. Great God!
grant that I may still be protected and carried
through every changing scene of life with fortitude
and behave as becomes a Christian. I have not
received a line from any of my
[Pg. 33]
friends but Mr.
Atherton and Captain Blanchard. Mr.
Atherton informed me that sister Sparrow
had lost her little girl. What a distribution
of Providence, there was enough to feed and clothe,
still they must be afflicted. Infinite Wisdom
no doubt thought it best. What ever is, is
right, but we all mourn the loss of so sweet a
child. My blood thrilled in my veins and
though at so great a distance have very sympathetic
feelings for the parents. I wish you would
write me the manner of her death, and how you all
are and everything that concerns my family. It
would seem like a feast. Be assured now I have
begun to write it seems like a visit. The
hurry in which I have lived has kept me from almost
every duty; and care for the safety of my own in the
new world has kept me continually busy; there seemed
not a moment to spare. The attention of a
family that has but one cow and that wants
everything is great and but one woman to do the
whole, but I have not lost my spirits. It is
now eleven at night, all are at rest and it rains
very fast, and has for this thirty hours as fast as
I ever knew it. The river rises and falls at
an amazing rate. Everything grows as fast as
we could wish but I fear we will still have to grind
in a hand mill. As it grows late and our house
is very wet must bid you adieu. |
|
Your affectionate daughter,
Mary Dana. |
The next letter was written two yeasr later and
indicates the changed conditions. |
|
September 8, 1792. |
Honored Sir:
I once more give my self the satisfaction to inform you
and all my friends that we are all alive and in as
good health as it is common for us to be.
Various have been the scenes I have passed through
since I left your peaceful dwelling. We lived
in peace and safety as we thought for one eyar
without a guard for selves or family.
At length an army was sent out against that injured
nation for cruelties they were often committing upon
persons or families.
A year ago last February three small settlements moved
together. A garrison was created and block
houses
[Pg. 34]
built. We continued there with two
families in every house, one above and one below,
three miles from our usual dwelling. We
continued there nine months but before the defeat of
the army we returned and lived in our own house all
winter.
In the course of the winter Mr. Dana built a
decent block house nigh a quarter of a mile from our
other. I now live in a snug garrison where
there are seven families.†
Nobody pretends to walk any distance without an
instrument of death on hiss shoulder, continually
looking for danger and trial. All necessary
business is performed with alacrity and fortitude.
Everything around us is flourishing and we are
supported and prospered beyond our expectations.
This letter I send by Mrs. Battele who is
about to set out for Boston. She has been in
this country nigh four years and is now going to
visit her friends. Me things it would add to
my happiness to hear from every branch of my family;
their situation, their prosperities, their
adversities, although at so great a distance I
should share every adversity, and partake of the
prosperity. Not a single line have I received
from any of you since I left you, and this wretched
writing I hope will put you in mind, or one of my
brothers, to write the first opportunity. I
must conclude with sending duty and respects and
love for myself and family |
|
Your dutiful daughter,
MARY DANA. |
These letters
reveal many of the privations of settlers in a new country
with no public means of travel, and no mails, the only means
of transporting letters being in the knapsacks of travelers,
and sometimes years passed before they heard from friends in
the old home.
Mrs. Dana was a daughter of Capt. Edmond
Bancroft, of Pepperell, Mass. She brought up a
family of eleven children and did her full share in
promoting the welfare of Belpre.
The pioneer wives and mothers deserve more honors than
we can express for the perseverance and heroism with which
they endured the privations of those early years.
- END OF CHAPTER III -
|