Lewis Wetzel was a frontiersman, scout, and Indian fighter born in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, in 1763. In 1770 his family moved to a frontier settlement near Wheeling Creek in what is now West Virginia.
The Wetzel family and their neighbors were frequent targets of Indian attacks. One such attack led Lewis Wetzel to swear a vow of vengeance against all Indians, a resolve that would define the rest of his life.
His story resembles that of other frontier figures who swore similar vows after violence touched their families. In the Ohio Valley, few names carried more weight than his.
Among settlers near Wheeling, Wetzel was regarded as the right arm of their defense. His presence was considered a tower of strength to the infant settlements and an object of terror to the Indians who prowled the frontier.
The memory of Wetzel, one early account argued, should be preserved by the people of western Virginia. His efforts in defense of the settlers, that account said, were without parallel in border warfare.
For years, however, no reliable account of his life was published. Much of what the public knew came from exaggerated romances or painted traditions.
Many came to regard Wetzel as little better than a semi-savage, a man of rage whose only propensity was for blood. The available information, according to the 1851 history by Wills de Haas, does not support those conceptions.
Wetzel was never known to inflict wanton cruelty upon women and children, as was sometimes charged. He was not found to torture or mutilate his victims, as many traditions suggested.
He was revengeful because he had suffered deep injury at the hands of that race. Woe to the Indian warrior who crossed his path.
Wetzel was described as literally a man without fear. He was brave as a lion, cunning as a fox, daring where daring was the wiser part, and prudent when discretion was valor's better self.
He possessed in remarkable degree the intuitive knowledge that alone constitutes a good and efficient hunter. He was sagacious, prompt to act, and always aiming to make his actions efficient.
John Wetzel, the father of Lewis, was one of the first settlers on Wheeling Creek. He had five sons and two daughters: Martin, Lewis, Jacob, John, George, Susan, and Christina.
The elder Wetzel spent much of his time locating lands, hunting, and fishing. Neighbors frequently warned him against exposing himself to the enemy, but he disregarded their advice and laughed at their fears.
He was killed near Captina in 1787 while returning from Middle Island Creek. He and a companion were paddling a canoe slowly near the shore when a party of Indians hailed them.
The two men refused to land, and the Indians immediately fired. Wetzel was shot through the body.
Feeling himself mortally wounded, he directed his companion to lie down in the canoe while he paddled as long as his strength remained. In this way he saved the life of his friend while his own was ebbing fast.
He died soon after reaching the shore at Baker Station. His humble grave could still be seen near the side of that primitive fortress.
At the time of his father's death, Lewis was about 23 years old. He and his brothers, or those old enough, swore sleepless vengeance against the whole Indian race.
From that time forward they were devoted to the woods. An Indian, whether in peace or war, at night or by day, was a doomed man in the presence of either.
The name of Wetzel sent a thrill of horror through the heart of the stoutest Indian. Before them could be conjured no more terrible image than one of these relentless Long Knives.
The first recorded event in Lewis Wetzel's life occurred when he was about 14 years old. The Indians had not been very troublesome near his father's house, and no great apprehensions were felt during a season of comparative quiet.
Lewis had just stepped from his father's door and was watching his brother Jacob playing. Turning toward the corn crib, he suddenly saw a gun pointing around the corner.
He jumped back, but not in time to escape the ball. It struck his breastbone, carrying away a small portion and cutting a fearful wound across his chest.
Two athletic warriors sprang from behind the crib and quietly made prisoners of the boys. They bore them off without being discovered.
On the second day they reached the Ohio River, crossing near the mouth of McMahon's Creek, and gained the Big Lick about 20 miles from the river. Throughout the painful march, Lewis suffered severely from his wound but bore up with true courage, knowing that complaint could mean a tomahawk.
That night, contrary to their custom, the Indians failed to tie their prisoners. Lewis resolved to escape.
After an hour or two, satisfied the Indians were asleep, he touched Jacob and both rose without disturbing their captors. Lewis led the way into the woods.
Finding he could not travel without moccasins, he returned to camp and came back with two pairs. He also retrieved his father's gun, which the Indians had taken.
The two boys started for home and found the path. Traveling briskly for some time, they heard a noise and realized the Indians were in pursuit.
The boys stepped aside as the pursuers came up and then moved on again. Soon they heard the Indians return and eluded them by the same plan.
Before daylight they were followed by two Indians on horseback, but a similar expedient allowed them to escape detection. Around 11 o'clock the next day, the boys reached the Ohio River opposite Zane's Island.
Lashing together two logs, they crossed over and were once more with their friends.
Reaching manhood, Lewis Wetzel spent most of his time in the woods. He was truly a child of the forest and seemed to worship the grand old trees with more than pagan devotion.
To him the wilderness was full of charms, but the enjoyment of these was not without great personal danger. A dark, insidious foe prowled on his track and watched every opportunity to waylay and destroy him.
Wetzel roamed abroad, delighted with every fresh grove, hill, dale, and rippling stream. The swelling breeze, the repose of the leaf, the mysterious quiet of the shade, the chant of birds, the whoop of the savage, and the long melancholy howl of the wolf stirred his liveliest sensibilities.
Rising from his couch of leaves beside some moss-covered log, the lone hunter made his hurried meal and moved on, careless of fatigue until night closed around him.
Shortly after Crawford's defeat, a man named Thomas Mills escaped from that unfortunate expedition and reached the Indian Spring about nine miles from Wheeling on the present National Road. There he was compelled to leave his horse and proceed to Wheeling on foot.
He went to Van Meter's Fort and, after a day or two of rest, induced Lewis Wetzel to go with him to the spring for his horse. Lewis cautioned him against the danger, but Mills was determined, and the two started.
Approaching the spring, they discovered the horse tied to a tree, and Wetzel at once comprehended their danger. Mills walked up to unfasten the animal when a discharge of rifles followed, and the unfortunate man fell mortally wounded.
Wetzel turned and, knowing his only escape was flight, plunged through the enemy and bounded off at full speed. Four fleet Indians followed in rapid pursuit, whooping in exultation at the prospect of overhauling their intended victim.
After a chase of half a mile, one of the most active Indians approached so close that Wetzel feared a tomahawk throw. Wheeling suddenly, he shot the fellow dead in his tracks.
In early youth Lewis had acquired the habit of loading his gun while at a full run, and now he felt the great advantage of it. Keeping ahead of his pursuers for another half mile, a second Indian came up.
Turning to fire, the Indian caught the end of his gun, and for a time the contest was doubtful. At one moment the Indian, by great strength and dexterity, brought Wetzel to his knee and nearly wrenched the rifle from his hands.
Lewis, by a renewed effort, drew the weapon from the Indian's grasp and thrust the muzzle against the side of his neck. He pulled the trigger and killed him instantly.
The other two Indians had nearly overtaken him, but he leaped forward and kept ahead until his unerring rifle was a third time loaded. Anxious to have done with that kind of sport, he slackened his pace and even stopped once or twice to give the pursuers an opportunity to face him.
Every time he looked round, the Indians retreated, unwilling to encounter his destructive weapon. After running a mile or two further in this manner, he reached an open piece of ground.
Wheeling suddenly, he saw the foremost Indian jump behind a tree, but the tree did not screen his body. Wetzel fired and dangerously wounded him.
The remaining Indian made an immediate retreat, yelling as he went that the man's gun was always loaded.
In the summer of 1786, the Indians became troublesome near Wheeling, particularly at the Short Creek settlements. A party had killed a man near Mingo Bottom, and it was determined to send an expedition after the retreating enemy with sufficient force to chastise them.
A reward of one hundred dollars was offered to the man who brought in the first Indian scalp. Major McMahon, living at Beech Bottom, headed the expedition, and Lewis Wetzel was one of his men.
They crossed the river on August 5 and proceeded by rapid march to the Muskingum. The expedition numbered about 20 men, and five were detailed in advance to reconnoiter.
This party reported that they had discovered the camp of the enemy but that it was far too numerous to attack. A consultation was held, and an immediate retreat was determined on.
During the conference, Lewis Wetzel sat on a log with his gun resting carelessly across his knees. The moment retreat was resolved, most of the party started in disordered haste.
The commander observed Wetzel still sitting on the log and turned to ask if he was not going along. "No," was his sullen reply. He said he had come out to hunt Indians, and now that they were found he was not going home like a fool with his fingers in his mouth. He was determined to take an Indian scalp or lose his own.
All arguments were unavailing, and they were compelled to leave him alone in a desolate wilderness. He was surrounded by a vigilant, cruel, bloodthirsty enemy of horrid barbarity, with no friend but his rifle and no guide but the sure index set in the heavens above.
Once by himself, he satisfied himself that the others were gone, gathered his blanket, adjusted his tomahawk and scalping knife, shouldered his rifle, and moved off in the opposite direction. He hoped to meet a small party of Indians.
Keeping away from the larger streams, he strolled on cautiously, peering into every dell and suspicious covert and keenly sensitive to the least suspicious sound. Nothing crossed his path that day.
The night was dark and chilly, making a fire necessary, but showing a light in the midst of the enemy would invite certain destruction. To avoid this, he constructed a small coal bed out of bark and dried leaves, covering these with loose earth and leaving an occasional air hole.
He seated himself and circled the pit with his legs, then completed the hole by covering his head with a blanket. In this manner he produced a temperature equal, as he expressed it, to that of a stove room. It was an original and ingenious way of getting up a fire without endangering himself by a light.
During most of the following day he roamed the forest without noticing any signs of Indians. At length he discovered smoke and, going in its direction, found a camp, but it was tenantless.
It contained two blankets and a small kettle, which Wetzel at once knew belonged to two Indians who were doubtless out hunting. Concealing himself in the matted undergrowth, he patiently awaited their return.
About sunset one of the Indians came in, made up the fire, and began cooking his supper. Shortly after, the other came in.
They ate their supper and began to sing and amuse themselves by telling stories, at which they burst into roars of laughter. Singing and story-telling was a common practice of both white and red men in hunting camps.
These men, enjoying themselves in the utmost glee, little dreamed that Lewis Wetzel was so close. About 9 or 10 o'clock, one of the Indians wrapped his blanket around him, shouldered his rifle, took a chunk of fire in his hand, and left the camp, doubtless to watch a deer lick.
The fire and smoke would serve to keep off gnats and mosquitoes. It is a remarkable fact that deer are not alarmed at seeing fire, from meeting it so frequently in the fall and winter seasons when the leaves and grass are dry and the woods are burning.
The absence of the Indian was a cause of vexation and disappointment to Wetzel, whose trap was so heavily set that he considered his game secure. He still indulged the hope that the Indian would return to camp before day, but in this he was disappointed.
Birds in the woods begin chirping at the break of day, giving notice to the woodsman that light will soon appear. Lewis heard the woodland songsters begin to chatter and determined to delay the work of death no longer.
He walked to the camp with a noiseless step and found his victim buried in profound sleep, lying on one side. He drew his butcher knife and, with the utmost force impelled by revenge, sent the blade through his heart.
The Indian gave a short quiver, a convulsive motion, and then lay still in the sleep of death. Lewis scalped him and set out for home.
He arrived at Mingo Bottom only one day after his unsuccessful companions. He claimed and received his reward.
A most fatal decoy on the frontier was the turkey call. On several occasions, men from the fort at Wheeling had gone across the hill in quest of a turkey whose plaintive cries had caught their attention, and on more than one occasion the men never returned.
Wetzel suspected the cause and determined to satisfy himself. On the east side of the creek hill, at a point elevated 60 feet above the water, there is a capacious cavern whose entrance at that time was almost obscured by a heavy growth of vines and foliage.
Into this the alluring Indian would crawl and could have an extensive view of the hill fronts on the opposite side. From that cavern came the decoy of death to more than one incautious soldier and settler.
Wetzel knew the existence and exact locality of the cave. He started out before day and, by a circuitous route, reached the spot from the rear.
Posting himself so as to command a view of the opening, he waited patiently for the expected cry. Directly the twisted tuft of an Indian warrior slowly rose in the mouth of the cave.
Looking cautiously about, the Indian sent forth a long, shrill, peculiar cry and immediately sank back out of view. Lewis screened himself in his position, cocked his gun, and anxiously awaited the head's reappearance.
In a few minutes up rose the tuft. Lewis drew a fine aim at the polished head, and the next instant the brains of the Indian were scattered about the cave.
That turkey troubled the inhabitants no longer. Tradition does not say whether the place was ever afterward similarly occupied.
A singular custom of this daring border was to take a fall hunt into the Indian country. Equipping himself, he set out and penetrated to the Muskingum, where he fell upon a camp of four Indians.
He hesitated a moment whether to attack a party so much his superior in numbers, then determined to make the attempt. At the hour of midnight, when nothing was heard but the long, dismal howl of the wolf, he moved cautiously from his covert.
Sliding through the darkness, he stealthily approached the camp, supporting his rifle in one hand and a tomahawk in the other. A dim flicker from the campfire faintly revealed the forms of the sleepers, wrapped in that profound slumber which for some of them was to know no waking.
There they lay with their dark faces turned up to the night sky in the deep solitude of their own wilderness, little dreaming that their most relentless enemy was hovering over them. Quietly resting his gun against a tree, he unsheathed his knife.
With an intrepidity that could never be surpassed, he stepped boldly forward like the minister of death. With quickest thought he cleft the skull of one sleeping victim.
In an instant a second was similarly served. As a third attempted to rise, confused by the horrid yells with which Wetzel accompanied his blows, he too shared the fate of his companions and sank dead at the feet of the ruthless slayer.
The fourth darted into the darkness of the woods and escaped, though Wetzel pursued him some distance. Returning to camp, he scalped his victims and left for home.
When asked on his return how he had fared, his reply was brief: he had killed four Indians, but one got away. This unexampled achievement stamped him as one of the most daring and at the same time most successful hunters of his day.
The distance to and from the scene of this adventure could not have been less than 170 miles.
During one of his scouts near Wheeling, Wetzel took shelter on a stormy evening in a deserted cabin on the bottom, not far from the present residence of a Mr. Hamilton Woods. Gathering a few broken boards, he prepared a place in the loft to sleep.
Scarcely had he settled in for a nap when six Indians entered and, striking a fire, began preparing their homely meal. Wetzel watched their movements closely with drawn knife, determined that the moment he was discovered he would leap into their midst and try to escape in the confusion.
Fortunately they did not see him, and soon after supper the whole six fell asleep. Wetzel now crawled noiselessly down and hid behind a log at a convenient distance from the cabin door.
At early dawn a tall Indian stepped from the door and stretched up both hands in a long, hardy yawn, seeming to draw new life from the pure, invigorating atmosphere. In an instant Wetzel had his finger on the trigger, and the next moment the Indian fell heavily to the ground, his life's blood gushing upon the young grass brilliant with morning dew.
The report of his rifle had not ceased echoing through the valley air before the daring border was far away, secure from all pursuit.
When about 25 years old, Lewis entered the service of General Harmar, commanding at Marietta, Ohio. His new duties grew distasteful, and he took a leave of absence to visit friends near Wheeling.
Shortly afterward he returned to duty and was chiefly employed as a scout. It was while thus engaged that an affair occurred which changed the whole current of his life.
Among the Indians who visited Marietta was one of some celebrity known by the name of George Washington. He was a large, fine-looking Indian of much influence in his tribe.
The time was one of comparative peace, and General Harmar was particularly anxious to preserve the good feeling then subsisting. Wetzel, during one of his scouts, met this Indian and shot him.
The act was justly regarded as an outrage, and he was arrested and placed in close confinement at the fort. Wetzel admitted without hesitation that he had shot the Indian.
Not wishing to be hanged like a dog, he requested the general to give him up to the Indians. As a large number of them were present, he suggested they might be placed in a circle with their scalping knives and tomahawks, and he be given a tomahawk and placed in the midst of the circle to fight it out as best he could.
The general told him he was an officer appointed by the law, by which he must be governed. As the law did not authorize such a compromise, he could not grant the request.
After a few more days of confinement, Wetzel again sent for the general. He said he had never been confined and could not live much longer if not permitted some room to walk about.
The general ordered the officer on guard to knock off his iron fetters but leave on the handcuffs and permit him to walk about on the point at the mouth of the Muskingum, while keeping a close watch. As soon as they were outside the fort, Lewis began to caper about like a wild colt broken loose from the stall.
He would start and run a few yards as if about to escape, then turn around and join the guard. The next start he would run farther and then stop.
In this way he amused the guard for some time, at every start running a little farther. At length he called forth all his strength, resolution, and activity and determined on freedom or an early death.
He gave a sudden spring forward and bounded off at top speed for the shelter of his beloved woods. His movement was so quick and unexpected that the guards were taken by surprise, and he got nearly a hundred yards before they recovered.
They fired, but all missed. They followed in pursuit, but he soon left them out of sight.
Well acquainted with the country, he made for a dense thicket about two or three miles from the fort. In the midst of this thicket he found a tree that had fallen across a log where the brush was very close.
Under this tree he squeezed his body. The brush was so thick that he could not be discovered unless his pursuers examined very closely.
As soon as his escape was announced, General Harmar started soldiers and Indians in pursuit. After he had lain about two hours in his place of concealment, two Indians came into the thicket and stood on the very log under which he lay concealed.
His heart beat so violently he was afraid they would hear it thumping. He could hear them howling in every direction as they hunted through the brush.
At length, as the day wore away, Lewis found himself alone in the friendly thicket. But what should he do? His hands were fastened with iron cuffs and bolts, and he knew of no friend on the same side of the Ohio to whom he could apply for assistance.
He had a friend who had recently put up a cabin on the Virginia side of the Ohio, who he had no doubt would lend any assistance in his power. With the most gloomy foreboding of the future, a little after nightfall he left the thicket and made his way to the Ohio.
He came to the river about three or four miles below the fort, taking this circuit because he expected guards at every point where he could find a canoe. How to get across the river was the all-important question.
He could not make a raft with his hands bound. He was an excellent swimmer but feared he could not swim the Ohio with his heavy iron handcuffs.
After pausing some time, he determined to make the attempt. Nothing worse than death could happen, and he would prefer drowning to again falling into the hands of Harmar and his Indians.
Like Caesar in the storm, he would trust the event to fortune, and he plunged into the river. He swam the greater part of the distance on his back and reached the Virginia shore in safety, but so exhausted that he had to lie on the beach some time before he was able to move.
He went to the cabin of his friend, where he was received with rapture. A file and hammer soon released him from his iron handcuffs.
Information having reached General Harmar of Wetzel's whereabouts, he sent a party of men in a canoe to take him. As the boat neared the Virginia shore, Wetzel, his friend, and several other men posted themselves on the bank and threatened to shoot the first man who landed.
Unwilling to venture further, the party returned, and Lewis made his way homeward. His kind friend furnished him with gun, ammunition, tomahawk, blanket, and other provisions.
Exasperated at the escape of Wetzel, General Harmar offered a large reward for his apprehension and dispatched a file of men to the neighborhood of Wheeling with orders to take him dead or alive. The detachment was under the command of a Captain Kingsbury, who, hearing that Wetzel was to be at Mingo Bottom on a certain day, marched thither to execute his orders.
An eyewitness later described the scene. A company of men could as easily have drawn old Horny out of the bottomless pit as take Lewis Wetzel by force from the neighborhood of Mingo Bottom.
On the day Captain Kingsbury arrived, there was a shooting match at the eyewitness's father's house, and Lewis Wetzel was there. As soon as the object of Captain Kingsbury was ascertained, it was resolved to ambush the captain's barge and kill him and his company.
Happily, Major McMahon was present to prevent this catastrophe. He prevailed on Wetzel and his friends to suspend the attack until he could pay Captain Kingsbury a visit and perhaps persuade him to return without attempting to take Wetzel.
With great reluctance they agreed to suspend the attack until Major McMahon returned. The resentment and fury of Wetzel and his friends were boiling and blowing like steam from the escape pipe of a steamboat.
"A pretty affair this," they said, "to hang a man for killing an Indian when they are killing some of our people almost every day."
Major McMahon informed Captain Kingsbury of the force and fury of the people and assured him that if he persisted in the attempt to seize Wetzel, he would have all the settlers in the country upon him. Nothing could save him and his company from a massacre but a speedy return.
The captain took his advice and forthwith returned to Fort Harmar. Wetzel considered the affair now finally adjusted, but in this he was mistaken.
His roving disposition never permitted him to remain long in one place. Soon after these events he descended the river to Limestone, or Maysville, and while engaged in harmless frolicking, an avaricious fellow named Lawler, a lieutenant in the army going down the river with a company of soldiers for Fort Washington, landed at Maysville and found Wetzel sitting in a tavern.
Lawler returned to his boat, procured some soldiers, seized Wetzel, and dragged him aboard. Without a moment's delay they pushed off and that night delivered him to General Harmar at Fort Washington, where he again had to undergo the ignominy of having his hands and feet bound with irons.
The noise of Wetzel's capture, and capture too for only killing an Indian, spread through the country like wildfire. The passions of the frontiersmen were roused to the highest pitch of fury.
Petitions for his release were sent from the most influential men to the general from every quarter where the story had been heard. The general at first paid little attention to these.
At length, however, the settlements along the Ohio and some of the back counties were preparing to embody in military array to release him by force of arms. General Harmar, seeing the storm approaching, had Wetzel's irons knocked off and set him at liberty.
Wetzel was once more a free man. He returned to his friends and was caressed by young and old with undiminished respect.
The vast number of scalps he had taken proved his invincible courage as well as his prowess in war. The sufferings and persecutions pursued by General Harmar secured for him the sympathy of the frontier.
The higher Wetzel was esteemed, the lower sank the character of General Harmar with the fiery spirits on the frontier. Had Harmar possessed a tithe of the courage, skill, and indomitable energy of Wetzel, the soldiers under his command in the disastrous campaign against the Miamis might have shared a very different fate.
Shortly after his return from Kentucky, a relative from Dunkard Creek invited Lewis home with him. The invitation was accepted, and the two leisurely wound their way along, hunting and sporting as they traveled.
On reaching the home of the young man, instead of the hospitable roof they found a pile of smoking ruins. Wetzel instantly examined the trail and found that the marauders were three Indians and one white man, and that they had taken one prisoner.
That captive proved to be the betrothed of the young man, who could not be restrained from pushing on an immediate pursuit. Placing himself under Wetzel's direction, the two strode on, hoping to overhaul the enemy before they crossed the Ohio.
After proceeding a short distance, it was found that the Indians had taken great care to obliterate their trail. But the keen discernment of Wetzel, once on the track, meant there need not be much difficulty.
He knew they would make for the river by the most expeditious routes. Disregarding their trail, he pushed on so as to head them off at the crossing place.
After an hour's hard travel they struck a path the deer had made, which their sagacity had taught them to carry over knolls in order to avoid the great curves of ravines. Wetzel followed the path because he knew it was almost a direct line to the point at which he was aiming.
Night coming on, the tireless and determined hunters partook of a hurried meal and again pushed forward, guided by the lamps hung in the heavens above them. Toward midnight a heavy cloud shut out their light and obscured the path.
Early the following morning they resumed the chase. Descending from the elevated ridge along which they had been passing for an hour or two, they found themselves in a deep and quiet valley that looked as though human steps had never before pressed its virgin soil.
Traveling a short distance, they discovered fresh footsteps in the soft sands. Upon close examination, the eye of Wetzel's companion detected the impress of a small shoe with nail heads around the heel, which he at once recognized as belonging to his fiancee.
Hour after hour the pursuit was kept up, now tracing the trail across hills, over fallen timber, and often detecting it where the wily captors had taken to the beds of streams. Late in the afternoon they found themselves approaching the Ohio River.
Shortly after dark, as they struck the river, they discovered the camp of the enemy on the opposite side and just below the mouth of Captina. Swimming the river, the two reconnoitered the position of the camp and discovered the locality of the captive.
Wetzel proposed waiting until daylight before making the attack, but the almost frantic lover was for immediate action. Wetzel would listen to no suggestion, and so they awaited the break of day.
At early dawn the Indians were up and preparing to leave. Wetzel directed his companion to take good aim at the white renegade while he made sure work of one of the Indians.
They fired at the same moment and with fatal effect. Instantly the young man rushed forward to release the captive, and Wetzel, reloading, pursued the two Indians who had taken to the woods to ascertain the strength of the attacking party.
Wetzel pursued a short distance and then fired his rifle at random to draw the Indians from their retreat. The trick succeeded, and they made after him with uplifted tomahawks, yelling at the height of their voices.
The adroit hunter soon had his rifle loaded. Wheeling suddenly, he discharged its contents through the body of his nearest pursuer.
The other Indian now rushed impetuously forward, thinking to dispatch his enemy in a moment. Wetzel kept dodging from tree to tree and, being more fleet than the Indian, managed to keep ahead until his unerring gun was again loaded.
Turning, he fired, and the last of the party lay dead before him.
Soon after this occurrence, Wetzel determined to visit the extreme South. For that purpose he engaged on a flatboat about to leave for New Orleans.
Many months elapsed before his friends heard anything of his whereabouts. Then they learned he was in close confinement at New Orleans under some weighty charge.
The exact nature of the charge was never fully ascertained, but it is very certain he was imprisoned and treated like a felon for nearly two years. The charge was supposed to be of some trivial character and has been justly regarded as a great outrage.
It was alleged at the time of his arrest to have been for uttering counterfeit coin, but this being disproved, it was then charged that he had been guilty of illicit connection with the wife of a Spaniard. Of the nature of these charges, little is known, and it may therefore be unsafe to say more.
He was finally released through the intervention of the government and reached home by way of Philadelphia, to which city he had been sent from New Orleans. A Mr. Rodefer said he saw him immediately after his return and that his personal appearance had undergone great change from his long confinement.
He remained but two days on Wheeling Creek after his return, one at his mother's and the other at Captain Bonnett's, the father of Mrs. Rodefer. Many older citizens said they saw him during this brief visit and conversed freely with him about the infamous manner in which he had been treated.
From the settlement he went to Wheeling, where he remained a few days, and then left again for the South, vowing vengeance against the person he believed to have been accessory to his imprisonment and to degrading him with a felon's chain. During his visit to Wheeling he remained with George Cook, a relative.
One informant said she met him there and heard Mrs. Cook tease him about getting married, jokingly asking whether he ever intended to take a wife. "No," he replied, "there is no woman in this world for me, but I expect there is one in heaven."
After an absence of many months he again returned to the neighborhood of Wheeling. Whether he avenged his real or imaginary wrongs upon the person of the Spaniard, the biographer at that time had no means of saying.
His propensity to roam the woods was still as great as ever. Soon after his return, an incident occurred that showed he had lost none of his cunning while imprisoned at New Orleans.
Returning home from a hunt north of the Ohio River, somewhat fatigued and a little careless of his movements, he suddenly spied an Indian in the very act of raising his gun to fire. Both immediately sprang to trees and stood there for an hour, each afraid of the other.
To remain there the whole day, for it was then early morning, was out of the question. It was then that the sagacity of Wetzel displayed itself.
Cautiously adjusting his bare skin cap to the end of his ramrod, with the slightest, most dubious and hesitating motion, as though afraid to venture a glance, the cap protruded. In an instant a crack was heard, and off was torn the fatal cap by the sure ball of the ever-vigilant Indian.
Leaping from his retreat, Wetzel rapidly advanced upon the astonished Indian. Before the tomahawk could be brought to its work of death, the tawny foe sprang convulsively into the air and, straightening as he descended, fell upon his face quite dead.
Wetzel was universally regarded as one of the most efficient scouts and practical woodsmen of the day. He was frequently engaged by parties who desired to hunt up and locate lands but were afraid of the Indians.
Under the protection of Lewis Wetzel, however, they felt safe, and he was often engaged for months at a time. Among those who became largely interested in western lands was John Madison, brother of James Madison, afterward president.
He employed Lewis Wetzel to go with him through the Kanawha region. During their expedition they came upon a deserted hunter's camp in which some goods were concealed.
Each of them helped himself to a blanket. That day, in crossing the Little Kanawha, they were fired upon by a concealed party of Indians, and Madison was killed.
General Clark, the companion of Lewis and the celebrated explorer across the Rocky Mountains, had heard much of Lewis Wetzel in Kentucky and determined to secure his services in a perilous enterprise. A messenger was accordingly sent for him, but he was reluctant to go.
He finally consented and accompanied the party during the first three months of travel, but then declined to go any further and returned home. Shortly after this he left again on a flatboat and never returned.
He visited a relative named Philip Sykes, living about 20 miles in the interior from Natchez, and there made his home until the summer of 1808, when he died.
The personal appearance of this distinguished border was very remarkable. His complexion was very dark, and his eyes were of the most intense blackness, wild, rolling, and piercing as the dagger's point, emitting when excited such fierce and withering glances as caused the stoutest adversary to quail beneath their power.
His hair was of raven darkness and very luxurious, reaching when combed out below his knees. It would have been a rare scalp for the Indians, one for which they would at any time have given a dozen of their best warriors.
When Lewis Wetzel professed friendship, he was true as the needle to the pole. He loved his friends and hated their enemies.
He was a rude, blunt man of few words before company, but with his friends not only sociable but an agreeable companion. His name and fame, one account predicted, would long survive when the achievements of men vastly his superior in rank and intellect would slumber with the forgotten past.
Wetzel's nickname among the Indians was "Death Wind." Some sources claim he was a quarter Mohawk, though no other source has been found to support that claim.
His father was born in Holland and spent some time as an indentured servant to pay off his debt for the trip to America. His mother was descended from French Huguenots who also arrived shortly before Lewis was born, making it unclear which of his grandparents could have been Mohawk.
The official version of Wetzel's death is that he died in 1808 from fever while living at a relative's home near Natchez, Mississippi. In 1942, Dr. Albert Bowser, a Wetzel researcher, exhumed a skeleton purported to be that of the Indian fighter from a grave on the property. Today those remains rest in a cemetery in Moundsville, West Virginia.
Author Allan Eckert, who studied Wetzel's life while writing the book "That Dark and Bloody River," claimed that Wetzel moved west and eventually settled along the Brazos River in Texas. According to Eckert, he died there in 1839.
So there is evidence that he died near Natchez in 1808 at the home of his cousin Philip Sykes, while some stories suggest he moved west and settled along the Brazos River with a Spanish wife. The latter story could make sense if the Spanish wife he took was married and the two wanted to get away from her husband, which could also have been the source of some of his troubles in New Orleans.