Rensselaer Union, Volume 11, Number 28, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 March 1879 — A TREACHEROUS “GOBBLER.” [ARTICLE]

A TREACHEROUS “GOBBLER.”

In 1781 no finer hunting-grounds • could have been found than were in the valley of the Ohio River. There were then but few settlements on the river below Wheeling, and those were on the Virginia side along the eastern bank. It was several years later before land was taken up on the Ohio side, for that was the “Indian country;” yet the settlers on the eastern shore us'ed to cross often to the western side to hunt for deer and wild turkeys, which were there very abundant. From their cabin-doors in the early morning tho.pioneers would sometimes see flocks of frqm ton to fifty magnifijcant turkeys break suddenly forth to the water, or espy them sitting in rows on the projecting brandies of the longlimbed oaks. Often the vociferous “ gobbling” of the males resounded across the water, interluded by the plaintive “yeap yeapyeap! yop-yop-yop!” or quickly changed' to a sharp “quit!” at the sudden appearance of a wolf or fox. It was but a few minutes’ work for the settlers to paddle across in their -log canoes, and with a few discharges of shot, secure turkeys enough to last each family a week. Turkey was the dish most easily procured, and the gobbling of a flack on the opposite stope across the stream came to be a signal for a turkey-hunt. In the fall of 1781 a wily savage of the Shawanese tribe, named Wy-an-do-wit, who nad no doubt watched the settlers in some of their hunting expeditions, hit upon a plan to secure a few scalps so that it could be done with little to himself. During all these years there was almost constant war wi th the Indians, and the British, if is said, had set a price on American scalps. The ruse which this cunning savage had hit on will soon be understood.

One morningas a settler named Bingman was feeding his hogs just at sunrise, he heard a wild turkey “gobble” across the river, which at that point was not more than two hundred yards in width. The gobbling was repeated. So .clejtf WHfcMill was the air that Bingman could even hear the odd “chockr’ in the gobbler's throat as it “ strutted.” A moment after, too, the plaintive “ yeap!” of a second turkey came to his ears. Calling to his wife to bring his gun, Bingman got into his canoe and paddied across the river to shoot the turkeys. Mrs. Bingman saw him land on the opposite shore, and go cautiously in among the bushes. Five minutes later she heard him fire, as she supposed, and thought ne would soon be back; but half an hour and an hour passed, and he did, not come. ‘ The forenoon dragged by. The poor woman thought he must have started a deer, and gone in pursuit of it: but becoming much alarmed before night she went to the clearing of a neighbor named Mclntosh, and in company with him crossed the river in search of her missing husband. . A few rods up from the bank, where bis canoe lay, poor Bingman was Yound, lying dead and scalped. Only the next morning a settler named Woodfin, seven or eight miles above Bingman’s, was shelling corn at bis cabin dbor, and oh going Into the shed where bis handmill for grinding stood, he, too, a gobbler across ing” of a whole (lock of turkeys. rfW "i, .' ■

As his family had nothing but cornmeal from which to make a breakfast, the chance of securing a tine turkey or two was not to be lost. Woodfin took his gun, and atonoe crossed the river. The report of a Sun was soon heard, but Woodfin, like ingmauy did not come back. Late that evening a party of bis friends found him lying dead, scalped and robbed of his gun and clothing, a little wav back ffrom the river. that same forenoon Freeman Husted, a youth of seventeen, was fishing on the bank several miles above Wood* fin's, when he heard turkeys in the bushes on the opposite shore. Two girls of fifteen and eighteen, named Ruth Miller and Harriet Beakman, were with him, and were joking him on his ill-success in fishing. * On bearing the turkeys, Freeman told them he would have a turkev for each of them in fifteen minutes. They were near the clearing of Mr. Beakman, and his own boat and that of a neighbor named Miller were drawn up close by. Young Husted stepped into one of the canoes and poled across, for the water was then very low. The girls soon heard him fire his gun, as they thought. Some time passed; hedid not return. They supposed he was searching for a second turkey. At last they began calling to him, and soon after Mrs. Beak man and some of the younger children saw both girls get into the other canoe and paddle over to the West bank. Ruth and Harriet were both somewhat used to the canoes. The children heard them laughing, and the rattling and splashing of the paddles, as they went across. They were never again seen alive. Later in the day Mrs. Beakman, becoming very uneasy about her daughter, Mr. Beakman waded the river at the “ rips,” a little farther up, where the water was then not much more than waist-deep, and, after a brief search, found the bodies of the two girls close together. They had both been scalped scarcely a minute after they had laughingly paddled the canoe across. • A little farther up the sloping bank, in front of a thick clump of pawpaw bushes, young Husted lay dead. At their funeral a day or two later there was a most_j>itiable scene, for these young peoole had many friends, and Ruth, the oldest, was shortly to have been married. The scene of this triple tragedy was but a few miles below Wheeling Fort. The next day, or next but one, at about two o’clock in the afternoon, turkeys were heard across at the clearing of a Mr. Guthridge, some twenty miles below the Beakman place.” As news traveled slowly from one isolated post and house «o another, the Guthiidges had as yet heard nothing of the sad fate of Husted and the girls.

Mr. Guthridge had a boy of thirteen named Casper, whom he had taught to lire his rifle-gun and to hunt. Instead of forbidding him the use of the gun, ( he had taken great pains to teach him how to shoot., and how to charge the gun properly and safely, as also how to swim. Casper was a bright, sharp boy, with an eye like a young lynx. It was he that heard the turkeys in the woods across the river. Mr. Guthridge himself had goue out into a back field after dinner to cut up corn, leaving Casper to hew out a pig's trough from a section of cottonwood log; for beside teaching the lad to hunt and swim, Mr. Guthridge had taught him how to do all kinds of farm jobs, such as making troughs, gates and axehelves. As Casper chopped and hacked at his pig-trough, he heard the gobbling of the turkeys on the other shore. He ran in and told his mother that he wanted her to tate down the rifle-gun for him to Shoot a turkey. The gun hung overhead, on two wooden hooks in the beams of the loft floor. His mother said no; she didn't want him to lake it. “Why,” cried tte boy, “don’t yer think lean kill a turkey? Finny would let me hev it quick enough es he was here !” ■ . .' Phineas was his father’s name, and such was the easy intimacy and goodtdllowship between the two, that they commonly called each other “ Finny” and “Cap.” At this his mother took down the gun for him, and let him have the powder-horn and bullet-pouch. The lad put in a charge, secured his ammunition, and then, getting into their canoe, commenced paddling across the river. . The turkey kept “gobbling” every few moments till the lad got near the opposite shore, when there came a sudden, sharp “quit!” At that Casper stopped short, thinking he had frightened the birds; but the “quit!” was followed next moment by the familiar, plaintive “yeap-yeap-yeap, yop-yop-yop!” Now our young pioneer was a close dpserver, and had watched the habits and notes of all wild game very closely. Something unnatural about these turkeys’ calls struck his mind. When, in a flock of wild turkeys, one of their number gives the sharp “quit!” for danger, he had never heard another turkey at once set up a long “yeap-yeap-yeap, yop-yop-yop!” The whole flock always stand silent, add look sharply about them. The boy’s keen ear and instinct told him in a moment that there was something not quite right in what he had heard. Yet he aid not think it was an Indian, or he would probably have gone back-far morequiokly than he had come across. The bank was not sloping here, but rose to a height of about four feet, and was covered, with thick alders wreathed with woodbine. The boy landed, but instead of climbing tne bank and pressing through tne alders toward where tne flock seemed to be, he stole down stream along the bank for near two hundred yards, crouching low, so as to keep bidden from the game. Then, creeping in through the alders, he crawled, gun in hand, along the ground, looking sharplyon every side. In this manner he gained the top of a wooded slope fifteen rods or more from the water, and got into a little gully over behind it. This done, he began to crawl quietly along the. bed, of the gully, which was overhung by briers and wild grape-vines, to get in the rear of the turkeys—if, indeed, they were turkeys, of which he hadhis doubts, though he cou'd still hear them gobbling anay eaping very ngtfirally. When he had got about opposite to them, and behinathem, he crawled out of the gully, and gaining the summitof the little ridge, he glanced warily down the slope toward the river. ‘ There were no turkeys in sight Wetching a few moments, he was horror, struck at seeing an Indian's head rise stealthily up from behind a root, and look down*, through the branches

toward where he had drawn up his oanoe. Casper’s heartbeat fast and hard. He was within a hundred feet of the Indian, but in his After a long, sharp look, the savage drew down behind the root and began gobbling and yeaping ’ again. Casper had not a drop of coward blood, and though the thought of the danger he had so barely escaped made him feel cold and almost siok. he felt that his own safety lay in his shooting the Indian before the savage had a chance to shoot him. ■ < Stretching himself flat on the ground behind a small log, he rested his riflegun across the log, and kept it pointed' at the root. Presently the Indian’s head was again raised. This was the lad’s chance, and taking aim, he fired, and the head went out of sight. But the lad was not sure he had hit the Indian. Crawling back into the gully as quickly as he dared, tie sought the river shore. Not daring to go to the canoe, be hid the rifle-gun amongst some joint-grass, and then, after going down the bank some distance, he entered the water, and swam and waded across the river. Running, dripping wet and out of breath, to the cabin, he shouted, ** Mother, I’ve killed a redskin!” “ No, you hain’t!” said Mrs. Guthridge. “ Yes-. I have! I’m sure of it!” She would not believe him. The lad then ran out into the field to his father. Even his father could scarcely credit the boy's statement. But finding that he had left his gun on the other side, Mr. Guthridge went for two of his neighbors, aud toward night they made a raft, ano crossed the river to see if the boy’ff'story was true. Sure enough, on approaching the root, they saw the Indian lying dead. The boy’s aim had beensure. Strung to the Indian’s belt were five scalps, two of them being scalps of women. These were identified as the hair of poor Bingman. Woodfin, Husted and the two girls. This savage had truly been a treacherous gobbler. The settlers thought themselves fortunately rid of that turkey. And I think that every boy and every parent, too, will agree with me that in the case of the pioneer boy, the instructions which Guthridge had given his boy in the use of a gun were neither out of place nor useless.— C. A. Stophens, in Youth's Companion.