CAPTIVITY OF MARY DRAPER INGLES
By Luther F. Addington
Of all the young women taken into captivity by the
Indians from Virginia's western frontier none suffered more anguish,
nor bore her hardships more heroically, nor behaved with more thoughtfulness
toward her captors than did Mary Draper Ingles.
Mary was born in 1732 to George Draper and Eleanor Hardin Draper within
the present limits of Philadelphia. Her parents had come from the
North of Ireland.
The Ingles were dissatisfied with their home in Pennsylvania and removed
to Col. James Patton's grant of land in the Valley of Virginia. Patton
had also come from the north of Ireland and no doubt they were acquainted
before coming to America. Patton's settlement at the headwaters of
the James River was known as Pattonsville.
This place also did not please George Draper; he wanted to move on
again and make his home in the wilderness. So, one day he set out
on a quest for a homesite, or to hunt game, and never returned.
Mrs. Eleanor Draper, not wanting to be left alone at Pattonsville,
followed some of her neighbors to a new homeplace on New River, later
to be called Draper's Meadows. Beside her two children, a son, John,
born 1730, and Mary, she was accompanied by the family of Adam Harmon.
Here in the Draper's Meadows settlement Mary fell in love with young
William Ingles, son of another settlers, and they were married early
in 1750, their wedding being the first one on this frontier.
At the time of her marriage Mary was eighteen years old. There was
no women living on this frontier blessed with better health, nor one
more able to cope with the hardships of frontier life.
Dr. J. P. Hale, a descendant of Mary, writing in his TRANS-ALLEGHANY
PIONEERS, said that he got much of his information about Mary from
a sketch left to posterity by Mrs. John Floyd, wife of Governor Floyd
of Virginia. Mrs. Floyd, who was born a Preston, had lived in the
vicinity of Draper's Meadows and had long been a friend of Mary's.
So, from this source and from information left to him by his ancestors,
Dr. Hale wrote of Mary as follows: "She spent much of her time
in her girlhood days with her only brother in his outdoor avocations
and sports. She could jump a fence or a ditch as easily as he; she
could jump straight up nearly as high as her head; she could stand
on the ground beside a horse and leap into the saddle unaided."
On July 30, 1755, (1) a band of Shawnees swooped down upon Draper's
Meadows and killed, wounded or captured every person there.
Col. James Patton, Mrs. George Draper, Casper Barrier and a child
of John Draper were killed; Mrs. John Draper, and James Cull were
wounded; Mary Ingles, Mrs. Bettie Draper, John's wife, and Henry Lenard,
were taken prisoners. (2)
At the time Mrs. John Draper was outside the house and was the first
to see the Indians coming. Believing that they were up to mischief,
she ran into the house to give the alarm and to get her sleeping baby.
Picking the child up, she ran out opposite the approaching Indians
and tried to make her escape. However, the savages saw her, fired
at her and the ball broke her right arm, causing her to drop the baby;
but she managed to pick it up and continued her flight. However, she
was overtaken and made prisoner. The child was brutally brained against
the end of a house log and left lying on the ground.
In the house at the time was Col. James Patton, who had large land
interests in the area. His nephew, William Preston, had also been
in the house but had gone to Sinking Creek to ask Philip Laybrook
to come over to Draper's Meadows and help harvest grain the next day.
Col. Patton, who was in command of the Virginia militia serving the
region, had just brought a supply of powder and lead to be used by
the settlers.
When the Indians attacked the house, Col. Patton was sitting at a
table writing; beside him was his long broadsword which he seized
upon the entrance of the Indians, and with it he began to fight. He
cut down two of them but in the meantime he was shot by one of the
attackers out of his range and immediately he died.
Quickly the attackers gathered up all the guns and ammunition and
all the household goods they could get. Then, they set fire to the
houses in the community.
At the time of the attack William Ingles, Mary's husband, was in the
fields some distance from the house, looking over his grain field
which was to be harvested on the morrow. Seeing the flames and smoke,
he started running toward home, hoping he could be of assistance in
protecting his family. But when he drew near the flaming houses, he
saw that the Indians who were loading plunder on the horses, were
well armed; and he stopped. He could see that the Indians had not
only captured his wife and others of the Meadows, but that they also
had the horses in their possession and that pursuit would be impossible.
When two Indians with tomahawks in their hands dashed after William,
he ran into the woods. In jumping over a log he fell; and there he
lay while the pursuers ran around the roots of the upturned tree instead
of jumping over it as he had. When the Indians passed on, still looking
for him, he eluded them by running in the opposite direction.
After the Indians and their captives had gone, a company of settlers
gathered and started in pursuit; but by that time the raiding party
had got so far ahead that nothing could be seen of them.
Some distance out on their trail, the Indians stopped at the home
of Philip Barger, an old white-haired man, attacked him and cut off
his head. They put the head into a bag and carried it to the house
of Philip Laybrook on Sinking Creek, where they gave it to Mrs. Laybrook,
telling her to look into the bag and she'd see one of her acquaintances.
Philip Laybrook, as well as young Preston, whom Col. Patton had sent
on an errand, had left the house and had gone by a near trail back
to the Meadows, else they might have met the same fate as Philip Barger.
It is most likely that Col. Patton, who had brought powder and lead
to the settlement, had warned the people of possible Indian attacks.
Already the French moving down into the upper Ohio Valley from Canada,
had incited Indian tribes living in the valley to rise against the
English who were slowly pushing over the Alleghenies.
Very little had been done in the new settlement at the Meadows to
meet a possible attack; a few miles distant, at the head of Roanoke
River, was Fort Vause but it was poorly fortified.
"On the third day out, the course of nature, which waits not
upon conveniences nor surroundings, was fulfilled; and Mary Ingles,
far from habitation, in the wild forest, unbounded by walls, with
only the bosom of mother earth for a couch, and covered by the green
trees and the blue canopy of heaven, with a curtain of darkness around
her, gave birth of a daughter." (3)
Owing to her strong physical condition, Mary Ingles was able next
day to resume the journey. After mounting a horse, she was allowed
to take the newly-born baby into her arms, although Indians ordinarily
would have killed it to get it out of the way. Dr. Hale said that
the most likely reason it wasn't killed was because the Indians wanted
to keep Mary alive and as contented as possible so that she might
live until they could demand a big ransom for her.
About forty miles down New River the party crossed to the west side,
coming out near the mouth of Indian Creek. From the mouth of Indian
Creek they continued to follow New River to the mouth of Bluestone
River, up which they had to travel until they could find a suitable
ford. Upon crossing the stream they went over the headwaters of Paint
Creek and came to Kanawha River, the same stream whose upper portion
was called New River.
Eventually they reached the mouth of Campbell's Creek where there
was a salt spring. Here the Indians went into camp, wishing to hunt
and get a supply of salt to take with them to their villages.
Some of the Indians set up the pots which they had stolen from Mary's
house, built fires under them, filled them with briny water and directed
Mary and the older captives to boil the water down.
Mary proved very adept at salt making; and her skill, the Indians
knew, would prove of value to them after they reached their Ohio River
homes. Since animals were plentiful int he wood around the salt spring,
a sojourn of several days was made in order that enough game might
be killed for their immediate need and have some left to take with
them.
But much to the sorrow of Mary and her companions, the journey northward
was resumed. In about a month from the time they had left Draper's
Meadows, they arrived at the Shawnee town at the mouth of the Scioto
River which flows into the north side of the Ohio.
Upon the arrival of the party, the tribe gathered to celebrate; there
as much dancing and singing. The savages took much delight in making
all the captives except Mary, "run the gauntlet".
Running the gauntlet was a sort of cruel game, or chastisement, inflicted
upon whites whom the Indians took prisoners. It was done by forming
an aisle made by lines of Indians and forcing the victim to walk or
run through the aisle while the savages lashed out with sticks or
rocks, beating and bruising the runner. Some victims failed to come
out alive.
Mary was spared the ordeal because she had proved to be docile and
cooperative, or because they yet wanted to ransom her for money or
goods. Most likely two of the captives, Henry Lenard and James Cull,
failed to survive the gauntlet for history gives no account of them
afterwards.
Her turn to suffer came when the raiders gathered to divide the spoils
and dispose of the captives. Her friend, Bettie Draper, whose arm
was yet in bad condition, was assigned to a hunter who said he'd take
her further north. Then, a pang of anguish suffused Mary when a savage
put a hand on the shoulder of little George and told the two-year-old
boy to join a group of strange savages. George screamed and tried
to escape, but the laughing Indians spirited him away
forcibly. Next, Thomas, the four-year-old, was given to another group;
and away they all went, leaving Mary sitting on a log, the baby in
her lap.
Mary didn't know but what she and the baby would be given to yet another
group, but she was allowed to remain with the Scioto people. She felt
though, that her fate was merely being postponed.
But nothing could happen to her that would fill her with more grief
or cause her more pain than seeing her two little boys torn from her.
Yet, she must sit silent and endure it.
She bowed her head, praying that some miracle might happen, giving
her a chance to see them again. Oh, that they could all be back home
in Draper's Meadows, in their cabin, with their father! And she wondered
what had happened to her husband. Had he escaped being killed? If
so, what could he be doing now? Why hadn't he and a company of men,
whom she just knew had been marshaled, pursued and rescued her?
Mary knew that the French in Canada were determined to come down into
the Ohio Valley and push the English out; too, these Shawnees were
allies of those French.
Mary Makes Shirts
Although Mary had been cooperative with the Indians, she felt she
shouldn't change her attitude even after losing her two beloved boys;
being gentle with them might mean that her life would be spared.
One day some French traders came into the Indian town bartering for
things they wanted with checked shirting. The Indians prized no wearing
apparel above checked shirts. But the squaws were very poor shirt
makers. Mary, who had long been adept with a needle and thread, as
well as cutting cloth, saw an opportunity to make herself useful;
and she began to make shirts. As she turned them out, the Indians
would hoist them atop sticks and run through the town proudly showing
them.
The French, seeing how useful this woman from the Virginia frontier
was, realized she was a great asset to them, as well as to the Indians;
and they became very friendly and considerate. After a few weeks spent
in shirt making, Mary was told that she was to go down the Ohio River
about one hundred and fifty miles and make salt. They seemed to have
remembered how efficient she had been at salt-making back at the salt
spring.
At Big Bone Lick
So, Mary and her baby, together with an old Dutch woman, who had been
brought here from the Pennsylvania frontier were put into a canoe;
and, then, a group of canoes, carrying hunters, set out down the river.
Every mile, Mary knew, was taking her still further from her home
and her husband; yet there was nothing she could do to prevent the
trip.
After days of travel on the river, the party arrived at Big Bone Creek,
which flows into the Ohio River from the south; then, they rowed up
the creek about three and a half miles to the lick. It was within
the present bounds of Boone Co., KY, down river several miles from
the present town of Cincinnati.
This salt lick had long been the gathering place of wild animals hungry
for salt; and over the centuries many had come here and died. Some
of the largest mastadon bones ever found were here when white men
came. It was here that Christopher Gist, on his exploratory trip for
the Ohio Land Company of Williamsburg, had picked up some huge bones
to take back with him.
So, just as Mary Ingles was the first bride of the southwestern Virginia
frontier, also she was the first white woman salt maker west of the
Kanawha River.
Leaving Mary and the old Dutch woman here to boil water until only
salt was left in the kettles, the Indians went away to hunt.
And after they had gone from her sight, Mary began to dream of Draper's
Meadows and longing to be back there. But, she knew she was now about
eight hundred miles away. Finding her way back, even though she could
get food enough to sustain her, would be most difficult. There'd be
streams to cross and gorges to climb through up where the Great Kanawha
roared through the
narrows of the Alleghanies.
Autumn was on the land. Nights were getting cool. Soon winter would
come. Therefore, if she should undertake returning home, she must
set out at once. But, what must she do with the baby? She couldn't
escape being detected by Indians with a baby in her arms for it would
surely cry. Furthermore, she couldn't carry it on so long a journey.
But, death would be better than staying on here and doing the bidding
of the Indians. Even yet, she might be killed or burned at the stake.
But, to try to escape and get caught would surely mean burning at
the stake; it was nearly always the penalty for such an act, she had
learned.
After pondering the matter for some time, Mary mentioned her plan
of trying to escape to the old Dutch woman, who told her it was foolhardy.
If they should escape capture, fatigue and starvation would subdue
them. They'd have to walk a hundred and fifty miles along the south
bank of the Ohio River before reaching a point opposite the Scioto
River where the Shawnee village was situated. And hadn't it taken
them a whole mouth to make the journey from Draper's Meadows to Scioto?
Mary was well aware of this situation, but she definitely made up
her mind that she would try to escape. It tore her heart out to think
of having to leave her helpless baby, still, some Indian maiden or
married squaw would perhaps adopt it. If she stayed, they both might
die.
It seemed that a threat of death walled her in, nevertheless she would
go, if the old woman would go with her. In order to convince the Dutch
woman of trying to escape, she pictured to her the comforts of home
with friends instead of existing among savages.
"But, if we try to escape and are caught, it means burning at
the stake," the Dutch woman reminded Mary.
Eventually, the Dutch woman made up her mind that she'd try escaping
with Mary no matter what the outcome. So, they fell upon the scheme
of going out from the salt pots each day to hunt grapes and nuts and
taking their wild foods back to the Indians in camp, but each day
to remain away a little longer.
Day after day they went out and each time returned, the last time
at sunset. Next morning, after tucking the baby in a blanket in its
bark cradle, the women took a blanket each and, while the Indians
were not observing them, stole away quietly as had been their custom.
Instead of returning to camp at nightfall, this time they continued
their trek along Big Bone Creek to the Ohio River and thence eastward.
Each of the women carried a tomahawk. In her story told later, Mary
said she exchanged her broken one with a Frenchman who was cracking
nuts on one of the big bones of the Lick. The Frenchman, not aware
of her plans, exchanged with her, since a dull tomahawk would rack
nuts as well as a sharp one.
The first day out, the two women hadn't got far from camp when the
sun went down and darkness came. Knowing they could not travel at
night in a strange forest, they raked leaves into a pile, wrapped
their blankets about them and lay down.
And what did the Indians think about their not returning to camp?
Dr. Hale explains, "The Indians became uneasy, thinking that
they had strayed too far and lost their way or else had been killed
by wild beasts.
"Some of the Indians went out in the direction the women had
gone and fired guns to attract their attention, if they should be
lost. They gave up the search that night, however, and did not renew
it the next day. They did not at all suspect that the women had attempted
to escape.
"These facts were learned by William Ingles (Mary's husband)
many years later at an Indian treaty, or conference, held at Point
Pleasant not long after the battle of the Point, when the Indians
learned for the first time what had become of the missing women."
(4)
Day after day the two women slowly tramped along the waters of the
Ohio River; they subsisted on nuts, grapes, pawpaws and occasionally
they found a small corn patch and they chewed raw kernels and swallowed
them.
Yet, they were so tired and famished by the time they reached a point
opposite the Scioto Shawnee camp they felt it would be impossible
to go further. Already they had walked a hundred and fifty miles and
there were several more hundreds ahead of them before reaching the
upper waters of New River.
Fortunately for them, they found an old abandoned cabin at the edge
of a corn patch. After pulling some ears of corn, they ate some raw
and then lay down in the cabin to rest. And, while lying there, Mary
let her mind survey the rugged mountains between this point and her
home. She knew that they must cross the Big Sandy before reaching
the mouth of the Kanawha; besides, there were smaller rivers to cross.
There'd be no canoes, and the rivers would be so deep that
neither she nor the old woman could wade them. When rested and strong,
Mary could have swum the Big Sandy; but now in her weakened condition
she knew an attempt would mean suicide. Yes, she was a month from
home in time and already they were weak; besides, winter was coming
on and there would be danger of sleeping out because of the likelihood
of contracting pneumonia. Food would be more difficult to find for
edible plants were already dying from frostbite. Had
Many known the trails over the mountains, many miles would have been
subtracted from the long way home; but she didn't know them and her
only hope was to follow the streams.
Next morning the weary travelers found an old horse grazing near the
corn patch. Hung about his neck was a tinkling bell, the clapper of
which they muffled with leaves. Then, gathering what corn they could
tie in their blankets, they threw it on the horse's back and resumed
their journey, taking turns at riding. Slowly they proceeded up the
river bank, taking care to remain out of sight of the Indian village
on the opposite side of the river. There were times when both women
would have to walk and one lead the horse for the terrain was too
rough for a person to be safe on horseback.
But, day after day, they moved on, both humans and animal living on
the corn they had brought along. After passing the points where the
future cities of Ashland and Catlettsburg were to rise, they reached
the Big Sandy. As Mary had expected, they couldn't cross at its mouth;
yet, they must follow the bank of the Ohio beyond the mouth of the
Big Sandy. So, there was nothing to do but travel up the Big Sandy
until they reached a place shallow enough for them to cross. Fortunately,
it was a dry autumn and the rivers were at low ebb. Should a heavy
rain come, flooding the rivers, they would perish in the forest.
Crossing the Big Sandy
After going up the bank of the Big Sandy for a few miles, the travelers
came to a big drift of wood which extended all the way across the
stream. They tried it by crossing on foot; and, then, they returned
to the horse.
Mary said she doubted whether the horse could cross on it, but the
Dutch woman contended that he could. Against her better judgement,
Mary agreed to let the horse try it. After all, they were a long way
up stream from the mouth; and they'd have to go many miles more before
they'd find the water shallow enough to ford.
So, they led the humble, obedient old horse out onto the drift, praying
that he'd not break through the logs and brush. But their hopes were
crushed when the horse's legs broke through, his feet in the rushing
water below and his belly resting on top of the drift. The horse tried
to extract himself but failed; and there he lay, helpless.
Knowing that they could not get the horse out, Mary took from his
back the meager supply of corn and started on. The old Dutch woman
got the bell and the strap to which it was fastened. Then, saying
goodbye to the horse, they crossed on the driftwood and started down
the east side of the stream, headed once more for the bank of the
Ohio.
Eventually, they found themselves plodding again along the Ohio. Now,
without the horse to ride occasionally, the old woman became discouraged.
In her desperation she vilified Mary for having persuaded her to leave
the Indians; then, she became so angry that she threatened to kill
Mary. While the old woman was perhaps as strong as Mary, the latter
was younger and fully able to hold her own in any physical struggle.
But, instead of physical combat Mary resorted to cajolery, telling
her again that if they stuck to their goal they'd eventually reach
friends. After all, it was too far to return to the Indians, furthermore
returning would mean their being burned at the stake. So, the old
woman waxed into silence and tramped on, foot past foot.
By this time the weather was getting cold. The women were now barefoot
for they had lone since worn out their moccasins; also, their clothes
were dirty and tattered.
But on they went, eating nuts when they could find them, pulling up
plants and eating the roots. Once they came upon a deer head left
by hunters; and they ate of the meat, although it was beginning to
spoil.
In order to protect themselves from the cold winds at nights they
crawled into hollow logs or under cliffs, if they could find them;
otherwise, they slept in the open. Eventually, they passed the point
where Huntington is now situated; but they were still far from the
mouth of the Kanawha. But Mary, encouraging the old woman, continued
to press forward, knowing that every step brought her that much closer
home.
Their slow, plodding steps brought them to the mouth of the Kanawha.
Now that they were in the Kanawha Valley, Mary's spirits lifted; she
had been over this land, and the river, she knew, came singing down
past Draper's Meadows. But she was perhaps yet two hundred miles from
home.
When it seemed that they could not go a mile further, they doggedly
pressed no. They passed the future site of the city of Charleston,
West Virginia. Then, as the days went by they came to places they
well recognized; the mouth of Paint's Creek; The Falls of the Kanawha;
then the mouth of Bluestone River; and, reaching this point, Mary
felt a surge of hope, although she was weak and frail, whereas at
this point on going down she was strong and healthy. But ahead lay
home, and as long as she could get one foot past the other she'd keep
moving forward.
A little way beyond the mouth of the Bluestone River, the old woman
became desperate again, not so much because Mary had persuaded her
to leave the Indians but because she was so starved and tired that
her mind was off balance.
She told Mary that she intended to kill and eat her. Mary cajoled
her by saying, "Let's draw sticks to see which one is to become
the victim." To this the old woman consented. They prepared sticks
and drew. Mary was the loser. She'd die at the hands of the old woman.
But Mary, always diplomatic with the Indians, began to offer the old
woman large rewards if they but could get home to Draper's Meadows.
But the Dutch woman wouldn't agree; instead, she grabbed Mary and
began to beat her. Mary, although feeble, managed to twist from the
older person's grasp, who, of course, was also weak. Then, Mary, started
on up the river, leaving the old woman who had been exhausted by the
struggle.
Once out of sight of her companion, Mary slipped under a bank and
there remained until the old woman could recover and pass her. Already,
it was sundown; and darkness was laying its deep shadows in the narrow
valley.
The moon was out and spilling its dim slithers of light down through
the tree tops when Mary emerged from her hiding place. Going to the
river bank, she found a canoe half filled with decayed leaves. There
was no oar or pole in it, but Mary was determined to cross the stream
and, thus elude the old woman who would certainly attack her again.
Soon Mary found a slither of wood which had splintered from a tree
blown down in a storm; with it she got into the canoe; bailed out
the leaves, shoved off and managed to paddle across stream which at
this place was not swift.
Once across, she went upstream a little way and to her delight found
an empty cabin which she entered, lay down and spent the night.
Next morning she started on and found a corn patch above the cabin,
which, she knew, had been used by hunters. She searched the corn patch
for remaining ears but found that wild animals had devoured them.
Though so hungry she thought she would collapse, she started wearily
on her way. Further upstream she sighted the old woman on the opposite
bank. They stopped and shouted across to each other. The old woman
was very persistent. She begged forgiveness and asked Mary to cross
the stream and continue the journey with her. But Mary refused, thinking
it'd be wiser to keep the river between them. So, they continued their
journey, each on her own side of the river.
Mary Comes to a Great Cliff
Mary knew that her remaining strength was gradually diminishing, but
the fact that she knew she was within at least thirty miles of home
renewed her courage and with tremendous will power she kept her tired
legs moving.
Coming to a great cliff whose crags overhung the river, her trail
seemed at an end and her life ready to ebb from her. She looked at
the water rushing around the crags; she glanced up but couldn't see
the top of the precipice because snow was feathering down. Making
her situation more desperate was a cold wind whistling up the gorge.
There were but two ways whereby she could get past this cliff: one
was to wade around it; the other was to go over the top of it and
come down to the river again beyond it. She doubted whether she could
wade the swift waters, too, she doubted whether she had enough strength
left to climb the steep hill at the side of the cliff to the summit.
But she'd try wading. Soon she'd know what she could do. She set her
feet into the water, waded out. A swirl caught her against the bank.
Further up, she knew, the water was swifter and deeper. No, she couldn't
get around the cliff by wading. It would mean her death.
And now she wasn't strong enough to try the cliff edge; besides, it
was getting dark and snow was falling. She was wet now. She had nothing
to eat, not even roots of plants.
In despair she lay down on the ground and remained there through the
night. When day came, she found her muscles slightly rested. She looked
up at the steep cliff side; she must climb it if she was to continue
her journey. There was no other choice.
Setting her face to the slope, she began to climb, a few inches at
a step. As she ascended, she caught onto bushes and let her arms help
her legs proper her higher and a little higher. She'd climb a few
yards and rest, then climb and rest again. By sheer will power she
reached the summit just before sundown.
After resting, she began descending the other side of the ridge. By
stepping, setting her feet, falling and sliding, she went down much
faster than she'd ascended. The sun was down when she regained the
river bank; but she continued to move onward, believing she might
be nearing habitation. And her belief proved correct. In the dimness
of twilight she entered a corn patch. Here she hallowed as loudly
as she could and dropped to the ground. Night was on her again, and
she knew she couldn't go further on her own.
She called out a second time; then, there came through the corn patch
two men, rifles raised for shooting. The men proved to be Adam Harman
and his son, whom she'd known at Draper's Meadows.
The men picked Mary up and carried her to their cabin where there
was a fire roaring in the big fireplace. While the men tried to make
her comfortable, Mary asked about her home and friends; they warmed
water and bathed her swollen feet and legs. Then, they made venison
soup; and, while she sipped it, they made a pallet for her in the
corner of the room by the fireplace. Here she was wrapped in fresh,
warm blankets. Although this pallet was not a bed, it was a luxury
in
comparison to the earthy, cold beds Mary had been lying on. For forty
days and nights she had not even seen a fire, much less felt the warmth
of one.
The Old Dutch Woman Again
Next morning Mary told Adam Harman about the old Dutch woman and her
experiences with her. Then she asked him if he'd go hunt her and bring
her in. But, after hearing how the old woman had attacked Mary, he
refused to go.
Instead, he put Mary on one of his horses; and he, mounting another,
set out for Draper's meadows some twelve miles distant up the river.
Arriving at the Meadows, they found that there had been an Indian
alarm and nearly everyone had already crossed New River to a small
fort known as Dunkard's Fort; so, they also went to the fort.
The following morning Mary again begged Adam Harman to go in search
of the old Dutch woman, and this time he agreed to go. He started
right away, going down the west bank of the river.
And soon he came upon the woman riding a horse at whose neck a small
bell was tinkling. He found the woman to be dressed in an old pair
of leather breeches.
She at once told Harman what had happened to her after parting company
with Mary. She'd come upon a hunter's cabin where she'd found a pot
of boiled venison and some leather clothes. She'd eaten of the meat
and had rested two days and nights; then, finding a horse nearby,
she'd tried her bell to its neck, mounted and was resuming her journey.
Harman brought the woman to Dunkard's Fort and there she remained
until she heard of a party traveling to Pennsylvania by wagon. She
asked for a ride and was gladly taken aboard. When she was ready to
start, she didn't forget her little bell. Of her Dr. Hale said, "I'm
sorry that not even her name has been preserved. In the tradition
of the Ingles family she is known and remembered only as "the
old Dutch woman." (5)
The Rescue of Mrs. Bettie Draper
Mary had been greatly disappointed upon arriving at Dunkard's Fort
not to find her husband there. She was told that he and her brother
John, the husband, of Bettie, had gone down among the Cherokees, who
at that time were friendly with the Shawnees north of the Ohio River,
to learn if any of them knew anything of those who had been captured
at Draper's Meadows.
Unfortunately, they had learned nothing; but, when, within a few days,
they returned and found Mary, they were elated and, also, surprised.
It was a happy reunion, as well as a sad one, for both Mary and her
husband, William, grieved for their "lost babes in the woods."
William said he wouldn't give up trying to find and ransom them, so
they could come home.
In an effort to get news of his wife, Bettie, John Draper, Mary's
brother, made several more trips to the Cherokee Nation. In the year
1761 many chiefs from the Ohio River Valley, as well as from the Cherokee
Nation, assembled to make a treaty, or an agreement with the whites,
about the close of the Cherokee war.
John Draper attended the gathering and fortunately he met an old chief
from the north who knew about Bettie. She was in his immediate family,
he said.
With this news John Draper set out north, found Bettie and paid a
handsome ransom for her relief. Thus, she had been in captivity six
years.
On her way back to the white settlement she told her husband that
she had tried to escape, as Mary had done, but was captured and sentenced
to be burned at the stake, but that an old chief hid her away and
saved her life.
Then, she decided against trying to escape again. Instead, she decided
to be of as much service to the tribe as she could, so she taught
the squaws how to sew better and to cook differently; she nursed the
sick and attended the wounded. As a result of this service, she became
known as "heap good medicine squaw."
Mrs. Draper brought back some sad news for Mary Ingles and her husband;
she'd learned that little George, who'd been two years old when wrested
from Mary at Scioto, had died soon afterwards. And she'd never heard
anything from Thomas.
Thomas, The Captive Boy
However, about six years after Mrs. Draper's return news was received
about Thomas. It came through a man by the name of Baker, who also
had been held captive among the Shawnees for several years. Baker
had lived in the same village with the Indian who had adopted Thomas
as his son, and he knew both of them.
William Ingles at once hired Baker to return to the Shawnee country
and try to ransom Thomas. So, Baker set out up the Valley of Virginia,
across the mountains to Fort Pitt, and thence down the Ohio River
to Scioto.
He found the foster father of Thomas and bargained with him to release
Thomas, paying about one hundred dollars for his freedom. But Thomas,
who had come to love his Indian father and the tribesmen, didn't want
to leave. He spoke their language and lived, himself, like an Indian.
More by force than persuasion, Baker got the youth started and, in
order to prevent his running away, kept him bound until they were
forty or fifty miles from the Indian village. After being unbound,
the youth pretended to be content; but he was merely laying a scheme
to escape. And one night while Baker was asleep, the youth did escape.
Baker was afraid to go home without the boy, since he had paid out
the ransom money; so, he returned to Scioto and again tried to find
Thomas but the squaws had hidden him and Baker was helpless. Then,
without Thomas, Baker returned to the Ingles home, now situated several
miles up New River from Draper's Meadows, and gave a report.
Yet, William Ingles and Mary wouldn't give up trying to get Thomas
home. A year later William Ingles, himself, accompanied by Baker,
made the same long journey up the Valley of Virginia, across the Alleghanies
and down the Ohio River. Upon arriving at Scioto, they were told that
Thomas had gone to Detroit with a group of Shawnees and wouldn't return
for several weeks. William, determined not to be disappointed again,
waited out the time.
While Thomas returned, the father was successful in convincing him
that he was the real father and that he and the mother wanted him
to return home. William paid a ransom sum of the equivalency of one
hundred fifty dollars to the youth's Indian father; and, then, the
three men, Baker, William and son Thomas, started home, home to Ingle's
Ferry. This was in the year 1768. Thomas had been away from his parents
for thirteen years.
Thomas could not speak English. He was dressed as the Indians dressed.
With him he had brought his much beloved bow and arrow. Although his
mother was overjoyed to see him again, she said he was more like an
Indian than like one of his own family.
He very reluctantly put on clothes such as the white settlers wore.
Nearly every day he'd go off into the woods with his bow and arrow
and stay for long hours.
William and Mary Ingles were very disturbed about their son's behavior
and were constantly afraid that he'd try to escape and return to his
Indian friends. They were glad, however, that he began to learn English
and took an interest in it. They believed him to be a very intelligent
young man, and they wanted him to be educated.
In order to have him educated his father sent him to Dr. Thomas Walker
of Albemarle. William Ingles and Dr. Walker were close friends, they
having roamed the forests together. Dr. Walker had made an exploratory
trip into Kentucky in 1750.
Near Dr. Walker's home in Albemarle was a school called Castle Hill.
Here young Thomas got acquainted with Madison, Monroe, Jefferson,
Patrick Henry, and many other distinguished people who were constantly
in the neighborhood. In later years Thomas Jefferson made him colonel
of militia.
While in Albemarle Thomas made the acquaintance of Miss Eleanore Grills,
whom he married in 1775, after the battle of Point Pleasant - the
war between the frontiersmen of Virginia and the Indians at the mouth
of the Kanawha River.
Then, after taking a bride, Thomas himself moved out onto the Virginia
frontier, in the upper Clinch River Valley; and there he, who had
been a close friend of the Shawnees, suffered the agony of having
his own wife and children attacked by them. This story will be related
later in this book.
Bronze Tablet in Honor of Mary and William Ingles
at Radford, Virginia
William and Mary Ingles spent the last days of their life at Ingles
Ferry, almost at the place Radford College now stands. If the year
1915 a bronze tablet was placed in the Ingles Literary Society Hall
by descendants of William and Mary Ingles.
At that memorial service the Hon. Allen T. Eskridge, Jr., of Pulaski,
gave an historical sketch of the pioneer woman. Capt. William Ingles,
a descendant of the pioneers, presented the tablet. Miss Mary Davis,
president of the Ingles Literary Society, accepted it. Master Andrew
Lewis Ingles, son of Mr. and Mrs. William Ingles, Jr., pulled a cord
that unveiled the tablet.
FOOTNOTES:
(1) This date is affirmed by a record in the Military Journal of the
Preston papers of the Draper Manuscripts. Dr. Hale was wrong when
he gave the date as "the 8th day of July 1755, a Sunday and the
day before General Edward Braddock's defeat at the Forks of the Ohio
River..."
(2) Hale, J. P., Trans-Alleghany-Pioneers;
(3) Ibid, p. 28;
(4) Hale, Trans-Alleghany-Pioneers, p. 47;
(5) Ibid, page 81;
(6) Radford Normal Bulletin, Radford, VA, September 1915 {Date of
Capture was July 30, 1755, Preston Papers.) SOURCES: Dr. John P. Hale,
Trans-Alleghany Pioneers, Second Edition, 1931; Radford Normal Bulletin,
September, 1915; Pendleton, William: History of Tazewell County, Virginia;
Preston Papers of the Draper Manuscripts.
Pages 1 to 26
CAPTIVITY OF MARY DRAPER INGLES
By Luther F. Addington
Of all the young women taken into captivity by the Indians from Virginia's
western frontier none suffered more anguish, nor bore her hardships
more heroically, nor behaved with more thoughtfulness toward her captors
than did Mary Draper Ingles.
Mary was born in 1732 to George Draper and Eleanor Hardin Draper within
the present limits of Philadelphia. Her parents had come from the
North of Ireland.
The Ingles were dissatisfied with their home in Pennsylvania and removed
to Col. James Patton's grant of land in the Valley of Virginia. Patton
had also come from the north of Ireland and no doubt they were acquainted
before coming to America. Patton's settlement at the headwaters of
the James River was known as Pattonsville.
This place also did not please George Draper; he wanted to move on
again and make his home in the wilderness. So, one day he set out
on a quest for a homesite, or to hunt game, and never returned.
Mrs. Eleanor Draper, not wanting to be left alone at Pattonsville,
followed some of her neighbors to a new homeplace on New River, later
to be called Draper's Meadows. Beside her two children, a son, John,
born 1730, and Mary, she was accompanied by the family of Adam Harmon.
Here in the Draper's Meadows settlement Mary fell in love with young
William Ingles, son of another settlers, and they were married early
in 1750, their wedding being the first one on this frontier.
At the time of her marriage Mary was eighteen years old. There was
no women living on this frontier blessed with better health, nor one
more able to cope with the hardships of frontier life.
Dr. J. P. Hale, a descendant of Mary, writing in his TRANS-ALLEGHANY
PIONEERS, said that he got much of his information about Mary from
a sketch left to posterity by Mrs. John Floyd, wife of Governor Floyd
of Virginia. Mrs. Floyd, who was born a Preston, had lived in the
vicinity of Draper's Meadows and had long been a friend of Mary's.
So, from this source and from information left to him by his ancestors,
Dr. Hale wrote of Mary as follows: "She spent much of her time
in her girlhood days with her only brother in his outdoor avocations
and sports. She could jump a fence or a ditch as easily as he; she
could jump straight up nearly as high as her head; she could stand
on the ground beside a horse and leap into the saddle unaided."
On July 30, 1755, (1) a band of Shawnees swooped down upon Draper's
Meadows and killed, wounded or captured every person there.
Col. James Patton, Mrs. George Draper, Casper Barrier and a child
of John Draper were killed; Mrs. John Draper, and James Cull were
wounded; Mary Ingles, Mrs. Bettie Draper, John's wife, and Henry Lenard,
were taken prisoners. (2)
At the time Mrs. John Draper was outside the house and was the first
to see the Indians coming. Believing that they were up to mischief,
she ran into the house to give the alarm and to get her sleeping baby.
Picking the child up, she ran out opposite the approaching Indians
and tried to make her escape. However, the savages saw her, fired
at her and the ball broke her right arm, causing her to drop the baby;
but she managed to pick it up and continued her flight. However, she
was overtaken and made prisoner. The child was brutally brained against
the end of a house log and left lying on the ground.
In the house at the time was Col. James Patton, who had large land
interests in the area. His nephew, William Preston, had also been
in the house but had gone to Sinking Creek to ask Philip Laybrook
to come over to Draper's Meadows and help harvest grain the next day.
Col. Patton, who was in command of the Virginia militia serving the
region, had just brought a supply of powder and lead to be used by
the settlers.
When the Indians attacked the house, Col. Patton was sitting at a
table writing; beside him was his long broadsword which he seized
upon the entrance of the Indians, and with it he began to fight. He
cut down two of them but in the meantime he was shot by one of the
attackers out of his range and immediately he died.
Quickly the attackers gathered up all the guns and ammunition and
all the household goods they could get. Then, they set fire to the
houses in the community.
At the time of the attack William Ingles, Mary's husband, was in the
fields some distance from the house, looking over his grain field
which was to be harvested on the morrow. Seeing the flames and smoke,
he started running toward home, hoping he could be of assistance in
protecting his family. But when he drew near the flaming houses, he
saw that the Indians who were loading plunder on the horses, were
well armed; and he stopped. He could see that the Indians had not
only captured his wife and others of the Meadows, but that they also
had the horses in their possession and that pursuit would be impossible.
When two Indians with tomahawks in their hands dashed after William,
he ran into the woods. In jumping over a log he fell; and there he
lay while the pursuers ran around the roots of the upturned tree instead
of jumping over it as he had. When the Indians passed on, still looking
for him, he eluded them by running in the opposite direction.
After the Indians and their captives had gone, a company of settlers
gathered and started in pursuit; but by that time the raiding party
had got so far ahead that nothing could be seen of them.
Some distance out on their trail, the Indians stopped at the home
of Philip Barger, an old white-haired man, attacked him and cut off
his head. They put the head into a bag and carried it to the house
of Philip Laybrook on Sinking Creek, where they gave it to Mrs. Laybrook,
telling her to look into the bag and she'd see one of her acquaintances.
Philip Laybrook, as well as young Preston, whom Col. Patton had sent
on an errand, had left the house and had gone by a near trail back
to the Meadows, else they might have met the same fate as Philip Barger.
It is most likely that Col. Patton, who had brought powder and lead
to the settlement, had warned the people of possible Indian attacks.
Already the French moving down into the upper Ohio Valley from Canada,
had incited Indian tribes living in the valley to rise against the
English who were slowly pushing over the Alleghenies.
Very little had been done in the new settlement at the Meadows to
meet a possible attack; a few miles distant, at the head of Roanoke
River, was Fort Vause but it was poorly fortified.
"On the third day out, the course of nature, which waits not
upon conveniences nor surroundings, was fulfilled; and Mary Ingles,
far from habitation, in the wild forest, unbounded by walls, with
only the bosom of mother earth for a couch, and covered by the green
trees and the blue canopy of heaven, with a curtain of darkness around
her, gave birth of a daughter." (3)
Owing to her strong physical condition, Mary Ingles was able next
day to resume the journey. After mounting a horse, she was allowed
to take the newly-born baby into her arms, although Indians ordinarily
would have killed it to get it out of the way. Dr. Hale said that
the most likely reason it wasn't killed was because the Indians wanted
to keep Mary alive and as contented as possible so that she might
live until they could demand a big ransom for her.
About forty miles down New River the party crossed to the west side,
coming out near the mouth of Indian Creek. From the mouth of Indian
Creek they continued to follow New River to the mouth of Bluestone
River, up which they had to travel until they could find a suitable
ford. Upon crossing the stream they went over the headwaters of Paint
Creek and came to Kanawha River, the same stream whose upper portion
was called New River.
Eventually they reached the mouth of Campbell's Creek where there
was a salt spring. Here the Indians went into camp, wishing to hunt
and get a supply of salt to take with them to their villages.
Some of the Indians set up the pots which they had stolen from Mary's
house, built fires under them, filled them with briny water and directed
Mary and the older captives to boil the water down.
Mary proved very adept at salt making; and her skill, the Indians
knew, would prove of value to them after they reached their Ohio River
homes. Since animals were plentiful int he wood around the salt spring,
a sojourn of several days was made in order that enough game might
be killed for their immediate need and have some left to take with
them.
But much to the sorrow of Mary and her companions, the journey northward
was resumed. In about a month from the time they had left Draper's
Meadows, they arrived at the Shawnee town at the mouth of the Scioto
River which flows into the north side of the Ohio.
Upon the arrival of the party, the tribe gathered to celebrate; there
as much dancing and singing. The savages took much delight in making
all the captives except Mary, "run the gauntlet".
Running the gauntlet was a sort of cruel game, or chastisement, inflicted
upon whites whom the Indians took prisoners. It was done by forming
an aisle made by lines of Indians and forcing the victim to walk or
run through the aisle while the savages lashed out with sticks or
rocks, beating and bruising the runner. Some victims failed to come
out alive.
Mary was spared the ordeal because she had proved to be docile and
cooperative, or because they yet wanted to ransom her for money or
goods. Most likely two of the captives, Henry Lenard and James Cull,
failed to survive the gauntlet for history gives no account of them
afterwards.
Her turn to suffer came when the raiders gathered to divide the spoils
and dispose of the captives. Her friend, Bettie Draper, whose arm
was yet in bad condition, was assigned to a hunter who said he'd take
her further north. Then, a pang of anguish suffused Mary when a savage
put a hand on the shoulder of little George and told the two-year-old
boy to join a group of strange savages. George screamed and tried
to escape, but the laughing Indians spirited him away
forcibly. Next, Thomas, the four-year-old, was given to another group;
and away they all went, leaving Mary sitting on a log, the baby in
her lap.
Mary didn't know but what she and the baby would be given to yet another
group, but she was allowed to remain with the Scioto people. She felt
though, that her fate was merely being postponed.
But nothing could happen to her that would fill her with more grief
or cause her more pain than seeing her two little boys torn from her.
Yet, she must sit silent and endure it.
She bowed her head, praying that some miracle might happen, giving
her a chance to see them again. Oh, that they could all be back home
in Draper's Meadows, in their cabin, with their father! And she wondered
what had happened to her husband. Had he escaped being killed? If
so, what could he be doing now? Why hadn't he and a company of men,
whom she just knew had been marshaled, pursued and rescued her?
Mary knew that the French in Canada were determined to come down into
the Ohio Valley and push the English out; too, these Shawnees were
allies of those French.
Mary Makes Shirts
Although Mary had been cooperative with the Indians, she felt she
shouldn't change her attitude even after losing her two beloved boys;
being gentle with them might mean that her life would be spared.
One day some French traders came into the Indian town bartering for
things they wanted with checked shirting. The Indians prized no wearing
apparel above checked shirts. But the squaws were very poor shirt
makers. Mary, who had long been adept with a needle and thread, as
well as cutting cloth, saw an opportunity to make herself useful;
and she began to make shirts. As she turned them out, the Indians
would hoist them atop sticks and run through the town proudly showing
them.
The French, seeing how useful this woman from the Virginia frontier
was, realized she was a great asset to them, as well as to the Indians;
and they became very friendly and considerate. After a few weeks spent
in shirt making, Mary was told that she was to go down the Ohio River
about one hundred and fifty miles and make salt. They seemed to have
remembered how efficient she had been at salt-making back at the salt
spring.
At Big Bone Lick
So, Mary and her baby, together with an old Dutch woman, who had been
brought here from the Pennsylvania frontier were put into a canoe;
and, then, a group of canoes, carrying hunters, set out down the river.
Every mile, Mary knew, was taking her still further from her home
and her husband; yet there was nothing she could do to prevent the
trip.
After days of travel on the river, the party arrived at Big Bone Creek,
which flows into the Ohio River from the south; then, they rowed up
the creek about three and a half miles to the lick. It was within
the present bounds of Boone Co., KY, down river several miles from
the present town of Cincinnati.
This salt lick had long been the gathering place of wild animals hungry
for salt; and over the centuries many had come here and died. Some
of the largest mastadon bones ever found were here when white men
came. It was here that Christopher Gist, on his exploratory trip for
the Ohio Land Company of Williamsburg, had picked up some huge bones
to take back with him.
So, just as Mary Ingles was the first bride of the southwestern Virginia
frontier, also she was the first white woman salt maker west of the
Kanawha River.
Leaving Mary and the old Dutch woman here to boil water until only
salt was left in the kettles, the Indians went away to hunt.
And after they had gone from her sight, Mary began to dream of Draper's
Meadows and longing to be back there. But, she knew she was now about
eight hundred miles away. Finding her way back, even though she could
get food enough to sustain her, would be most difficult. There'd be
streams to cross and gorges to climb through up where the Great Kanawha
roared through the
narrows of the Alleghanies.
Autumn was on the land. Nights were getting cool. Soon winter would
come. Therefore, if she should undertake returning home, she must
set out at once. But, what must she do with the baby? She couldn't
escape being detected by Indians with a baby in her arms for it would
surely cry. Furthermore, she couldn't carry it on so long a journey.
But, death would be better than staying on here and doing the bidding
of the Indians. Even yet, she might be killed or burned at the stake.
But, to try to escape and get caught would surely mean burning at
the stake; it was nearly always the penalty for such an act, she had
learned.
After pondering the matter for some time, Mary mentioned her plan
of trying to escape to the old Dutch woman, who told her it was foolhardy.
If they should escape capture, fatigue and starvation would subdue
them. They'd have to walk a hundred and fifty miles along the south
bank of the Ohio River before reaching a point opposite the Scioto
River where the Shawnee village was situated. And hadn't it taken
them a whole mouth to make the journey from Draper's Meadows to Scioto?
Mary was well aware of this situation, but she definitely made up
her mind that she would try to escape. It tore her heart out to think
of having to leave her helpless baby, still, some Indian maiden or
married squaw would perhaps adopt it. If she stayed, they both might
die.
It seemed that a threat of death walled her in, nevertheless she would
go, if the old woman would go with her. In order to convince the Dutch
woman of trying to escape, she pictured to her the comforts of home
with friends instead of existing among savages.
"But, if we try to escape and are caught, it means burning at
the stake," the Dutch woman reminded Mary.
Eventually, the Dutch woman made up her mind that she'd try escaping
with Mary no matter what the outcome. So, they fell upon the scheme
of going out from the salt pots each day to hunt grapes and nuts and
taking their wild foods back to the Indians in camp, but each day
to remain away a little longer.
Day after day they went out and each time returned, the last time
at sunset. Next morning, after tucking the baby in a blanket in its
bark cradle, the women took a blanket each and, while the Indians
were not observing them, stole away quietly as had been their custom.
Instead of returning to camp at nightfall, this time they continued
their trek along Big Bone Creek to the Ohio River and thence eastward.
Each of the women carried a tomahawk. In her story told later, Mary
said she exchanged her broken one with a Frenchman who was cracking
nuts on one of the big bones of the Lick. The Frenchman, not aware
of her plans, exchanged with her, since a dull tomahawk would rack
nuts as well as a sharp one.
The first day out, the two women hadn't got far from camp when the
sun went down and darkness came. Knowing they could not travel at
night in a strange forest, they raked leaves into a pile, wrapped
their blankets about them and lay down.
And what did the Indians think about their not returning to camp?
Dr. Hale explains, "The Indians became uneasy, thinking that
they had strayed too far and lost their way or else had been killed
by wild beasts.
"Some of the Indians went out in the direction the women had
gone and fired guns to attract their attention, if they should be
lost. They gave up the search that night, however, and did not renew
it the next day. They did not at all suspect that the women had attempted
to escape.
"These facts were learned by William Ingles (Mary's husband)
many years later at an Indian treaty, or conference, held at Point
Pleasant not long after the battle of the Point, when the Indians
learned for the first time what had become of the missing women."
(4)
Day after day the two women slowly tramped along the waters of the
Ohio River; they subsisted on nuts, grapes, pawpaws and occasionally
they found a small corn patch and they chewed raw kernels and swallowed
them.
Yet, they were so tired and famished by the time they reached a point
opposite the Scioto Shawnee camp they felt it would be impossible
to go further. Already they had walked a hundred and fifty miles and
there were several more hundreds ahead of them before reaching the
upper waters of New River.
Fortunately for them, they found an old abandoned cabin at the edge
of a corn patch. After pulling some ears of corn, they ate some raw
and then lay down in the cabin to rest. And, while lying there, Mary
let her mind survey the rugged mountains between this point and her
home. She knew that they must cross the Big Sandy before reaching
the mouth of the Kanawha; besides, there were smaller rivers to cross.
There'd be no canoes, and the rivers would be so deep that
neither she nor the old woman could wade them. When rested and strong,
Mary could have swum the Big Sandy; but now in her weakened condition
she knew an attempt would mean suicide. Yes, she was a month from
home in time and already they were weak; besides, winter was coming
on and there would be danger of sleeping out because of the likelihood
of contracting pneumonia. Food would be more difficult to find for
edible plants were already dying from frostbite. Had
Many known the trails over the mountains, many miles would have been
subtracted from the long way home; but she didn't know them and her
only hope was to follow the streams.
Next morning the weary travelers found an old horse grazing near the
corn patch. Hung about his neck was a tinkling bell, the clapper of
which they muffled with leaves. Then, gathering what corn they could
tie in their blankets, they threw it on the horse's back and resumed
their journey, taking turns at riding. Slowly they proceeded up the
river bank, taking care to remain out of sight of the Indian village
on the opposite side of the river. There were times when both women
would have to walk and one lead the horse for the terrain was too
rough for a person to be safe on horseback.
But, day after day, they moved on, both humans and animal living on
the corn they had brought along. After passing the points where the
future cities of Ashland and Catlettsburg were to rise, they reached
the Big Sandy. As Mary had expected, they couldn't cross at its mouth;
yet, they must follow the bank of the Ohio beyond the mouth of the
Big Sandy. So, there was nothing to do but travel up the Big Sandy
until they reached a place shallow enough for them to cross. Fortunately,
it was a dry autumn and the rivers were at low ebb. Should a heavy
rain come, flooding the rivers, they would perish in the forest.
Crossing the Big Sandy
After going up the bank of the Big Sandy for a few miles, the travelers
came to a big drift of wood which extended all the way across the
stream. They tried it by crossing on foot; and, then, they returned
to the horse.
Mary said she doubted whether the horse could cross on it, but the
Dutch woman contended that he could. Against her better judgement,
Mary agreed to let the horse try it. After all, they were a long way
up stream from the mouth; and they'd have to go many miles more before
they'd find the water shallow enough to ford.
So, they led the humble, obedient old horse out onto the drift, praying
that he'd not break through the logs and brush. But their hopes were
crushed when the horse's legs broke through, his feet in the rushing
water below and his belly resting on top of the drift. The horse tried
to extract himself but failed; and there he lay, helpless.
Knowing that they could not get the horse out, Mary took from his
back the meager supply of corn and started on. The old Dutch woman
got the bell and the strap to which it was fastened. Then, saying
goodbye to the horse, they crossed on the driftwood and started down
the east side of the stream, headed once more for the bank of the
Ohio.
Eventually, they found themselves plodding again along the Ohio. Now,
without the horse to ride occasionally, the old woman became discouraged.
In her desperation she vilified Mary for having persuaded her to leave
the Indians; then, she became so angry that she threatened to kill
Mary. While the old woman was perhaps as strong as Mary, the latter
was younger and fully able to hold her own in any physical struggle.
But, instead of physical combat Mary resorted to cajolery, telling
her again that if they stuck to their goal they'd eventually reach
friends. After all, it was too far to return to the Indians, furthermore
returning would mean their being burned at the stake. So, the old
woman waxed into silence and tramped on, foot past foot.
By this time the weather was getting cold. The women were now barefoot
for they had lone since worn out their moccasins; also, their clothes
were dirty and tattered.
But on they went, eating nuts when they could find them, pulling up
plants and eating the roots. Once they came upon a deer head left
by hunters; and they ate of the meat, although it was beginning to
spoil.
In order to protect themselves from the cold winds at nights they
crawled into hollow logs or under cliffs, if they could find them;
otherwise, they slept in the open. Eventually, they passed the point
where Huntington is now situated; but they were still far from the
mouth of the Kanawha. But Mary, encouraging the old woman, continued
to press forward, knowing that every step brought her that much closer
home.
Their slow, plodding steps brought them to the mouth of the Kanawha.
Now that they were in the Kanawha Valley, Mary's spirits lifted; she
had been over this land, and the river, she knew, came singing down
past Draper's Meadows. But she was perhaps yet two hundred miles from
home.
When it seemed that they could not go a mile further, they doggedly
pressed no. They passed the future site of the city of Charleston,
West Virginia. Then, as the days went by they came to places they
well recognized; the mouth of Paint's Creek; The Falls of the Kanawha;
then the mouth of Bluestone River; and, reaching this point, Mary
felt a surge of hope, although she was weak and frail, whereas at
this point on going down she was strong and healthy. But ahead lay
home, and as long as she could get one foot past the other she'd keep
moving forward.
A little way beyond the mouth of the Bluestone River, the old woman
became desperate again, not so much because Mary had persuaded her
to leave the Indians but because she was so starved and tired that
her mind was off balance.
She told Mary that she intended to kill and eat her. Mary cajoled
her by saying, "Let's draw sticks to see which one is to become
the victim." To this the old woman consented. They prepared sticks
and drew. Mary was the loser. She'd die at the hands of the old woman.
But Mary, always diplomatic with the Indians, began to offer the old
woman large rewards if they but could get home to Draper's Meadows.
But the Dutch woman wouldn't agree; instead, she grabbed Mary and
began to beat her. Mary, although feeble, managed to twist from the
older person's grasp, who, of course, was also weak. Then, Mary, started
on up the river, leaving the old woman who had been exhausted by the
struggle.
Once out of sight of her companion, Mary slipped under a bank and
there remained until the old woman could recover and pass her. Already,
it was sundown; and darkness was laying its deep shadows in the narrow
valley.
The moon was out and spilling its dim slithers of light down through
the tree tops when Mary emerged from her hiding place. Going to the
river bank, she found a canoe half filled with decayed leaves. There
was no oar or pole in it, but Mary was determined to cross the stream
and, thus elude the old woman who would certainly attack her again.
Soon Mary found a slither of wood which had splintered from a tree
blown down in a storm; with it she got into the canoe; bailed out
the leaves, shoved off and managed to paddle across stream which at
this place was not swift.
Once across, she went upstream a little way and to her delight found
an empty cabin which she entered, lay down and spent the night.
Next morning she started on and found a corn patch above the cabin,
which, she knew, had been used by hunters. She searched the corn patch
for remaining ears but found that wild animals had devoured them.
Though so hungry she thought she would collapse, she started wearily
on her way. Further upstream she sighted the old woman on the opposite
bank. They stopped and shouted across to each other. The old woman
was very persistent. She begged forgiveness and asked Mary to cross
the stream and continue the journey with her. But Mary refused, thinking
it'd be wiser to keep the river between them. So, they continued their
journey, each on her own side of the river.
Mary Comes to a Great Cliff
Mary knew that her remaining strength was gradually diminishing, but
the fact that she knew she was within at least thirty miles of home
renewed her courage and with tremendous will power she kept her tired
legs moving.
Coming to a great cliff whose crags overhung the river, her trail
seemed at an end and her life ready to ebb from her. She looked at
the water rushing around the crags; she glanced up but couldn't see
the top of the precipice because snow was feathering down. Making
her situation more desperate was a cold wind whistling up the gorge.
There were but two ways whereby she could get past this cliff: one
was to wade around it; the other was to go over the top of it and
come down to the river again beyond it. She doubted whether she could
wade the swift waters, too, she doubted whether she had enough strength
left to climb the steep hill at the side of the cliff to the summit.
But she'd try wading. Soon she'd know what she could do. She set her
feet into the water, waded out. A swirl caught her against the bank.
Further up, she knew, the water was swifter and deeper. No, she couldn't
get around the cliff by wading. It would mean her death.
And now she wasn't strong enough to try the cliff edge; besides, it
was getting dark and snow was falling. She was wet now. She had nothing
to eat, not even roots of plants.
In despair she lay down on the ground and remained there through the
night. When day came, she found her muscles slightly rested. She looked
up at the steep cliff side; she must climb it if she was to continue
her journey. There was no other choice.
Setting her face to the slope, she began to climb, a few inches at
a step. As she ascended, she caught onto bushes and let her arms help
her legs proper her higher and a little higher. She'd climb a few
yards and rest, then climb and rest again. By sheer will power she
reached the summit just before sundown.
After resting, she began descending the other side of the ridge. By
stepping, setting her feet, falling and sliding, she went down much
faster than she'd ascended. The sun was down when she regained the
river bank; but she continued to move onward, believing she might
be nearing habitation. And her belief proved correct. In the dimness
of twilight she entered a corn patch. Here she hallowed as loudly
as she could and dropped to the ground. Night was on her again, and
she knew she couldn't go further on her own.
She called out a second time; then, there came through the corn patch
two men, rifles raised for shooting. The men proved to be Adam Harman
and his son, whom she'd known at Draper's Meadows.
The men picked Mary up and carried her to their cabin where there
was a fire roaring in the big fireplace. While the men tried to make
her comfortable, Mary asked about her home and friends; they warmed
water and bathed her swollen feet and legs. Then, they made venison
soup; and, while she sipped it, they made a pallet for her in the
corner of the room by the fireplace. Here she was wrapped in fresh,
warm blankets. Although this pallet was not a bed, it was a luxury
in
comparison to the earthy, cold beds Mary had been lying on. For forty
days and nights she had not even seen a fire, much less felt the warmth
of one.
The Old Dutch Woman Again
Next morning Mary told Adam Harman about the old Dutch woman and her
experiences with her. Then she asked him if he'd go hunt her and bring
her in. But, after hearing how the old woman had attacked Mary, he
refused to go.
Instead, he put Mary on one of his horses; and he, mounting another,
set out for Draper's meadows some twelve miles distant up the river.
Arriving at the Meadows, they found that there had been an Indian
alarm and nearly everyone had already crossed New River to a small
fort known as Dunkard's Fort; so, they also went to the fort.
The following morning Mary again begged Adam Harman to go in search
of the old Dutch woman, and this time he agreed to go. He started
right away, going down the west bank of the river.
And soon he came upon the woman riding a horse at whose neck a small
bell was tinkling. He found the woman to be dressed in an old pair
of leather breeches.
She at once told Harman what had happened to her after parting company
with Mary. She'd come upon a hunter's cabin where she'd found a pot
of boiled venison and some leather clothes. She'd eaten of the meat
and had rested two days and nights; then, finding a horse nearby,
she'd tried her bell to its neck, mounted and was resuming her journey.
Harman brought the woman to Dunkard's Fort and there she remained
until she heard of a party traveling to Pennsylvania by wagon. She
asked for a ride and was gladly taken aboard. When she was ready to
start, she didn't forget her little bell. Of her Dr. Hale said, "I'm
sorry that not even her name has been preserved. In the tradition
of the Ingles family she is known and remembered only as "the
old Dutch woman." (5)
The Rescue of Mrs. Bettie Draper
Mary had been greatly disappointed upon arriving at Dunkard's Fort
not to find her husband there. She was told that he and her brother
John, the husband, of Bettie, had gone down among the Cherokees, who
at that time were friendly with the Shawnees north of the Ohio River,
to learn if any of them knew anything of those who had been captured
at Draper's Meadows.
Unfortunately, they had learned nothing; but, when, within a few days,
they returned and found Mary, they were elated and, also, surprised.
It was a happy reunion, as well as a sad one, for both Mary and her
husband, William, grieved for their "lost babes in the woods."
William said he wouldn't give up trying to find and ransom them, so
they could come home.
In an effort to get news of his wife, Bettie, John Draper, Mary's
brother, made several more trips to the Cherokee Nation. In the year
1761 many chiefs from the Ohio River Valley, as well as from the Cherokee
Nation, assembled to make a treaty, or an agreement with the whites,
about the close of the Cherokee war.
John Draper attended the gathering and fortunately he met an old chief
from the north who knew about Bettie. She was in his immediate family,
he said.
With this news John Draper set out north, found Bettie and paid a
handsome ransom for her relief. Thus, she had been in captivity six
years.
On her way back to the white settlement she told her husband that
she had tried to escape, as Mary had done, but was captured and sentenced
to be burned at the stake, but that an old chief hid her away and
saved her life.
Then, she decided against trying to escape again. Instead, she decided
to be of as much service to the tribe as she could, so she taught
the squaws how to sew better and to cook differently; she nursed the
sick and attended the wounded. As a result of this service, she became
known as "heap good medicine squaw."
Mrs. Draper brought back some sad news for Mary Ingles and her husband;
she'd learned that little George, who'd been two years old when wrested
from Mary at Scioto, had died soon afterwards. And she'd never heard
anything from Thomas.
Thomas, The Captive Boy
However, about six years after Mrs. Draper's return news was received
about Thomas. It came through a man by the name of Baker, who also
had been held captive among the Shawnees for several years. Baker
had lived in the same village with the Indian who had adopted Thomas
as his son, and he knew both of them.
William Ingles at once hired Baker to return to the Shawnee country
and try to ransom Thomas. So, Baker set out up the Valley of Virginia,
across the mountains to Fort Pitt, and thence down the Ohio River
to Scioto.
He found the foster father of Thomas and bargained with him to release
Thomas, paying about one hundred dollars for his freedom. But Thomas,
who had come to love his Indian father and the tribesmen, didn't want
to leave. He spoke their language and lived, himself, like an Indian.
More by force than persuasion, Baker got the youth started and, in
order to prevent his running away, kept him bound until they were
forty or fifty miles from the Indian village. After being unbound,
the youth pretended to be content; but he was merely laying a scheme
to escape. And one night while Baker was asleep, the youth did escape.
Baker was afraid to go home without the boy, since he had paid out
the ransom money; so, he returned to Scioto and again tried to find
Thomas but the squaws had hidden him and Baker was helpless. Then,
without Thomas, Baker returned to the Ingles home, now situated several
miles up New River from Draper's Meadows, and gave a report.
Yet, William Ingles and Mary wouldn't give up trying to get Thomas
home. A year later William Ingles, himself, accompanied by Baker,
made the same long journey up the Valley of Virginia, across the Alleghanies
and down the Ohio River. Upon arriving at Scioto, they were told that
Thomas had gone to Detroit with a group of Shawnees and wouldn't return
for several weeks. William, determined not to be disappointed again,
waited out the time.
While Thomas returned, the father was successful in convincing him
that he was the real father and that he and the mother wanted him
to return home. William paid a ransom sum of the equivalency of one
hundred fifty dollars to the youth's Indian father; and, then, the
three men, Baker, William and son Thomas, started home, home to Ingle's
Ferry. This was in the year 1768. Thomas had been away from his parents
for thirteen years.
Thomas could not speak English. He was dressed as the Indians dressed.
With him he had brought his much beloved bow and arrow. Although his
mother was overjoyed to see him again, she said he was more like an
Indian than like one of his own family.
He very reluctantly put on clothes such as the white settlers wore.
Nearly every day he'd go off into the woods with his bow and arrow
and stay for long hours.
William and Mary Ingles were very disturbed about their son's behavior
and were constantly afraid that he'd try to escape and return to his
Indian friends. They were glad, however, that he began to learn English
and took an interest in it. They believed him to be a very intelligent
young man, and they wanted him to be educated.
In order to have him educated his father sent him to Dr. Thomas Walker
of Albemarle. William Ingles and Dr. Walker were close friends, they
having roamed the forests together. Dr. Walker had made an exploratory
trip into Kentucky in 1750.
Near Dr. Walker's home in Albemarle was a school called Castle Hill.
Here young Thomas got acquainted with Madison, Monroe, Jefferson,
Patrick Henry, and many other distinguished people who were constantly
in the neighborhood. In later years Thomas Jefferson made him colonel
of militia.
While in Albemarle Thomas made the acquaintance of Miss Eleanore Grills,
whom he married in 1775, after the battle of Point Pleasant - the
war between the frontiersmen of Virginia and the Indians at the mouth
of the Kanawha River.
Then, after taking a bride, Thomas himself moved out onto the Virginia
frontier, in the upper Clinch River Valley; and there he, who had
been a close friend of the Shawnees, suffered the agony of having
his own wife and children attacked by them. This story will be related
later in this book.
Bronze Tablet in Honor of Mary and William Ingles
at Radford, Virginia
William and Mary Ingles spent the last days of their life at Ingles
Ferry, almost at the place Radford College now stands. If the year
1915 a bronze tablet was placed in the Ingles Literary Society Hall
by descendants of William and Mary Ingles.
At that memorial service the Hon. Allen T. Eskridge, Jr., of Pulaski,
gave an historical sketch of the pioneer woman. Capt. William Ingles,
a descendant of the pioneers, presented the tablet. Miss Mary Davis,
president of the Ingles Literary Society, accepted it. Master Andrew
Lewis Ingles, son of Mr. and Mrs. William Ingles, Jr., pulled a cord
that unveiled the tablet.
The tablet was placed in the Ingles Library Society Hall. It shows
the following words:
This Tablet is Presented September, 1915,
to
The Ingles Literary Society
at Radford, Virginia
by the Descendants of
William and Mary Draper Ingles
in grateful appreciation of
the honor paid them by the
use of their name.
Mary Draper Ingles
Born at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, 1732
Died at Ingles Ferry, Virginia, 1815
She was the first white woman married
west of the Alleghany Mountains. Captured
by the Indians, July 8, 1755, at
Draper's Meadows, near Blacksburg,
Virginia. She was carried to Ohio.
Escaping from her captors, made her
way home alone, in winter; came eight
hundred miles through a trackless wilderness,
guided only by the streams and
subsisting on nuts and roots for forty
days. No greater exhibition of female
heroism, courage and endurance is
recorded in the annals of frontier history. (6)
FOOTNOTES:
(1) This date is affirmed by a record in the Military Journal of the
Preston papers of the Draper Manuscripts. Dr. Hale was wrong when
he gave the date as "the 8th day of July 1755, a Sunday and the
day before General Edward Braddock's defeat at the Forks of the Ohio
River..."
(2) Hale, J. P., Trans-Alleghany-Pioneers;
(3) Ibid, p. 28;
(4) Hale, Trans-Alleghany-Pioneers, p. 47;
(5) Ibid, page 81;
(6) Radford Normal Bulletin, Radford, VA, September 1915 {Date of
Capture was July 30, 1755, Preston Papers.) SOURCES: Dr. John P. Hale,
Trans-Alleghany Pioneers, Second Edition, 1931; Radford Normal Bulletin,
September, 1915; Pendleton, William: History of Tazewell County, Virginia;
Preston Papers of the Draper Manuscripts.
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