NARRATIVE
OF A
JOURNEY
DOWN THE OHIO AND MISSISSIPPI
IN 1789-90.
BY
MAJ. SAMUEL S. FORMAN
WITH A MEMOIR AND ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES
BY
LYMAN C. DRAPER
CINCINNATI
ROBERT CLARKE & CO.
1888
COPYRIGHT.
PREFATORY NOTE.
I acknowledge my indebtedness to a friend of the Forman family for
calling my attention to the interesting narrative of Major Samuel S.
Forman's early journey down the Ohio and Mississippi, and for aiding
me in securing a copy for publication. The manuscript of this
monograph, as now presented, has been submitted to friends and kindred
of Major Forman, who knew him long and well, and they have accorded it
their warm approval.
With their kind approbation, I feel encouraged to offer this little
contribution to western historical literature to an enlightened
public.
L. C. D.
Madison, Wis.
MEMOIR OF MAJOR SAMUEL S. FORMAN.
Every addition to our stock of information touching early western
history and adventure, and of the pioneer customs and habits of a
hundred years ago, deserves a kindly reception. The following
narrative of a journey down the Ohio and Mississippi, in 1789-90, was
not reduced to writing till 1849, after a lapse of sixty years; but an
unusually fine memory enabled Major Forman to relate such incidents of
his trip as left a lasting impression upon him, alike with interest
and general accuracy. A sketch of the writer will give us a better
insight into his trustworthiness and character.
Major Forman, the third son of Samuel and Helena Denise Forman, was
born at Middletown Point, Monmouth county, New Jersey, July 21, 1765.
He was too young to participate in the Revolutionary war, during the
stirring period of 1776 to 1780, in New Jersey; but his elder
brothers, Jonathan and Denise, were prominent and active throughout
the great struggle. Major Forman has recorded some incidents of the
war that occurred in his region of New Jersey, and within his own
knowledge, worthy of preservation as interesting scraps of
Revolutionary history. At one time, a cousin of his, Tunis Forman,
about seventeen years of age, met two Tory robbers, and after one had
fired at him and missed, he, getting the advantage of them in the
adjustment of his gun, forced them to throw down their weapons, when
he marched them several miles before him, and lodged them in jail at
Freehold. For this brave act, young Forman received a large reward.[1]
[1] This incident, occurring in May, 1780, is related in Barber
and Howe's _New Jersey Historical Collection_, 345-6.
During the period while Major Henry Lee and his famous Light Dragoons
were serving in New Jersey, intelligence came of the marauding
operations of a band of Tory robbers, located in the extensive pine
woods toward Barnegat, in Monmouth county, whose head-quarters were at
a secret cave in that region. Lee dispatched a select party of
fearless men, who approached the dangerous region in a farmer's wagon,
concealed under a covering of straw. Fagans, the robber leader, with
some followers, stopped the wagon to plunder it, when the concealed
dragoons immediately put a ball through Fagans's head, and with his
fall his associates fled. Fagans's body was conveyed to Barkalow's
woods, the usual place of execution for such culprits, and there
exposed on a gibbet till the flesh dropped from the bones.
Mr. Forman mentions that his father, Samuel Forman, did not escape a
visit from the Tories and British. At one time, they made a descent
upon the village of Middletown Point. There was a mill at this place,
which was well known and much resorted to for a great distance; and
some of these Tory invaders had been employed in the erection of this
mill, and were personally well known to the citizens, and it would
appear that their object was, at least, to capture Samuel Forman, if
not to kill him. They plundered the houses of the settlement,
destroying what they could not carry off, boasting that they had aided
in building the mill, and now assisted in kindling the fire in the
bolting box to burn it down. They had surprised the guard placed for
the protection of the place, killing several of their number, who had
been their schoolmates in former years. Samuel Forman eluded their
vigilance, but lost heavily by this invasion, for he owned almost all
of one side of Middletown Point, and part of both sides of Main
street. He never applied to Congress for any remuneration for his
losses. He died in 1792, in his seventy-eighth year. In this foray,
the enemy burned two store-houses of Mr. John H. Burrows, robbed his
house, and took him prisoner to New York. After several months, he was
exchanged, and returned home.
My brother, Denise Forman, entered the service when he was about
sixteen years old. He was in the battle of Germantown--in which
engagement eighteen of the Forman connection took part--where the
Americans were badly used, on account of the British having some light
artillery in a large stone house. Our army had to retreat; when that
took place, Lieutenant Schenck, under whom brother Denise served, took
Denise's gun, and told him to take fast hold of his coat, and cling to
it during the retreat. General David Forman conducted himself so well,
that General Washington tendered his aid in securing a command in the
Continental army; but General Forman declined the offer, as he
believed he could be more serviceable to remain with the militia in
Monmouth county, New Jersey, as they were continually harassed there
by the enemy from Staten Island and New York.
After this, Denise Forman engaged under a Captain Tyler, who had
charge of a few gun-boats that coasted along the Jersey shore, to
annoy and oppose the enemy. When the British fleet lay at anchor near
Sandy Hook, Captain Tyler went, in the night, and surprised a large
sloop at anchor among the men-of-war. Tyler's party boarded the sloop,
secured the sailors, weighed anchor, and got her out from the fleet,
and took her up Middletown creek, all without any fighting. The whole
enterprise was conducted with so much judgment, that the sailor
prisoners dared not speak or give the least sign of alarm. "When we
first touched the sloop," said Denise Forman, "I felt for a moment a
little streaked, but it was soon over, and then we worked fearlessly
to get the vessel under weigh, without alarming the fleet." These
gun-boats were all propelled by muffled oars, that dipped in and out
of the water so as to make no noise; nor did any of the men speak
above their breath. On the gunwale of the boat, a strip of heavy
canvas was nailed, the inner edge having been left unfastened, under
which were concealed their swords, guns, and other implements for use
in a combat, and so placed that each man could, at an instant's
notice, lay his hand upon his own weapon. Even in port, the men
belonging to Tyler's party were not allowed to talk or speak to other
people, as a matter of precaution; and the captain always spoke in an
undertone, and if a man laid down an oar, it was always done as
noiselessly as possible.
At one time, fifteen hundred British and Tories landed on Middletown
shore, and marched from six to ten miles back into the country. A
beacon, placed on a conspicuous hill, was fired for the purpose of
giving an alarm; and soon the militia of the country, understanding
the notice, gathered, and opposed the enemy. In Pleasant Valley they
checked their advance. Uncle John Schenck and brother Denise so
closely cornered a British or Tory officer of this party in a
barn-yard, that he jumped from his horse, took to his heels and
escaped, leaving his horse behind him.
Major Burrows[2] happened to be at home at that time, on a visit to
his family. Some of the Americans dressed themselves in British red
coats, which had been captured. The Rev. Mr. DuBois, who, like a good
patriot, had turned out on this occasion, with his fowling-piece,
when Major Burrows rode near by, eked out in British uniform; Mr.
DuBois spoke to Captain Schenck, his brother-in-law, "Look, there is a
good shot," and, suiting the action to the word, took deliberate aim.
Captain Schenck, better understanding the situation, quickly knocked
up the clergyman's gun, with the explanation--"Don't shoot; that's
Major Burrows." Mr. DuBois supposed he was aiming at a British
officer, within point blank shot, who was endeavoring to rejoin his
fellows.
[2] Major John Burrows was first a captain in Colonel David
Forman's regiment. Forman had the nick-name of "Black David,"
to distinguish him from a relative of the same name, and he was
always a terror to the Tories; and Captain Burrows, from his
efficiency against these marauders, was called by those enemies
of the country, "Black David's Devil." January 1, 1777, Captain
Burrows was made a captain in Spencer's regiment on Continental
establishment; and, January 22, 1779, he was promoted to the
rank of major, serving in Sullivan's campaign against the hostile
Six Nations, and remaining in the army till the close of the war.
Several years after, he went on a journey to the interior of
Georgia, in an unhealthy season, when he probably sickened and
died, for he was never heard of afterward.
Major Burrows left an interesting journal of Sullivan's
campaign, which appears in the splendid volume on that campaign
issued by the State of New York, in 1887. The original MS.
journal is preserved by his grand-daughter, Mrs. Elizabeth
Breese Stevens, of Sconondoa, Oneida county, New York.
Denise Forman's next move was to enlist with Captain Philip Freneau,
the well-known poet, who sailed from Philadelphia in a letter of
marque, the _Aurora_, against British commerce on the high seas. While
not long out, sailing toward the West Indies, Freneau and his
adventurous vessel were captured by their enemies, sent to New York,
and all incarcerated on board of the _Scorpion_, one of the prison
ships floating in New York harbor and Wallabout Bay, its unhappy
prisoners experiencing almost untold horrors. Captain Freneau, at
least, was subsequently transferred to what he denominated "the
loathesome _Hunter_." These prison ships attained an unenviable
reputation for maltreating and half-starving their hapless and
ill-fated victims, hundreds of whom died in consequence of their
inhuman treatment. This sad experience became the subject of one of
Freneau's subsequent poems, emanating from the depths of his
embittered soul recollections. Brother Denise used to relate to me,
after his return home, that, when on the prison ship, he had to shut
his eyes whenever he ate the sea-biscuit or drank the water assigned
him, so full were they of vermin! Freneau, in his poem, thus alludes
to the fare with which the poor prisoners were treated:
"See, captain, see! what rotten bones we pick.
What kills the healthy can not cure the sick.
Not dogs on _such_ by Christian men are fed;
And see, good master, see that lousy bread!"
"Your meat or bread," this man of flint replied,
"Is not my care to manage or provide;
But this, damn'd rebel dogs, I'd have you know,
That better than you merit we bestow.
Out of my sight!" No more he deigned to say,
But whisk'd about, and, frowning, strode away.
When the survivors were exchanged, after their long imprisonment, they
were so weak and emaciated that they could scarcely walk--perfect
living skeletons; and my brother, after his return home, was confined
to his bed, and for several days nearly all hope of his recovery was
abandoned; but he at length providentially recovered. Denise Forman
received a captain's commission when a war was threatened with France,
in 1798, and when the army was disbanded, he settled on a farm in
Freehold, where he spent the remainder of his days.
About 1790, Captain Freneau married my sister Eleanor. He was a
prominent Anti-Federalist in his day, and edited various Democratic
papers at different places, and was for a time translating clerk in
the State Department. While he was able to translate the French
documents, he found it cost him more than he received to get those in
other foreign languages properly translated, and after a while he
resigned. He had in early life been a college-mate with James Madison,
at Princeton, and has been aptly called the "patriot poet" of the
Revolution, his effusions having been useful to the cause of the
country during its great struggle for independence. He lost his life
in a violent snow-storm, in December, 1832, in his eighty-first year,
near Monmouth, New Jersey.
While attending grammar-school, the latter part of the Revolutionary
war, at Freehold, young Forman records: The hottest part of the battle
of Monmouth was about this spot, where my brother-in-law, Major
Burrows, lived after he left the army, and with whom I and some
fellow-students boarded. Our path to the school-house crossed a grave
where a remarkably tall British officer was buried. We opened the
grave; a few pieces only of blanket, which encompassed the corpse,
remained. One school-mate, Barnes Smock, was a very tall person, but
the thigh bones of this unfortunate officer far outmeasured his. I
believe this was the only engagement when the two opposing armies had
recourse to the bayonet,[3] and this was the place of that charge. The
battle took place on the Sabbath. A British cannon ball went through
Rev. Dr. Woodhull's church. Dr. Woodhull was now one of my teachers.
The two armies lay upon their arms all night after the battle. General
Washington and General La Fayette slept in their cloaks under an
apple-tree in Mr. Henry Perrine's orchard. It was Washington's
intention to have renewed the battle the next day, but the British, in
the course of the night, stole a march as fast as they could for their
fleet at Sandy Hook.
[3] This is an error. Bayonet charges were resorted to by Morgan
at the Cowpens, and in other engagements.
In the spring of 1783, when peace was dawning, many of the old
citizens of New York City, who had been exiled from their homes for
some seven years, began to return to their abandoned domiciles, even
before the British evacuation. Among them was Major Benjamin Ledyard,
who had married my oldest sister. In September of that year, at the
instance of my sister Ledyard, I went to New York as a member of her
family. Every day I saw the British soldiers. Indeed, a young
lieutenant boarded a short time in our family, as many families
received the British officers as an act of courtesy.
Even before the British evacuation, the American officers were
permitted to cross over into the city, and frequently came, visiting
the coffee-houses and other places of public resort. Here they would
meet British officers, and some of them evinced a strong inclination
to make disturbance with their late competitors, throwing out hints or
casting reflections well calculated to provoke personal combats. There
was a Captain Stakes, of the American Light Dragoons, a fine, large,
well-built man, who had no fear about him. It was said, when he
entered the coffee-house, that the British officers exercised a
wholesome caution how they treated him, after some of them had made a
feint in testing his powers. But it all happily passed over without
harm.
It was finally agreed between General Washington and Sir Guy Carleton
that New York should be evacuated November 25th. In the morning of
that day, the British army paraded in the Bowery. The Americans also
paraded, and marched down till they came very close to each other, so
that the officers of both armies held friendly parleys. The streets
were crowded with people on an occasion so interesting. I hurried by
the redcoats till I reached the Americans, where I knew I would be
safe. So I sauntered about among the officer. Presently, an American
officer seized me by the hand, when, I looking up at him, he said,
encouragingly: "Don't be afraid, Sammy. I know your brother Jonathan.
He is an officer in the same line with me, and my name is Cumming."[4]
He continued to hold me by the hand till orders were given to advance.
He advised me to keep on the sidewalk, as I might get run over in the
street.
[4] This was John N. Cumming, who rose from a lieutenant to be
lieutenant-colonel, commanding the Third New Jersey Regiment,
serving the entire war.
The British steadily marched in the direction of their vessels, while
the Americans advanced down Queen (since Pearl) street; the British
embarking on board their fleet on East river, I believe, near
Whitehall, and the Americans headed directly to Fort George, on the
point where the Battery now is. Stockades were around the fort, and
the large gate was opened. When the British evacuated the fort, they
unreefed the halyards of the tall flag-staff, greased the pole, so
that it was some time before the American flag was hoisted. At length,
a young soldier[5] succeeded in climbing the pole, properly arranged
the halyards, when up ran the striped and star-spangled banner, amid
the deafening shouts of the multitude, that seemed to shake the city.
It is easier to imagine than to describe the rejoicing, and the
brilliancy of the fireworks that evening.
[5] The editor, while at Saratoga Springs, in 1838, took
occasion to visit the venerable Anthony Glean, who resided in
the town of Saratoga, and who was reputed to be the person who
climbed the greased flag-staff at the evacuation of New York,
and who himself claimed to have performed that feat. He was then
a well-to-do farmer, enjoying a pension for his revolutionary
services, and lived two or three years later, till he had
reached the age of well-nigh ninety. The newspapers of that
period often referred to him as the hero of the flag-staff
exploit, and no one called it in question.
After the evacuation, Mr. Forman witnessed the affectionate and
affecting parting of Washington and his officers, when he entered a
barge at Whitehall wharf, manned by sea captains in white frocks, who
rowed him to the Jersey shore, to take the stage for Philadelphia, on
his way to Congress. Mr. Forman also saw General Washington while
presiding over the convention of 1787, to form a Constitution for the
new Republic. The general was attired in citizen's dress--blue coat,
cocked hat, hair in queue, crossed and powdered. He walked alone to
the State House, the place of meeting, and seemed pressed down in
thought. A few moments before General Washington took his seat on the
rostrum, the venerable Dr. Franklin, one of the Pennsylvania
delegates, was brought in by a posse of men in his sedan, and helped
into the hall, he being severely afflicted with palsy or paralysis at
the time. On the adoption of the Constitution, a great celebration was
held in New York to commemorate the event, which Mr. Forman also
witnessed. A large procession was formed, composed of men of all
avocations in life, and each represented by some insignia of his own
trade or profession, marching through the streets with banners, flags,
and stirring music. A full-rigged vessel, called "The Federal Ship
Hamilton," was drawn in the procession, and located in Bowling Green,
where it remained until it fell to pieces by age.
After spending some years as a clerk in mercantile establishments in
New York City, and once going as supercargo to dispose of a load of
flour to Charleston, he engaged in merchandising at Middletown Point,
New Jersey. Mr. Forman subsequently made the journey down the Ohio and
Mississippi, in 1789-'90, as given in considerable detail in the
narrative which follows. While spending the winter of 1792-'93 in
Philadelphia, he witnessed the inauguration of Washington as
President, at the beginning of his second term of office, and was
within six feet of him when he took the oath of office. "I cast my
eyes over the vast crowd," says Major Forman, "and every eye seemed
riveted on the great chief. On Washington's right sat Chief-Justice
Cushing, and on his left Senator Langdon, of New Hampshire. After
sitting a little while in profound silence, the senator arose, and
asked the President if he was ready to take the oath of office.
General Washington rose up, having a paper in his left hand, when he
made a very short address. Then Judge Cushing stood up, with a large
open Bible before him, facing the President, who laid his hand upon
the sacred volume, and very deliberately and distinctly repeated the
oath of office as pronounced by the chief-justice. When Washington
repeated his own name, as he did at the conclusion of the ceremony, it
made my blood run cold. The whole proceedings were performed with
great solemnity. General Washington was dressed in deep mourning, for,
it was said, a favorite nephew who had lived at Mount Vernon during
the Revolutionary war. He wore his mourning sword. Mrs. Washington was
about the middling stature, and pretty fleshy."
Mr. Forman now entered into the employ of the Holland Land Company,
through their agents, Theophilus Cazenove and John Lincklaen, to found
a settlement in the back part of the State of New York, where that
company had purchased a large body of land. He accordingly headed a
party, in conjunction with Mr. Lincklaen, for this purpose, conveying
a load of merchandise to the point of operations, passing in batteaus
up the Mohawk to old Fort Schuyler, now Utica, beyond which it was
necessary to open up a road for the teams and loads of goods; lodging
in the woods when necessary, living on raw pork and bread, which was
better than the bill of fare at the well-known tavern in that region,
kept by John Dennie, the half Indian--"no bread, no meat;" and one of
Dennie's descendants indignantly resented being referred to as an
Indian--"Me no Indian; only Frenchman and squaw!" At length, May 8,
1793, the party arrived on the beautiful body of water, since known as
Cazenovia Lake, and founded the village of Cazenovia, where Mr. Forman
engaged in felling trees, and erecting the necessary houses in which
to live and do business, and in this rising settlement he engaged in
merchandising for several years. He held many public positions of
honor and trust; was county clerk, secretary for over thirty years of
a turnpike company; served as major in a regiment of militia early
organized at Cazenovia.
The latter years of his life he spent in Syracuse, where he was
greatly respected for his worth, his fine conversational powers, his
social and generous feelings. He lived to the great age of over
ninety-seven years, dying August 16, 1862. His closing years were
embittered over the distracted condition of his country, embroiled in
fratricidal war, and his prayer was that the proud flag which he
witnessed when it was placed over the ramparts of Fort George,
November 25, 1783, might again wave its ample folds over a firmly
united American Confederacy. His patriotic prayer was answered, though
he did not himself live to witness it.
NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY DOWN THE OHIO AND MISSISSIPPI, 1789-'90.
General David Forman,[6] of New Jersey, entered into a negotiation
with the Spanish minister, Don Diego de Gardoque, for his brother,
Ezekiel Forman, of Philadelphia, to emigrate with his family and sixty
odd colored people, and settle in the Natchez country, then under
Spanish authority.
[6] General Forman was born near Englishtown, Monmouth Co., New
Jersey. He was, during the Revolutionary war, a terror to the
tories of his region, and as brigadier-general commanded the
Jersey troops at the battle of Germantown. No less than eighteen
of the Forman connection were in his brigade in this engagement.
He was subsequently a county judge, and member of the council of
state. He died about 1812.
I agreed with General Forman to accompany the emigrating party; and,
about the last of November, 1789, having closed up my little business
at Middletown Point, New Jersey, I set out from the general's
residence, in Freehold, with Captain Benajah Osmun, an old continental
captain, who was at that time the faithful overseer of the general's
blacks. There were sixty men, women, and children, and they were the
best set of blacks I ever saw together. I knew the most of them, and
all were well-behaved, except two rather ill-tempered fellows. General
Forman purchased some more, who had intermarried with his own, so as
not to separate families. They were all well fed and well clothed.
We had, I believe, four teams of four horses each, and one two-horse
wagon, all covered with tow-cloth, while Captain Osmun and I rode on
horseback. After the distressing scene of taking leave--for the
general's family and blacks were almost all in tears--we sat out upon
our long journey. The first night we camped on the plains near
Cranberry, having accomplished only about twelve or fifteen miles. The
captain and I had a bed put under one of the wagons; the sides of the
wagon had tenter-hooks, and curtains made to hook up to them, with
loops to peg the bottom to the ground. The colored people mostly slept
in their wagons. In the night a heavy rain fell, when the captain and
I fared badly. The ground was level, and the water, unable to run off,
gave us a good soaking. I had on a new pair of handsome buckskin small
clothes; the rain spoiled their beauty, and the wetting and subsequent
shrinkage rendered them very uncomfortable to wear.
The next morning we commenced our journey as early as possible. We
drove to Princeton, where we tarried awhile, and all were made
comfortable. We crossed the Delaware five miles above Trenton. On
arriving at Lancaster, in Pennsylvania, the authorities stopped us, as
we somewhat expected they would do. General Forman had furnished me
with all the necessary papers relating to the transportation of slaves
through New Jersey and Pennsylvania. While Judge Hubley was examining
the papers, the servant women informed me that the females of the
city came out of their houses and inquired of them whether they could
spin, knit, sew, and do housework, and whether they were willing to go
to the South; so, if the authorities stopped us, they could all soon
have new homes. But our colored women laughed at the Lancaster ladies,
who seemed mortified when they learned that we could not be detained.
In Westmoreland county we had a little trouble with a drunken justice
of the peace and some free blacks. These free blacks, as we learned
from a faithful old colored woman, furnished the two ill-tempered
blacks of our party with old swords and pistols, but nothing serious
grew out of it.
The weather began to grow very cold, the roads bad, and traveling
tedious. We encamped one night in the woods, kindled a fire, and
turned the tails of the wagons all inward, thus forming a circle
around the fire. Another night we came to a vacant cabin without a
floor; we made a large fire, and all who chose took their bedding and
slept in the cabin, some remaining in the wagons. The captain and I
had our beds spread before the fire.
One Saturday evening, we were apprehensive of being obliged to encamp
again in the woods. I went ahead, hoping to find night quarters. I
rode up to a log house and went in; it was growing dark, and I began
to ask the landlord to accommodate us for the night, addressing myself
to a tall, lean man. Before I got through with my inquiry, he caught
me up in his arms, as if I were merely a small child, and exclaimed:
"Mighty souls! if this is not little Sammy Forman," and, hugging and
kissing me, added, "Why, don't you remember Charley Morgan? Yes, you
can have any thing I have, and we will do the best we can for you."
This was somewhere in the Alleghany mountains, and here we remained
till Monday, buying wheat, and sending it to mill, and converting a
fat steer into meat, so that we were well provided for, for awhile.
This Charley Morgan entered the regular service as a corporal in my
brother Jonathan's company, when he was a captain, and raised his
company in the vicinity of Middletown Point, New Jersey. He could ape
the simpleton very well, and was sent as a spy into the British army,
and returned safe with the desired information. I was surprised to
meet him in this far-off mountain region.
Somewhere about Fort Littleton or Fort Loudon, our funds ran out. When
we left General Forman, he told me that Uncle Ezekiel Forman would
leave Philadelphia with his family, and overtake us in time to supply
our wants. But he did not start as soon as he expected, and on his way
in the mountains the top of his carriage got broken by a leaning tree,
which somewhat detained him, so that we arrived at Pittsburg two or
three days before him.
One morning, while in the neighborhood of Fort Littleton or Fort
Loudon, I offered to sell my horse to the landlord where we took
breakfast; he kept a store as well as a tavern, and was wealthy. The
price of the horse I put very low, when the landlord asked why I
offered him so cheap. I informed him that I was out of funds, and had
expected that Ezekiel Forman, who owned the colored people, would have
overtaken us before our means became exhausted. He replied: "I know
your uncle, and I will lend you as much money as you need, and take
your order on him, as he will stop here on his way. Now, step with me
to the store." Pointing to the large piles of silver dollars on the
counter in the store, he said: "Step up and help yourself to as much
as you want, and give me your order." This was an unexpected favor.
When uncle arrived, he satisfied the order.
It had taken us near three weeks to journey from Monmouth to
Pittsburg. After our arrival at this place, our first business was to
find situations for our numerous family, while awaiting the rise of
the Ohio, and to lay in provisions for our long river voyage. Colonel
Turnbull, late of Philadelphia, and an acquaintance of uncle, politely
offered him the use of a vacant house and store-room, exactly such
apartments as were wanted. The colored people were all comfortably
housed also.
The horses and wagons were sold at a great sacrifice--uncle retaining
only his handsome coach horses and carriage, which he took to Natchez
on a tobacco boat, which Captain Osmun commanded, and on board of
which the colored field hands were conveyed. These boats were
flat-bottomed, and boarded over the top, and appeared like floating
houses. Uncle's boat was a seventy feet keel-boat, decked over, with a
cabin for lodging purposes, but too low to stand up erect. The beds
and bedding lay on the floor, and the insides lined with plank to
prevent the Indians from penetrating through with their balls, should
they attack us. We had a large quantity of dry goods, and a few were
opened and bartered in payment for boats and provisions.
On board of the keel-boat, uncle and family found comfortable
quarters. Mr. and Mrs. Forman, Augusta, Margaret, and Frances, aged
about nine, eleven, and thirteen, and David Forman and Miss Betsey
Church, the latter housekeeper and companion for Aunt Forman, an
excellent woman, who had lived in the family several years, and
occasionally took the head of the table. I and five or six others, two
mechanics, and about eight or ten house servants, were also occupants
of this boat.
The family received much polite attention while in Pittsburg. By the
time we got prepared for our departure, the Ohio river rose. We
tarried there about a month. Both boats were armed with rifles,
pistols, etc. It being in Indian war time, all boats descending that
long river, of about eleven hundred miles, were liable to be attacked
every hour by a merciless foe, oftentimes led on by renegade whites.
Uncle fixed on a certain Sabbath, as was the custom in those days, to
embark on ship-board. On that day, the polite and hospitable Colonel
Turnbull, then a widower, gave uncle an elegant dinner, and invited
several gentlemen to grace the occasion with their presence. After
dinner, which was not prolonged, we embarked on board our little
squadron. Colonel Wm. Wyckoff, and his brother-in-law, Kenneth
Scudder, of Monmouth county, New Jersey, accompanied us on our voyage.
The colonel had been, seven years previous to this, an Indian trader,
and was now on his way to Nashville, Tennessee.
Uncle Forman's keel-boat, Captain Osmun's flat-boat, and Colonel
Wyckoff's small keel-boat constituted our little fleet. The day of our
departure was remarkably pleasant. Our number altogether must have
reached very nearly a hundred. The dinner party accompanied us to our
boats, and the wharf was covered with citizens. The river was very
high, and the current rapid. It was on the Monongahela where we
embarked.
Our keel-boat took the lead. These boats are guided by oars, seldom
used, except the steering oar, or when passing islands, as the current
goes about six or seven miles an hour. As the waters were now high,
the current was perhaps eight or nine miles an hour. Before day-break
next morning we made a narrow escape from destruction, from our
ignorance of river navigation. We had an anchor and cable attached to
our keel-boat. The cable was made fast to small posts over the
forecastle, where were fenders all around the little deck. When it
began to grow dark, the anchor was thrown over, in hopes of holding us
fast till morning, while the other boats were to tie up to trees along
the river bank.
As soon as the anchor fastened itself in the river bottom, the boat
gave a little lurch or side motion, when the cable tore away all the
frame-work around the deck, causing a great alarm. Several little
black children were on deck at the time, and as it had now become
quite dark, it could not be ascertained, in the excitement of the
moment, whether any of them had been thrown into the water.
Fortunately none were missing. During our confusion, Captain Osmun's
boat passed ours, a few minutes after the accident, and we soon passed
him, he hailing us, saying that he was entangled in the top of a large
tree, which had caved into the river, and requested the small row-boat
to assist him. Uncle Forman immediately dispatched the two mechanics,
with the small boat, to his assistance. Osmun got clear of the tree
without injury, and the two mechanics rowed hard, almost all night,
before they overtook him. Mrs. Forman and daughters braved out our
trying situation very firmly.
After we lost our anchor, Uncle Forman took a chair, and seated
himself on the forecastle, like a pilot, and I took the helm. He kept
watch, notifying me when to change the direction of the boat. When he
cried out to me, "port your helm," it was to keep straight in the
middle of the stream; if to bear to the left, he would cry out,
"starboard;" if to the right, "larboard." I was not able to manage the
helm alone, and had a man with me to assist in pulling as directed.
Uncle Forman and I were the only ones of our party who understood
sailor's terms. Ours was a perilous situation till we landed at
Wheeling; it was the most distressing night I ever experienced.
The next morning, all our boats landed at Wheeling, Virginia, rated at
ninety-six miles from Pittsburg. Here we obtained a large steering oar
for the keel-boat, as the strong current kept the rudder from acting,
without the application of great strength. Having adjusted matters, we
set out again. We seldom ventured to land on our journey, for fear of
lurking Indians.
One day, we discovered large flocks of wild turkeys flying about in
the woods on shore. The blacksmith, who was a fine, active young man,
asked Uncle Forman to set him on shore, and give him a chance to kill
some of them. The little boat was manned, and taking his rifle and a
favorite dog, he soon landed. But he had not been long on shore,
before he ran back to the river's bank, and made signs for the boat to
come and take him on board. When safely among his friends, he said
that he came to a large fire, and, from appearances, he supposed a
party of Indians was not far off. He, however, lost his fine dog, for
he dared not call him.
We landed and stopped at Marietta, at the mouth of the Muskingum,
where was a United States garrison. Some of the officers were
acquainted with the family. It was a very agreeable occurrence to meet
with old acquaintances in such a dreary place. The young ladies were
good singers, and entertained the officers awhile with their vocal
music. This night, we felt secure in sleeping away the fatigues of the
journey. Governor St. Clair had his family here. There were a few
other families, also; but all protected by the troops. I believe there
was no other settlement[7] until we arrived at Fort Washington, now
Cincinnati, some three hundred miles below Marietta.
[7] Mr. Forman forgot to mention Limestone, now Maysville,
Kentucky, some sixty miles above Cincinnati, an older settlement
by some four years than Marietta or Cincinnati. Perhaps it was
passed in the night, and unobserved. And Columbia, too, at the
mouth of the Little Miami, about six miles above Cincinnati, and
a few months its senior in settlement.
A few hundred yards above Fort Washington, we landed our boats, when
Uncle Forman, Colonel Wyckoff, and I went on shore, and walked up to
head-quarters, to pay our respects to General Harmar, the commander of
our troops in the North-western Territory. The general received us
with much politeness. As we were about taking leave of him, he kindly
invited us to remain and take a family dinner with him, observing to
Uncle, that we should have the opportunity of testing the
deliciousness of what he may never have partaken before--the haunch
of a fine buffalo. It being near dining hour, the invitation was, of
course, accepted. As the general and lady were acquainted with Uncle
and Aunt Forman in Philadelphia, they very politely extended their
kindness by asking that Uncle, Aunt, and their family, together with
Colonel Wyckoff and Brother-in-law Scudder and Captain Osmun, would
spend the next day with them, which was accepted with great pleasure.
General Harmar directed where to move our little fleet, so that all
should be safe under military guard. We then returned to our boats,
and conveyed them down to the appointed place.
The next morning, after breakfast, and after attending to our toilets,
we repaired to General Harmar's head-quarters, where we were all
received most cordially. Our company consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Forman,
their three daughters, and Master David Forman, Miss Church, Captain
Osmun, S. S. Forman, Colonel Wyckoff, and Mr. Scudder--eleven in all.
Mrs. Forman and Mrs. Harmar resembled each other as much as though
they were sisters. The general invited some of his officers to share
his hospitalities, also, and we had a most sumptuous dinner and tea.
Before it was quite dark, we took leave of our hospitable friends. I
had the honor of a seat at the table next to the general. While at
dinner, the officer of the day called on General Harmar for the
countersign, so as to place out the sentinels. Captain Kirby,[8] of
the army, who dined with us, was directed by the general to accompany
us on our return to our boats. Just before we came to the sentinel,
Captain Kirby asked us to halt, until he could advance and give the
countersign, which is done with much prudence. I sauntered along, and
happened to hear the challenge by the guard, and the reply of the
captain. The countersign was, I believe, "Forman."
[8] Neither the _Dictionary of the Army_, the _MS. Harmar
Papers_, nor the _Journal of Major Denny_, who was then an aide
to General Harmar, make any mention of a Captain Kirby. It is
probable, that William Kersey was the officer referred to. He
served in New Jersey during the Revolution, rising from a
private to a captaincy by brevet at the close of the war. At
this period, early in 1790, he was a lieutenant. Probably, by
courtesy of his rank and title in the Revolution, he was called
captain. He attained that rank the following year; major, in
1794; and died, March 21, 1800.
In the morning, Captain Osmun said to me, that, after paying our
respects to General Harmar, he wanted me to accompany him to the
quarters of the other officers, as he probably knew all of them; that
they were old continental officers retained in service, and he added:
"They all know your brother, Colonel Jonathan Forman,[9] of the
Revolution, and will be glad to see you on his account." We,
accordingly, after our interview with General Harmar, went to their
quarters. They recollected Captain Osmun, and he introduced me, when
they welcomed me most cordially, and made many inquiries after my
brother.
[9] Jonathan Forman was born October 16, 1755; was educated at
Princeton College, where he was a fellow-student with James
Madison, and entering the army in 1776 served as captain for
five years, during which he participated in Sullivan's campaign
against the hostile Six Nations; and, promoted to the rank of
major in 1781, he served under La Fayette in Virginia; and early
in 1783 he was made a lieutenant-colonel, and continued in the
army till the end of the war. He headed a regiment against the
whisky insurgents of West Pennsylvania in 1794, and two years
later he removed to Cazenovia, N. Y., where he filled the
position of supervisor, member of the legislature and
brigadier-general in the militia. He married Miss Mary Ledyard,
of New London, Conn., who "went over her shoe tops in blood," in
the barn where the wounded lay, the morning after Arnold's
descent on New London and Fort Griswold, on Groton Heights,
where her uncle, Colonel William Ledyard, was killed in cold
blood after his surrender. General Forman died at Cazenovia, May
25, 1809, in his sixty-fourth year, and his remains repose in
the beautiful cemetery at that place.
I think it was in the autumn of 1790 that General Harmar was defeated
by the Indians, and most of these brave officers were killed. At that
period officers wore three-cornered hats, and by that means nearly all
of them were singled out and killed, as they could be so easily
distinguished from others.
Some distance above Fort Washington, the Scioto river empties into the
Ohio. Near this river was a cave, which the whites had not discovered
till after Harmar's defeat. Here the Indians would sally out against
boats ascending the Ohio. A canoe passed us the day before we passed
the Scioto, which had been fired into at that point, one man having
been shot through the shoulder, another through the calf of the leg,
while the third escaped unhurt. When these poor fellows arrived at
Fort Washington, they waited for us. After our arrival, understanding
that we were going to tarry a day, they set off. Harmar's defeat
caused a French settlement near the Scioto to be broken up;[10] some
of them were killed by the Indians.
[10] The Gallipolis settlement was much annoyed by the Indians;
some of the poor French settlers were killed, others abandoned
the place, but the settlement was maintained, despite all their
trials and sufferings.
I must mention an anecdote about my friend, Captain Osmun. At the
battle of Long Island, and capture of New York by the British, many
American prisoners were taken, Captain Osmun among them. He pretended
to be a little acquainted with the profession of physic, but he never
studied it, and could bleed, draw teeth, etc. A German officer had a
very sick child, the case baffling the skill of all the English and
German physicians, and the child's recovery was given up as hopeless.
At last it was suggested to call in the rebel doctor. So Osmun was
sent for. He suppressed as well as he could his half-comical,
half-quizzical expression, and assumed a serious look; felt of the
child's pulse, and merely said he would prepare some pills and call
again. He accordingly did so, giving the necessary directions, and
promised to call at the proper time to learn the effect. When he
called the third time the child had grown much better, and finally
recovered. He said that all he did for the little sufferer was to
administer a little powder-post, mixed up with rye-bread, made into
little pills. He said he knew they could do no harm, if they did no
good, and regarded himself as only an instrument in the hands of the
Almighty in saving the child's life. The father of the child gave him
almost a handful of guineas. Prior to this occurrence he had, while a
prisoner, suffered for the necessaries of life, but thenceforward he
was able to procure needful comforts till his exchange.
The next morning, after our entertainment by General Harmar and lady,
we renewed our journey, floating rapidly down the Belle Riviere.
Nothing of moment occurred till our arrival at Louisville, at the
Falls of the Ohio. The weather now grew so severely cold, in the
latter part of January, 1790, that the river became blocked with ice.
Here we laid up, disembarked, and took a house in the village, the
front part of which was furnished for a store, which exactly suited
us, and which was gratuitously offered to Uncle Forman by a Mr. Rhea,
of Tennessee. We were remarkably fortunate in this respect, both here
and at Pittsburg.
Here I opened a store from our stock of goods, and took tobacco in
payment, which was the object in bringing the merchandise. Louisville
then contained about sixty dwelling-houses. Directly opposite was Fort
Jefferson,[11] which was, I believe, only a captain's command. At the
Great Miami was Judge Symmes's settlement,[12] which dragged heavily
along at that time, having been allowed only a sergeant's command for
its protection.
[11] This is evidently an error of memory; it was known as Fort
Steuben, located where Jeffersonville now is.
[12] Trivial circumstances sometimes change the fate of nations,
and so it would seem they do of cities also. North Bend might
have become the great commercial metropolis of the Miami country,
instead of Cincinnati, but for an affair of the heart, if we may
credit the tradition preserved by Judge Burnet in his _Notes on
the North-western Territory_. Ensign Francis Luce had been
detailed, with a small force, for the protection of the North
Bend settlement, and to locate a suitable site for a block-house.
While the ensign was keenly but very leisurely on the lookout for
a proper location, he made a discovery far more interesting to
him--a beautiful black-eyed lady, the wife of one of the settlers.
Luce became infatuated with her charms, and her husband, seeing
the danger to which he was exposed if he remained where he was,
resolved at once to remove to Cincinnati.
The gallant ensign was equal to the unexpected emergency, for he
now began to discover what he had not discovered before, that
North Bend was not, after all, so desirable a locality for the
contemplated block-house as Cincinnati, and forthwith apprised
Judge Symmes of these views, who strenuously opposed the movement.
But the judge's arguments were not so effective as the sparkling
eyes of the fair dulcinea then at Cincinnati. And so Luce and
his military force were transplanted in double-quick time to
Cincinnati; and where the troops were the settlers congregated
for their protection and safety. And so, the Queen City of the
West followed the fortunes of this unnamed forest queen, who so
completely beguiled the impressible ensign.
In this case there was no ten years' war, as in the case of the
beautiful Spartan dame, which ended in the destruction of Troy;
but, by Luce's infatuation and removal, North Bend was as much
fated as though the combined Indians of the North-west had
blotted it out of existence. Soon after this portentious
removal, Luce, on May 1, 1790, resigned from the army--whether
on account of his fair charmer, history fails to tell us. This
romantic story has been doubted by some, but Judge Burnet was an
early settler of Cincinnati, and had good opportunities to get
at the facts; and when I met the judge, fully forty years ago,
he seemed not the man likely to indulge in romancing. That
General Harmar, in forwarding Luce's resignation to the War
Office, seemed particularly anxious that it should be accepted,
would seem to imply that, for this intrigue, or some other
cause, the general was desirous of ridding the service of him.
Besides Symmes', there was no other settlement between Cincinnati and
Louisville, except that of a French gentleman named Lacassangue, a few
miles above Louisville, who began a vineyard on the Indian side of the
river; and one day Indians visited it, killing his people, and
destroying his vines.[13] Mr. Lacassangue was a polite, hospitable
man, and gave elegant dinners.