Edward Sylvester Ellis

Birth of Lewis Wetzel—His Father Killed by Indians, and Himself and Brother carried off Prisoners—Their Remarkable Escape—Murder of an Indian—Serves in Crawford's Expedition—Pursued by Four Indians, and Kills Three—Escape from the Custody of General Harmar—Wetzel's Hunts for Indians—Assists a Relative to Recover his Betrothed from Savages.

When one reads of the early days of the great West and of the tornado-like encounters in which the borderers engaged, he finds that there are few more prominent figures than that of Lewis Wetzel, who was born on the Big Wheeling, Virginia, about the year 1764. He had four brothers, Martin, Jacob, John and George, and two sisters, Susan and Christina. Martin was the only brother who exceeded Lewis in age.

The home of the Wetzels exposed them to perils from the Indians, for it will be recognized by the reader as a spot peculiarly open to assaults from the red men.

This was proven by the terrible fate that overtook the family. One day the Indians suddenly appeared and made a fierce attack upon the house. Several of the smaller children were absent, and during the excitement the mother succeeded in getting away; but the old man was killed and scalped, and Lewis, then thirteen years old, and his brother Jacob, two years younger, were taken away prisoners.

In the fight, Lewis received a slight wound from a bullet, but it did not incapacitate him from traveling, and on the second night after the capture the Indians encamped on the Big Lick, twenty miles distant from the river, in what is now Ohio, and upon the waters of McMahon's Creek.

The prisoners were so young that the captors were justified in considering them of little account, and they did not take the trouble to bind them when they stopped for the night. Lewis, however, was old enough to watch for a chance to get away, and when sure all the Indians were asleep, he touched his brother and whispered to him to make ready to follow him.

They made their way out of the camp without difficulty, but had not proceeded far when they stopped.

"I don't like the idea of going home barefooted," said Lewis, "you stay here while I go back and get a pair of moccasins for you and a pair for me."

The daring lad succeeded in obtaining the necessary articles and soon rejoined his brother; but as they were about to start on again he expressed his dissatisfaction that they had no weapons.

"We can't get along without a gun; wait here a little longer and I'll bring one back." And young Lewis did as he said he would. Now that each had a pair of moccasins, and the elder carried a good rifle, they were prepared for travel, and they plunged into the woods at once.

Lewis Wetzel displayed a knowledge of woodcraft on this occasion which was wonderful in one so young. He discovered the trail and followed it back without difficulty, and knowing he would be pursued, he kept such unremitting watch that he detected the approach of the Indians, and he and his brother hid in the bushes until they passed.

When they were out of sight, the brothers came back to the trail and followed after the Indians. It did not take the latter very long to find they had gone beyond the lads, and they turned about to find them.

But, as before, Lewis was on the watch, and he and his brother eluded them. Shortly after they discovered that two of the warriors were mounted and in hot chase after them; but Lewis gave them the slip in the same skilful manner, and reaching Wheeling the next day, they constructed a raft and crossed the river.

When they came to the ruins of their home and found that their father had been killed and scalped, they were so infuriated that they took a vow to kill every Indian that was in their power to kill, so long as they should live.

Such is the account as generally given, though a different version is entitled to equal credence. This says that the elder Wetzel was shot, in 1787, while paddling a canoe near Captina, on his return from Middle Island Creek, and that young Lewis received his first wound while standing in the door of his own home. Be that as it may, there can be no doubt that he and his brother took the barbarous oath as stated, and it is equally a matter of history that they carried it out in spirit and letter.

Martin Wetzel acted the part of a wild beast and committed acts for which no law human or divine can find justification. No red Indian ever showed greater perfidy than did he. During Colonel Brodhead's expedition in 1780, Martin Wetzel was a volunteer. An Indian messenger, under promise of protection, came into camp and held an interview with Brodhead. While they were talking in the most friendly manner, Martin Wetzel stole up behind the unsuspecting red man, and quickly drawing a tomahawk, which he had hidden in his hunting-shirt, struck the Indian in the back of the head a blow which stretched him lifeless on the ground.

Colonel Brodhead was exasperated at the atrocious act, yet he dared not punish Wetzel, for three-fourths of the army would have rallied in his defence.

In the life of Daniel Boone we gave an account of the campaign of Colonel Crawford in 1782. Lewis Wetzel served as a volunteer, being no more than eighteen years of age. The campaign was one of the most frightful disasters that ever occurred in the West, Colonel Crawford being captured and burned to death at the stake. Among the disorganized soldiers who managed to escape the terrible vengeance of the red men, was one named Mills, who reached a spring some nine miles from Wheeling, where he was forced to leave his horse and go the rest of the way on foot. From Wheeling he proceeded to Van Meter's fort, where he fell in with Lewis Wetzel, whom he persuaded to go back with him in quest of his horse.

Wetzel cautioned him against the danger, but Mills was determined, and the two made their way back to the spring, where they saw the horse standing tied to a sapling. The scout knew what this meant, but the sight of his animal drew Mills forward, and running up to the tree, he began untying him. Before he could finish, there was a discharge of rifles from the wood, and Mills fell fatally wounded.

Knowing that the warriors were all around him, the fleet-footed Wetzel bounded off like a deer, with four of the swiftest runners speeding after him. The chase was a terrific one, and after a half mile, one of the Indians came so close that the fugitive, believing he was on the point of throwing his tomahawk, suddenly whirled about and shot him dead, resuming his flight with the same desperate exertion as before.

The art of reloading his gun while on a dead run had been practised by Wetzel, until he could do the difficult feat with ease. Never was there more urgent need of that peculiar skill than on the present occasion, for at the end of another half mile, a second Indian was so close that Wetzel turned to fire.

Before he could do so, the warrior grasped the end of the barrel, and as he was immensely powerful and active, he brought Wetzel to his knees, and came within a hair's-breadth of wrenching the weapon from his grasp. The white man, however, during the fierce struggle, managed to get the muzzle of the gun turned toward the savage, when he pulled the trigger, killing him instantly.

The struggle was very brief, but during its continuance the other two Indians had approached so nigh, that Wetzel bounded away again at the highest bent of his speed and soon had his rifle reloaded. Then he slackened his pace, so as to allow them to come up, but they were suspicious of the white man who always seemed to have a charged rifle at his service, and they held back. Then Wetzel stopped and they did the same. Several times he wheeled about and raised his gun, when they immediately dodged behind trees. One of them did not conceal his body perfectly, and Wetzel fired, wounding him badly. The remaining warrior ran for life, shouting: "Dat white man's gun am always loaded!"

Actuated by that intense hate of the Indians which marked the career of Lewis Wetzel and several of his brothers, there was but the single thought of revenge which inspired the muscular arm to deeds as savage as the red man himself ever engaged in. While General Harmar was doing his utmost to establish peace with the Indians, Lewis Wetzel and a companion hid themselves near the fort, and, in pure wantonness, the former fired upon a warrior who was riding by. He was so badly wounded that he was barely able to reach the fort, where he died that night.

General Harmar was so indignant over the murder, which Wetzel unblushingly avowed, that he sent Captain Kingsbury and a squad of men with orders to take Wetzel dead or alive. All considerations called for the prompt punishment of the murderer, but his capture was an impossibility, inasmuch as he possessed the fullest sympathy of the frontiersmen, who would have rallied to a man in his defence.

When Captain Kingsbury reached the Mingo Bottom, and his errand became known, Lewis Wetzel and a large number of equally reckless companions formed a plan for attacking the party and massacring every one of them. Only by the interference of Major M'Mahan, who persuaded the Captain of his danger and induced him to withdraw, was the crime averted.

Sometime later, however, Wetzel was seized while asleep in a cabin, put in irons and carried to the guard-house. He was greatly humiliated by the shame of being handcuffed, and sent for General Harmar, to whom he made the characteristic proposal that he should release him among the large party of Indians who were around the fort, and allow him to fight it out with them. This of course was declined by the officer, who, however, consented to knock off his irons, but kept on the handcuffs, allowing him to walk about the fort.

After Wetzel had loosened his limbs by some moderate exercise, he suddenly made a break for the woods and was soon among them. He was fired upon by the guards, and General Harmar instantly sent a number of his fleetest runners, including several Indians, in pursuit.

They almost captured him too, for a couple of the warriors sat down on the log, under which he was crouching, and Wetzel afterwards said that his great fear was that his position would be betrayed by the tumultuous throbbing of his heart. The next day he came across a friend who released him from his handcuffs, furnished him with a gun and ammunition, and Wetzel paddled down the river for Kentucky, where he could feel safe from General Harmar.

The latter issued a proclamation offering a large reward for the capture of Wetzel, but no frontiersman ever made the dangerous attempt to take him, and soon after he joined a party of scouts under Major M'Mahan. They numbered twenty men, and were organized to punish the Indians for murdering a family in the Mingo Bottom. One of the inducements for enlisting was the offer of a hundred dollars to the man who should bring in the first Indian scalp.

The scouts had not penetrated far into the hostile country, when they suddenly found themselves in the presence of a large war party. A hasty consultation was held and it was deemed best to withdraw, but Wetzel refused to return until he should accomplish something. He announced that he would never be seen at home until he lost his own scalp or brought that of an Indian with him.

It was a dangerous task he had taken on himself, but he persevered and spent several days in prowling through the woods, hunting for the coveted opportunity. At last he found a couple of warriors encamped by themselves, and he watched by them until the night was far advanced. Finally one of them got up and moved away, taking a torch with him, doubtless with the intention of watching a deer lick. Wetzel was so anxious to kill both savages that he waited until daylight for the return of the other.

He did not show himself, however, and unwilling to wait longer, the merciless white man stole up to where the sleeping warrior lay and slew him with one furious blow of his knife.

Wetzel reached his home without difficulty and received the one hundred dollars reward for the murder.

A singular occurrence took place shortly after this. From the fort at Wheeling, there had been heard on several occasions, cries such as would be made by a wounded turkey, and more than once some of the men had crossed over to ascertain the cause. The fact that several soldiers were never seen again, did not arouse a suspicion of the real explanation in the minds of any one excepting that of Lewis Wetzel.

He concluded to make an investigation for himself. Cautiously stealing around in the direction of the sound, he approached a deep cavern, the mouth of which was some twenty yards above the river. From this crept forth an Indian warrior, who uttered the peculiar call that had lured so many to their death. Wetzel waited until he gained a fair sight of the savage, when he took careful aim and the decoy never uttered his deceptive signal again.

Wetzel supposed that his trouble with General Harmar would gradually die out with the lapse of time, but the commander had issued standing orders to his officers to arrest him wherever and whenever he could be found. On his way down the river toward Kenawha, Wetzel landed at Point Pleasant, where he roamed about the town with perfect unconcern. While doing so he unexpectedly came face to face with Lieutenant Kingsbury, who had set out to capture him once before.

Wetzel expected a desperate encounter with him, and braced himself for the attack; but Kingsbury, who was personally brave, saluted him with the order to get out of his sight, and passed on. Wetzel thought it wise to leave the neighborhood, and, taking to his canoe, he put off for Limestone, which place, and the county town, Washington, he made his headquarters for a considerable time after.

His skill with the rifle, and his reckless bravery, could not fail to render him a great favorite among the rough men of the border. Could his capture have been arranged with perfect safety to those concerned, it is not probable that any one could have been induced to undertake it.

One day Wetzel was sitting in a tavern in Maysville, when Lieutenant Lawler of the regular army, who was going down the Ohio to Fort Washington with a number of soldiers, landed and discovered him. Without a moment's unnecessary delay, he ordered out a file of soldiers, took Wetzel aboard the boat, and before the citizens had time to rally, he was delivered to General Harmar at Cincinnati.

The General placed him in irons again, preparatory to his trial for the killing of the Indian, and then followed a scene of extraordinary excitement. Petitions for the release of Wetzel poured in upon General Harmar from every quarter, and the indignation became so great that mutterings of a general uprising were soon heard. Serious trouble for a time threatened, for passions were roused to a high pitch, and the intensity deepened as the time for the trial approached.

Finally Judge Symmes issued a writ of habeas corpus in the case, and abundant security being furnished, Wetzel was released. He was escorted in triumph to Columbia, where he was treated to a grand supper, including the usual speeches and congratulations, and where no doubt he concluded his friends were right in looking upon him as a model of heroism and chivalry to whom it was an honor to do homage.

Lewis Wetzel hunted Indians as most men hunt the deer and buffalo. He looked upon the red man as legitimate game, and many a time has he slung his rifle over his shoulder and plunged into the woods for the express purpose of bringing down one of the race against which he had vowed eternal vengeance.

Numerous of his barbarous exploits must remain unrecorded, and well would it be could the necessity never arise for a history of any of them, for they do not show the character of an undoubtedly brave man in an attractive light.

Late one autumn he started out on one of his sanguinary hunts and directed his steps toward the Muskingum River. He had not tramped long when he discovered a camp where four Indians had established themselves for the winter. Not dreaming of any danger, the red men, contrary to their custom, had not taken their usual precautions, and kept neither watch nor sentinels.

This was a tempting opportunity, but a single white hunter, no matter how daring and skillful, might well hesitate before attacking four athletic and well-armed warriors; but the hesitation of Lewis Wetzel was caused only by the necessity for reflecting on the best course to be pursued.

He decided to make his attack on the four in the dead of night when all were sound asleep. He therefore waited patiently in the gloom until he saw they were wrapped in profound slumber. Then he stole forward, and with his dreadful knife, dispatched three in quick succession, but the fourth darted into the woods and escaped in the darkness.

It was near Wheeling, while he was engaged on one of his numerous scouts, that he came upon a deserted cabin. It was raining at the time, and he was glad to use the place as a shelter. A few pieces of boards were gathered together in the loft and used as a bed, but before he fell asleep, six Indians entered and started a fire, with a view of preparing their evening meal.

Had the scout been asleep when they entered they would have been certain to discover him by his heavy breathing, and as it was, Wetzel scarcely saw how he could escape detection. So he grasped his knife and held himself ready for the desperate encounter which was certain to follow such a discovery.

The Indians, however, did not dream of the presence of the human tiger that was glaring down upon them from the loft above, and soon the half dozen were unconscious in sleep. Feeling that his quarters were dangerous, Wetzel cautiously stole out during the darkness and hid himself behind a log which commanded the front of the cabin.

In the morning the first warrior who presented himself at the door was shot dead. Before the others could comprehend what had taken place the murderer was fleeing like a deer through the woods, and was soon safe from all danger of pursuit.

Such exploits as these increased the popularity of Wetzel, while the attempts made by General Harmar to punish him for his crimes deepened the dislike felt toward him for what was regarded as his unjust persecution of a worthy man.

Not long after the Indian-killer accepted the invitation of a relative to visit him on Dunkard Creek. It was some distance away, and the two men pursued their walk through the woods at a leisurely pace, talking of their hunting adventures, chatting like a couple of school-boys, and with no thought of impending trouble.

But when they emerged from the forest into the clearing where the home of the relative stood, a most startling sight met their eyes.

The house was a mass of smoking ruins. The Indians had been there and left this proof of their ferocity. Wetzel carefully examined the trail and found that the party numbered three warriors and one white man, and that they had taken off a single prisoner.

The last was the betrothed of the relative of the scout, and, as may well be supposed, he was wild with excitement and fury and determined to pursue them without an instant's delay. But Wetzel argued him into something like calmness, and he saw the necessity of placing himself under the control of such a wonderfully skillful woodman as was his companion.

The wish of Wetzel was to overtake the party before they reached the Ohio, though there could be no certainty as to how much start the red men had gained. It was soon seen, however, that they anticipated pursuit, for they had taken the greatest pains to hide their trail. They might have succeeded in the case of ordinary pursuers, but it was impossible to conceal the faint but unerring signs from the keen eye of Wetzel, who pushed forward on their path like the bloodhound tracking its victim through thicket and morass.

It soon became certain that the savages were making for the river, and feeling quite sure of the particular crossing they would seek, Wetzel left the trail altogether, and with his friend hastened to the same place.

It was a long distance, but the hunters for the time were tireless, never throwing away a single minute. As it was reasonable to believe that the Indians would take a short route to the stream, it can be understood that the pursuers could not hope to gain much in the race after all.

When night settled over the great wilderness, they were still a good distance from the Ohio. They stopped for a brief while until they could swallow a few mouthfuls of food. Then they hastened on again guided by the stars overhead. But even this help was soon taken from them by the heavy clouds which overspread the sky, and shut out the slightest twinkling orb in the firmament.

It was useless to seek to go any further, when, with all their cunning, they could not prevent themselves from losing their bearings and most likely going directly back upon the true course.

So they halted where they were, until it began to grow light in the East, when they resumed their hurried journey. They had not gone far before they struck the trail again, and one of the first tracks recognized was the imprint of the small shoe worn by the affianced of the young man. The Indians, however, were still far ahead, and though the two hunters pushed forward with all the energy possible, they caught no sight of the enemy, as hour after hour passed away.

But Wetzel was convinced they were gaining, and both were in high hope, for as the afternoon wore to its close, they recognized from the signs around them that they were in the neighborhood of the Ohio, and undoubtedly were close upon the Indians and their captive.

The night had fairly set in when they reached the river side, and they caught the glimmer of the camp-fire of those on the other shore, just below the mouth of the Captina. Cautiously the two pursuers entered the river and swam across. A few minutes spent in reconnoissance enabled them to locate each member of the party, including the captive.

The sight of the young lady drove her betrothed almost frantic, and he insisted on attacking the marauders at once; but Wetzel, who was as cool and collected as though no enemy was within a dozen miles, would not permit it.

"The first hour of daybreak is the time," said he, "and nothing shall be done until then." His companion had no choice but to obey, though it drove him to madness to remain so near his beloved, without striking a blow in her behalf.

The long wearisome hours passed slowly, and at last it began to grow light in the East. The young man was quivering with excitement, but Wetzel had been engaged in too many terrific encounters to lose his self-possession at such a critical time. The red men are early risers, when on the march, and as soon as it began to grow light in the East, they were astir. Wetzel directed his friend to take sure aim at the renegade, pledging him that he would attend to the Indians.

They fired simultaneously, and each brought down his man. The lover dashed into camp to his affianced, while the two warriors ran among the trees until they could learn the strength of the attacking party. The dauntless Wetzel followed as impetuously as though he had an entire company at his back.

As was his custom, he reloaded on the run, and after a short pursuit, fired his gun at random, so as to draw out the savages. It produced the effect, for the warriors, supposing him to be defenceless, came rushing forth, with uplifted tomahawks and whooping in triumph; but Wetzel took but a few seconds to reload his gun, when he shot the nearest through the body.

As there could be no doubt that his rifle was now unloaded, the single remaining Indian made for him with the fury of a panther. Wetzel, who was no less active and athletic, dodged from tree to tree and ran here and there, baffling the fatal tomahawk that was on the point of being hurled more than once, until his terrible rifle was ready again, when he wheeled and brought down the Indian, who must have wondered in his last moments at the wonderful gun carried by the white man.

While Lewis Wetzel was engaged in these extraordinary forays, several of his brothers were scarcely less active. As they were inspired by the same intense hate which nerved the arms of the more famous scout, it will be readily conceded that the murder of the elder Wetzel years before by the Indians was repaid with more than interest.

After Lewis had roamed through the wilderness some time longer, he concluded to make a journey to the extreme south, and for that purpose engaged on a flat-boat bound for New Orleans. While in that city he got into some serious difficulty, the precise nature of which is unknown. The result was he suffered imprisonment for two years. It is not improbable that he discovered the difference between breaking the law in the Western wilderness and in the Crescent City.

He finally found his way back to Wheeling, where he resumed his roaming through the woods, and soon became involved in his characteristic adventures with the red men.

He was returning one day from a hunt, when happening to look up, he observed a warrior in the very act of leveling his gun at him. Quick as a flash Wetzel dodged behind a tree, the Indian doing the same, and they stood facing each other for a considerable time.

Growing impatient of waiting, the scout resorted to the oft-described trick of placing his cap on the end of his ramrod and projecting it a short distance beyond the trunk. This brought the fire of the savage, and before he could reload the white man shot him.

Wetzel was known so generally as a daring and skillful scout, that General Clarke, while organizing his celebrated expedition to the country beyond the Rocky Mountains, used his utmost effort to secure him as a member of the company. Wetzel was not inclined to go, but he was finally persuaded, and when they started, he was one of the most valuable members. He kept with them for three months and then turned about and came home.

Some time later he left on a flat-boat, and went to the house of a relative, near Natchez, where he died in the summer of 1808.