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Yellow Creek Stories

Robert W. SCHILLING

Chapter XIII

The Black Bear Tavern

Centuries ago, many of our highways of today were the well-traveled paths of elk, buffalo and deer; they then became the trails for the red man, and later the routes taken for wagon roads, and in some cases the "Iron Horse."

As time moved along, the restless white man often noted how these roads could be changed to better suit him in getting to the many new hamlets and villages that were growing up in all directions in "the back woods" of this Northwest Territory. To travel "back from the river country," the roads followed along the courses of the streams in the bottomlands, but they were roads only in name; for they were rough trails through the endless lush forest cleared of the larger trees, stumps, rocks and brush, and as the streams themselves had cut a path through the steep hills, so by following the shelf of the hill prevented many hard pulls.

One of the favorite gateways into the Northwest Territory was by the mouth of Yellow Creek. It had many centuries ago been used as a portal to get to the Tuscarawas, for the branches of Yellow Creek intertwine with those of the Big Sandy branch of the Tuscarawas. This route was traveled by Indian war parties as well as by BOUQUET and MCINTOSH and was our first used wagon road. In the first decade of 1800, a road was laid out from this first road, beginning at, and following along, the left side of Hollow Rock Run, the first branch of Yellow Creek entering it on the right. This road followed along the course of Hollow Rock for a distance of six miles, and for years was the main road connecting our county seat (1797) with the northern outlying districts which later became the towns of St. Clair or Fawcettsville (and getting a post office in 1830 called East Liverpool). Wellsville, 1824, and passing through Knoxville, 1814—all these town were originally in Knox Township, Jefferson County, Ohio.

This highway at the advent of the stagecoach became the first established route through Knox Township for carrying passengers, freight and mail.

With the beginning of the stagecoach traffic soon to follow was the tavern for the benefit of travelers.

One of these taverns was built less than five miles above the mouth of Yellow Creek on the east side of Hollow Rock upon a triangle of land made by the entrance of HALE’s Meeting House Run with the former run. It was called "The Black Bear Tavern," and was built in the first decade after the Buckeye State was formed. Today this location is known to many as the (George) "Peacher place" and also by the fact that Alexander MORRISON lived here when he wrote the story "The Blockhouse" in 1890.

The building was of red brick burned near by, and when completed was, according to the custom of that day, given the name "The Black Bear Tavern" from the fact that a large black bear had been killed in a den a few rods east of the tavern. This den, in perfect condition, is still to be seen. This tavern, built for the accommodation of all "headin’ west," was entered by a large door on the south side, known as "the witches’ door," because the panel work of this portal was made in the form of a cross—a symbol of good extended the caller from those inside, but a sign for all evil spirits to remain outside. The wide, open fireplace would easily accommodate itself to "six-foot logs" and heat the large front room.

Down by the roadside was the hitching post with its "rum strap," a silent reminder to the thirsty, and beside it was a post bearing the picture of a black bear and the tavern owner’s name,

"The Black Bear Tavern

By Authority a Tavern

Henry Miller."

To the present generation this name means little, but Henry MILLER was one of the many actors in the pioneer history of this land, who played a silent part in its written history, but gave heroic aid in making this a safe place in which to live.’

Henry Miller did scout work when the Yellow Creek Block House was built in the spring of 1793, and as an "Indian widow maker," as he liked to style himself, he was the equal of BRADY, WETZEL, or MYERS. Miller’s parents had been killed by Indians, and he and his brother Christopher had been taken prisoners and had lived with the savages for many years; in fact Henry had lived with them for twenty-four years and then escaped to civilization. Christopher was so enamored with Indian life that he had refused to escape with his brother, although asked him to go with him.

When Anthony WAYNE’s army came floating down the Ohio River on that bright warm day of April 30, 1793, Henry Miller volunteered to go with "Mad Anthony" on his campaign to deliver the final death blow to the Indians in western Ohio. Wayne was fully cognizant that the Indian army was cunning, bold, defiant and heretofore always victorious, so he was anxious and pleased to pick any Indian fighter who could beat the red man at his own tricks.

All of Wayne’s Indian scouts and spies were under Captain Ephriam KIBBY, but the best of the experienced spies were under the leadership of William WELLS. Wells had been captured when a small child and adopted by Little Turtle as a foster son; he had escaped from his Miami chieftain only eighteen months previous to Wayne’s campaign and had returned to Kentucky. Wells knew Henry Miller when both were living with the Miamis in western Ohio.

Out of the sixty scouts chosen for scout work, three were picked by Wayne to do special spy work. They were William Wells, Robert MCCLELLAND and Henry Miller. These men were only accountable to Wayne, and were allowed the pick of the horses, equipment and food; besides, they did no regular army work. All scouts other than these wee not granted horses and worked and reported to Captain Kibby. These three men were in the complete confidence of Wayne; for he knew their bravery was unquestioned, and their cunning had no equal; that he had only to ask, and they would act.

In June, 1794, while at Greenville, Wayne called in Wells and his group and gave them orders to "go out and capture some live Indians in order that he might question them and find out what the devils are up to." He suggested that they bring in some Wyandot warriors when Wells protested, saying, "We can bring in any redskin alive, except a Wyandot—they refuse to be taken alive."

These three men mounted their horses and started in search of some live Shawnees for Wayne to question. They rode for quite a distance hoping to find some "red varmints" out on the same errand or a war party of stragglers. At that, some distance away they saw some wisps of wood smoke curling towards the blue sky and knew it was an Indian camp. As this camp was purposely located on a high, open piece of ground, the scouts soon concluded that the best method of approach would require them to travel in almost a half circle, so as to take advantage of a fallen tree, whose leaves were still green and a perfect screen to their approach.

They quickly tied their horses in a near-by ravine, then swung around the half circle as rapidly and quietly as possible, then on hands and knees to the fallen tree. The leafy treetop was an ideal shelter, and the Indians were not more than seventy or eighty yards away at their camp. They showed all indications that they were unaware of any enemy; for they were standing around the fire laughing and making merry, while a "haunch" of venison was roasting over the fire.

The scouts quickly completed their method of attack. Miller was to take a "heart aim" and shoot the Indian on his right side; Wells, the Indian on the left; while McClelland, who had the speed of a deer, was to close in and grab the remaining warrior. All ready, the signal was given—a burst of gunfire, when two Indians sprawled to the earth, and before the smoke from the guns was two feet above the ground, McClelland was on his way, with tomahawk raised high, to kill the remaining Indian if he must, but to capture him alive if possible.

With the latter object as his main purpose, he hesitated to deliver the "knockout blow," which the Indian noted, when the red devil suddenly darted towards the river like a scared deer and to a crossing that was well known to both Wells and McClelland. It was now a race between McClelland and the red man to get to the river crossing first, but McClelland headed him off and forced the Indian to change his course. The Indian did as McClelland had hoped, for he forced the red man to jump down a twenty-foot bluff into the river. The bottom of the stream at this location was waist deep with mud, and in the plunge the Indian’s feet went to the bottom, where he was stuck half buried in the mud.

McClelland jumped in on top of the mired Indian and sank him into the mud all the deeper. When both parties cleared away for a decisive action, the Indian pulled his scalping knife to give McClelland the death stab, but at the same moment the scout had his tomahawk poised ready to deliver the final blow. The Indian, seeing his predicament, became frightened and let the knife fall from his hand into the muddy water, and was now at the mercy of McClelland.

By this time Henry Miller and William Wells arrived and covered the furious Indian with their guns, and then by means of a pole pulled both the scout and Indian out of the mud to the river bank.

The captive Indian was very sullen and sulky, and refused to speak a word in any language to indicate what tribe he belonged to. McClelland had now washed the mud from his hands and clothes, and then ordered the filthy Indian to do likewise. While this cleaning operation went on, Miller and Wells went back for the horses and stopped at the Indian camp and scalped the two they had killed. They also came back bringing the roast of venison that the Indians did not have the pleasure of eating.

As soon as Henry Miller came back, he was surprised by the fact that when the war paint and mud was washed from the supposed Indian, he turned out to be a white man. Miller inspected this prisoner closely; for something seemed to tell him that he might know him, but as yet the prisoner, silent in words but full of fight, gave no indication of his name, rank or tribe.

The three scouts and the white Indian started back towards Wayne’s headquarters, when Miller rode up to take another look. At the sound of his English name the prisoner seemed startled; then he faced his interrogator and eagerly inquired in the Shawnee tongue, "How do you know?" and the scout replied, "Because I am your brother, Henry."

Even after this conversation the Indian trait was so strong in Christopher Miller that he was sullen and suspicious and would have taken the lives of all these scouts had he had the chance; for he had been adopted by the Shawnees since a child, and, like them, he was a fierce savage of the bravest of the reds.

It took several weeks of the closest confinement and many visits by Wayne and the scouts to wean Christopher MIller from his savage life and to create in him a desire to live again among his own people.

Although slow to acquiesce to his brother’s offers, he at last did so after Wayne had promised him a fine horse and modern equipment, also a place with his brother’s scout company.

Under the watchful eye of Henry, he soon became a trusted and brave scout and exemplified his change of heart and mind by the following episode.

Just about a month after Christopher’s capture in June, he went on his first scouting trip; all were mounted on fine horses and anxious to make a capture. All were bedecked in war paint and feathers to deceive the red foe, a ruse which had often worked well.

Several hours later they spied a single warrior, and all the scouts raced their horses towards the lone Indian and demanded his surrender. The Indian raised his gun and fired at the scouts but missed.

McClelland saw that it was his chance to close in and bag the prisoner (as they wanted him alive) before he could reload his gun. Christopher Miller came up on the opposite side just as the cornered Indian had made a strike at McClelland, using his rifle as a club, but McClelland parried the blow. At that moment Christopher Miller rushed in from behind and bore the Indian to the ground, while McClelland stripped him of his gun, axe and knife.

This Indian proved to be a Pottawatamee chieftain—"The Blackbird"—an Indian known for his courage and bravery as well as his prowess.

From this time Christopher Miller was held to be perfectly reliable and trustworthy.

He lived with his brother Henry after Wayne’s glorious success at Fallen Timber and no doubt is buried near Hale’s Meeting House—now Sugar Grove M. E. Church—where he still lies amid bramble and brush in some unmarked grave along with Revolutionary soldiers like William MAPLE, Henry VANTILLBURG, and a host of others who were co-workers in making America what it is.



 

Janice Garlock Donley
700 Tenth Street • Oakmont, PA 15139 USA

412-828-6557• jdonley@garlock-elliott.org


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