AUGLAIZE COUNTY, named from the Auglaize river, was created Feb. 14th, 1848, from Allen and Mercer counties. It takes of Allen the townships of Wayne, Goshen, Union, Clay, Duchouquet, Pusheta, Moulton, Washington, and parts of Amanda and Pusheta. It takes of Mercer the first tier of eastern townships except the northern half of Salem. This tract in 1840 contained a population of about 6,500. The principal villages are St. Mary's (see p. 353) and Wapakonetta, (see p. 29,) one of which will be the county seat. St. John's, Uniopolis, Fryburg, Knoxville, New Bremen and Minster are names of small places.

MORROW COUNTY.

MORROW COUNTY, named from Ex-Governor Morrow, was formed Feb. 24th, 1848, from Richland, Knox, Delaware, and Marion counties. It takes of Richland the townships of Bloomfield, Congress and western halves of Troy and Perry, including the villages of Bloomingrove, Johnsville and Chambersburg. Of Knox it takes the townships of Chester, Bloomfield and Franklin, and villages of Chesterville and Jamestown. It takes of Delaware the townships of Bennington, Harmon, Peru, Lincoln, Westfield and a fraction of Oxford, with the village of Woodbury. Of Marion it takes the townships of Morven, Canaan, Gilead, Washington and villages of Mt. Gilead, Iberia, Denmark and Cardington. Mount Gilead (see p. 344) is the county seat. The population of this tract, in 1840, was about 17,000.

By the act forming Morrow county, a small strip from the northern part of Delaware county was annexed to Marion county.

COUNTIES.

ADAMS.

ADAMS lies on the Ohio river, about fifty miles east of Cincinnati, and derives its name from John Adams, second President of the United States. It was formed, July 10th, 1797, by proclamation of Gov. St. Clair, and covered a large tract of country, being then one of the four counties into which the N. W. Territory was divided. The land is generally hilly and broken, and, in the eastern part, not fertile. The staples are wheat, corn, pork and oats. Many of the first settlers were from Virginia, Kentucky and Ireland. The following is a list of its townships in 1840, with their population: Franklin, 1,358 Meigs, 1,071 Green, 1,081

Monroe,

828

Tiffin,
Wayne,

1,533 858

Winchester, 1,112

Liberty, 1,096 Sprigg, 1,984

The population of Adams, in 1820, was 10,406; in 1830, 12,278; and in 1840, 13,271, or 24 persons to a square mile.

The first settlement within the Virginia military tract, and the only one between the Scioto and Little Miami until after the treaty of Greenville, in 1795, was made in this county, at Manchester, by the then Col., late Gen. Nathaniel Massie. McDonald, in his unpretending, but excellent little volume, says:

Massie, in the winter of the year, 1790, determined to make a settlement in it, that he might be in the midst of his surveying operations and secure his party from danger and exposure. In order to effect this, he gave general notice in Kentucky of his intention, and offered each of the first twenty-five families, as a donation, one in-lot, one out-lot, and one hundred acres of land, provided they would settle in a town he intended to lay off at his settlement. His proffered terms were soon closed in with, and upwards of thirty families joined him. After various consultations with his friends, the bottom on the Ohio river, opposite the lower of the Three Islands, was selected as the most eligible spot. Here, he fixed his station, and laid off into lots a town, now called Manchester; at this time a small place, about twelve miles above Maysville, (formerly Limestone,) Kentucky. This little confederacy, with Massie at the helm, (who was the soul of it,) went to work with spirit. Cabins were raised, and by the middle of March, 1791, the whole town was enclosed with strong pickets, firmly fixed in the ground, with block houses at each angle for defence.

Thus was the first settlement in the Virginia military district, and the fourth settlement in the bounds of the State of Ohio, effected. Although this settlement was commenced in the hottest Indian war, it suffered less from depredation, and even interruptions, from the Indians, than any settlement previously made on the Ohio river. This was no doubt owing to the watchful band of brave spirits who guarded the place-men who were reared in the midst of danger and inured to perils, and as watchful as hawks. Here were the Beasleys,

the Stouts, the Washburns, the Ledoms, the Edgingtons, the Denings, the Ellisons, the Utts, the McKenzies, the Wades, and others, who were equal to the Indians in all the arts and stratagems of border war.

As soon as Massie had completely prepared his station for defence, the whole population went to work, and cleared the lower of the Three Islands, and planted it in corn. The island was very rich, and produced heavy crops. The woods, with a little industry, supplied a choice variety of game. Deer, elk, buffalo, bears, and turkeys, were abundant, while the river furnished a variety of excellent fish. The wants of the inhabitants, under these circumstances, were few and easily gratified.

When this station was made, the nearest neighbors north-west of the Ohio, were the inhabitants at Columbia, a settlement below the mouth of the Little Miami, five miles above Cincinnati, and at Gallipolis, a French settlement, near the mouth of the Great Kenhawa.

The station being established, Massie continued to make locations and surveys. Great precautions were necessary to avoid the Indians, and even these did not always avail, as is shown by the following incidents, the first of which is derived from the narrative of Israel Donalson, in the American Pioneer, and the others from McDonald's sketches.

I am not sure whether it was the last of March or first of April I came to the territory to reside; but on the night of the 21st of April, 1791, Mr. Massie and myself were sleeping together on our blankets, (for beds we had none,) on the loft of our cabin, to get out of the way of the fleas and gnats. Soon after lying down, I began dreaming of Indians, and continued to do so through the night. Sometime in the night, however, whether Mr. Massie waked of himself, or whether I wakened him, I cannot now say, but I observed to him I did not know what was to be the consequence, for I had dreamed more about Indians that night than in all the time I had been in the western country before. As is common, he made light of it, and we dropped again to sleep. He asked me next morning if I would go with him up the river, about four or five miles, to make a survey, and that William Lytle, who was then at the fort, was going along. We were both young surveyors, and were glad of the opportunity to practice. Accordingly we three, and a James Tittle, from Kentucky, who was about buying the land, got on board of a canoe, and was a long time going up, the river being very high at the time. We commenced at the mouth of a creek, which from that day has been called Donalson creek. We meandered up the river; Mr. Massie had the compass, Mr. Lytle and myself carried the chain. We had progressed perhaps one hundred and forty, or one hundred and fifty poles, when our chain broke or parted, but with the aid of the tomahawk we soon repaired it. We were then close to a large mound, and were standing in a triangle, and Lytle and myself were amusing ourselves pointing out to Tittle the great convenience he would have by building his house on that mound, when the one standing with his face up the river, spoke and said, boys, there are Indians; no, replied the other, they are Frenchmen. By this time I had caught a glimpse of them; I said they were Indians, I begged them to fire. I had no gun, and from the advantage we had, did not think of running until they started. The Indians were in two small bark canoes, and were close into shore and discovered us just at the instant we saw them; and before I started to run I saw one jump on shore. We took out through the bottom, and before getting to the hill, came to a spring branch. I was in the rear, I went to jump, something caught my foot, and I fell on the opposite side. They were then so close, I saw there was no chance of escape, and did not offer to rise. Three warriors first came up, presented their guns all ready to fire, but as I made no resistance they took them down, and one of them gave me his hand to help me up. At this time Mr. Lytle was about a chain's length before me, and threw away his hat; one of the Indians went forward and picked it up. They then took me back to the bank of the river, and set me down while they put up their stuff, and prepared for a march. While setting on the bank of the river, I could see the men walking about the block-house on the Kentucky shore, but they heard nothing of it. They went on rapidly that evening, and camped, I think, on the waters of Eagle creek, started next morning early, it raining hard, and one of them saw my hat was somewhat convenient to keep off the rain, came up and took it off my head, and put it on his own. By this time I had discovered some friendship in a very lusty Indian, I think the one that first came up to me; I made signs to him that one had taken my hat, he went and took it off the other Indian's head, and placed it again on mine, but had not gone far before they took it again. I complained as before, but my friend shook his head, took down and opened his budget, and took out a sort of blanket

and as

cap, and put it on my head. We went on; it still rained hard, and the waters were very much swollen, and when my friend discovered that I was timorous, he would lock his arm in mine, and lead me through, and frequently in open woods when I would get tired, I would do the same thing with him, and walk for miles. They did not make me carry any thing until Sunday or Monday. They got into a thicket of game, and killed, I think, two bears and some deer; they then halted and jerked their meat, eat a large portion, peeled some bark, made a kind of box, filled it, and put it on me to carry. I soon got tired of it and threw it down: they raised a great laugh, examined my back, applied some bear's oil to it, and then put on the box again. I went on some distance and threw it down again; my friend then took it up, threw it over his head, and carried it. It weighed, I thought, at least fifty pounds.

While resting one day, one of the Indians broke up little sticks and laid them up in the form of a fence, then took out a grain of corn, as carefully wrapped up as people used to wrap up guineas in olden times; this they planted and called out squaw, signifying to me that that would be my employment with the squaws. But, notwithstanding my situation at the time, I thought they would not eat much corn of my raising. On Tuesday, as we were traveling along, there came to us a white man and an Indian on horseback; they had a long talk, and when they rode off, the Indians I was with seemed considerably alarmed; they immediately formed in Indian file, placed me in the centre, and shook a war club over my head, and showed me by these gestures that if I attempted to run away they would kill me. We soon after arrived at the Shawanee camp, where we continued until late in the afternoon of the next day. During our stay there they trained my hair to their own fashion, put a jewel of tin in my nose, &c., &c. The Indians met with great formality when we came to the camp, which was very spacious. One side was entirely cleared out for our use, and the party I was with passed the camp to my great mortification, I thinking they were going on; but on getting to the further end they wheeled short round, came into the camp, sat down-not a whisper. In a few minutes two of the oldest got up, went round, shook hands, came and sat down again; then the Shawanees rising simultaneously, came and shook hands with them. A few of the first took me by the hand; but one refused, and I did not offer them my hand again, not considering it any great honor. Soon after a kettle of bear's oil and some craclins were set before us, and we began eating, they first chewing the meat, then dipping it into the bear's oil, which I tried to be excused from, but they compelled me to it, which tried my stomach, although by this time hunger had compelled me to eat many a dirty morsel. Early in the afternoon, an Indian came to the camp, and was met by his party just outside, when they formed a circle and he spoke, I thought, near an hour, and so profound was the silence, that had they been on a board floor, I thought the fall of a pin might have been heard. I rightly judged of the disaster, for the day before I was taken I was at Limestone, and was solicited to join a party that was going down to the mouth of Snag creek, where some Indian canoes were discovered hid in the willows. The party went and divided, some came over to the Indian shore, and some remained in Kentucky, and they succeeded in killing nearly the whole party.

There was at this camp two white men; one of them could swear in English, but very imperfectly, having I suppose been taken young; the other, who could speak good English, told me he was from South Carolina. He then told me different names which I have forgot, except that of Ward; asked if I knew the Wards that lived near Washington, Kenucky. I told him I did, and wanted him to leave the Indians and go to his brother's, and take me with him. He told me he preferred staying with the Indians, that he might nab the whites. He and I had a great deal of chat, and disagreed in almost every thing. He told me they had taken a prisoner by the name of Towns, that had lived near Washington, Kentucky, and that he had attempted to run away, and they killed him. But the truth was, they had taken Timothy Downing the day before I was taken, in the neighborhood of Blue Licks, and had got within four or five miles of that camp, and night coming on, and it being very rainy, they concluded to camp. There were but two Indians, an old chief and his son; Downing watched his opportunity, got hold of a squaw-axe and gave the fatal blow. His object was to bring the young Indian in a prisoner; he said he had been so kind to him he could not think of killing him. But the instant he struck his father, the young man sprung upon his back and confined him so that it was with difficulty he extricated himself from his grasp. Downing made then for his horse, and the Indian for the camp. The horse he caught and mounted; but not being a woodsman, struck the Ohio a little below Scioto, just as a boat was passing. They would not land for him until he rode several miles and convinced them that he was no decoy, and so close was the pursuit, that the boat had only gained the stream when the enemy appeared on the shore. He had severely wounded the young Indian in the scuffle, but did not know it until I told him. But

to return to my own narrative: two of the party, viz., my friend and another Indian, turned back from this camp to do other mischief, and never before had I parted with a friend with the same regret. We left the Shawanee camp about the middle of the afternoon, they under great excitement. What detained them I know not, for they had a number of their horses up, and their packs on, from early in the morning. I think they had at least one hundred of the best horses that at that time Kentucky could afford. They calculated on being pursued, and they were right, for the next day, viz., the 28th of April, Major Kenton, with about ninety men, were at the camp before the fires were extinguished; and I have always viewed it as a providential circumstance that the enemy had departed, as a defeat on the part of the Kentuckians would have been inevitable. I never could get the Indians in a position to ascertain their precise number, but concluded there were sixty or upward, as sprightly looking men as I ever saw together, and well equipped as they could wish for. The Major himself agreed with me that it was a happy circumstance that they were gone. We traveled that evening, I thought, seven miles, and encamped in the edge of a prairie, the water a short distance off. Our supper that night consisted of a raccoon roasted undressed. After this meal I became thirsty, and an old warrior, to whom my friend had given me in charge, directed another to go with me to the water, which made him angry; he struck me, and my nose bled. I had a great mind to return the stroke, but did not. I then determined, be the result what it might, that I would go no farther with them. They tied me and laid me down as usual, one of them lying on the rope on each side of me ; they went to sleep, and I to work gnawing and picking the rope (made of bark) to pieces, but did not get loose until day was breaking. I crawled off on my hands and feet until I got into the edge of the prairie, and sat down on a trussuck to put on my moccasins, and had put on one and was preparing to put on the other, when they raised the yell and took the back track, and I believe they made as much noise as twenty white men could do. Had they been still they might have heard me, as I was not more than two chains' length from them at the time. But I started and ran, carrying one moccasin in my hand; and in order to evade them, chose the poorest ridges I could find; and when coming to tree-logs lying crosswise, would run along one and then along the other. I continued on that way until about ten o'clock, then ascending a very poor ridge, crept in between two logs, and being very weary soon dropped to sleep, and did not waken until the sun was almost down; I traveled on a short distance further and took lodging for the night in a hollow tree. ĺ think it was on Saturday that I got to the Miami. I collected some logs, made a raft by peeling bark and tying them together; but I soon found that too tedious and abandoned it. I found a turkey's nest with two eggs in it, each one having a double yelk; they made two delicious meals for different days. I followed down the Miami, until I struck Harmar's trace, made the previous fall, and continued on it until I came to Fort Washington, now Cincinnati. I think it was on Sabbath, the first day of May; I caught a horse, tied a piece of bark around his under jaw, on which there was a large tumor like a wart. The bark rubbed that, and he became restless and threw me, not hurting me much, however; I caught him again, and he again threw me, hurting me badly. How long I lay insensible' I don't know; but when I revived he was a considerable distance from me. I then traveled on very slow, my feet entirely bare and full of thorns and briars. On Wednesday, the day that I got in, I was so far gone that I thought it entirely useless to make any further exertion, not knowing what distance I was from the river; and I took my station at the root of a tree, but soon got into a state of sleeping, and either dreamt, or thought that I should not be loitering away my time, that I should get in that day; which, on reflection, I had not the most distant idea. However, the impression was so strong that I got up and walked on some distance. I then took my station again as before, and the same thoughts occupied my mind. I got up and walked on. I had not traveled far before I thought I could see an opening for the river; and getting a little further on, I heard the sound of a bell. I then started and ran, (at a slow speed undoubtedly ;) a little further on, I began to perceive that I was coming to the river hill; and having got about half way down, I heard the sound of an axe, which was the sweetest music I had heard for many a day. It was in the extreme out-lot; when I got to the lot I crawled over the fence with difficulty, it being very high. I approached the person very cautiously till within about a chain's length, undiscovered, I then stopped and spoke; the person I spoke to was Mr. William Woodward, (the founder of the Woodward High School.) Mr. Woodward looked up, hastily cast his eyes round, and saw that I had no deadly weapon; he then spoke. "In the name of God," said he, "who are you?" I told him I had been a prisoner and had made my escape from the Indians. After a few more questions he told me to come to him. I did 80. Seeing my situation, his fears soon subsided; he told me to sit down on a log and he would go and eatch a horse he had in the lot, and take me in. He caught his horse, set