Copus Massacre - Definition

The Copus Massacre

September 15, 1812

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Image:Copus hill marker.jpg

-From the book "A History of Richland County" by A. A. Graham, 1880-

When Mr. James Copus and family had remained about five days at the block-house, they became tired of staying, and, hearing nothing of the Indians, determined to return. Having always enjoyed their respect and confidence, and having always been their firmest friend, he felt that they could harbor no ill will toward him or his family. Capt. Martin protested against his return, saying that in the present excited state of affairs lie would be running great risk. As Mr. Copus insisted on going, nine soldiers were detailed to accompany him. Mr. Copus had seven children, mostly small. They all arrived safely at the cabin and found everything as they had left it. In the evening, Mr. Copus invited the soldiers to sleep in the cabin but, the weather being yet warm they preferred to take quarters in the barn, which stood four or five rods north of the cabin on the trail,* that they might have a better opportunity to indulge in frolic and fun and be less crowded and under less restraint. Before retiring, Mr. Copus cautioned them against surprise by any Indians that might be lurking about. During the afternoon, Sarah a little daughter of Mr. Copus, aged twelve still living (November 1879), went into the corn-field a few rods south of the cabin and while there saw an Indian in the edge of the woods skulk behind a brush-heap but, unfortunately, did not relate the circumstance to her father. This child, now Mrs. Sarah Vail. aged seventy-nine, says the reason why she did not tell her father of her discovery is that he was a very strict man in regard to truth and fearing she might have been deceived, did not wish to incur his displeasure by creating a false alarm.

That night the dogs kept up a constant barking, and Mr. Copus had many unpleasant dreams -sleeping but little. He was evidently impressed that danger was lurking near. Before daylight, he invited the soldiers into the cabin, telling them he feared some great disaster was about to overtake himself and family. He again laid down to rest and when daylight began to appear, the soldiers insisted on going to the spring about three rods away to wash. This spring is one of the finest of the many fine springs in Mifflin. It gushes from the base of a

• A barn occupies the same spot still, and the trail is now a well-traveled road.

hill several hundred feet high, in a large, glittering current of pure soft water. Mr. Copus again cautioned the soldiers of impending danger, telling them that Indians were certainly in the neighborhood or his dogs would not have made such a noise and urged them to take their guns with them to the spring. They promised to do so but, on passing out leaned them against the cabin and went on to the spring. Fatal mistake! The Indians, who had been lurking about the cabin all night., were watching for just such an opportunity as this. Swiftly, silently, stealthily, as a cat creeps upon its prey they closed in upon the doomed cabin and before the soldiers were aware of their presence, were between them and their guns; then came the horrid war-whoop as a score or more of painted warriors rushed upon them with tomahawk and scalping-knife. It seems that only seven of the soldiers went to the spring to wash, the other two-George Luntz and another whose name is not given-were not probably just ready to wash and were in the cabin when the attack was made. Of the seven at the spring, three were instantly killed. Three more whose names were George Shipley, John Tredrick and a Mr. Warnock, finding retreat to the cabin impossible fled to the woods. These were pursued by the Indians and two of them tomahawked ; the third. Mr. Warnock. being fleet on foot might have escaped, but could not outrun a bullet. They fired at him many times while running one of the halls finally passing through his bowels. The Indians were not aware they had shot him and gave up the chase. He only went a short distance, however, when, growing weak from loss of blood, he sat down by a tree, stuffed his handkerchief in the wound and died.

The only soldier who regained the cabin was Mr. George Dye, who broke through the mass of savages and sprang through the cabin door just as it was opened by Mr. Copus. He however, received a hall through his thigh as he entered. As soon as the attack commenced.

Mr. Copus sprang from his bed, seized his gun and rushed to the door. Just as he opened it George Dye sprang through and a volley of rifle balls came with him. One of these balls gave Mr. Copus a mortal wound, passing through his breast. Mr. Copus had raised his rifle and just as he was wounded, fired at an Indian but a few feet away, who fell. The ball that caused Mr. Copus death passed through the strap that supported his powder-horn. This horn is yet in possession of the family: it is a large, handsome one and a rare relic. Mr. Copus fell and was conveyed to his bed, where he breathed his last in about an hour, while encouraging the soldiers to fight the enemy, and, if possible save his family. On the east of the cabin extended a range of hills several hundred feet high, covered with timber and huge rocks, which furnished an excellent cover for the enemy and gave them a position from which they could fire down upon the cabin; they were not long in seeking this cover and from their secure hiding places, poured down upon the cabin a perfect storm of leaden hail. The door and roof were soon riddled with bullets. The soldiers tore up the puncheons of the floor and placed them against the door to prevent the balls from penetrating to the interior of the cabin. Nancy Copus, a little girl was wounded in the knee by a hall that passed through the door. One of the soldiers, George Launtz, had his arm broken by a hall while up-stairs removing the chinking in order to get a "crack" at an Indian. He soon caught sight of an Indian peering from behind a medium-sized oak that stood on the side of the hill about a hundred yards away and taking, deliberate aim shot the savage who bounded into the air and rolled to the foot of the hill into the trail.

The firing became incessant on both sides wherever the soldiers could make or find a place to fire through they returned the Indian fire with precision and effect. One savage fell mortally wounded directly in front of the cabin, early in the engagement, whether from the ball from the rifle of Mr. Copus is not known. During the battle he was endeavoring to crawl toward the trail, and, although moaning and evidently dying, he attempted several times to elevate his rifle in order to discharge it upon the cabin, but his strength failed him. A soldier, seeing him attempting to shoot, sent a friendly bullet to ease him of his earthly cares and anxieties. He was shot through the head.

The battle lasted from daybreak until about 9 or 10 o'clock, when the savages, finding they could accomplish nothing more, raised the retreating yell, gathered up their dead and wounded (one account says nine in number) and left first firing upon a flock of sheep, which, during that eventful morning, had huddled together upon the brow of the hill, looking down in strange bewilderment upon this scene of bloodshed. The poor affrighted animals tumbled down the hill, one after another, until they lay in a heap at the bottom.

As soon as the Indians disappeared, one of the soldiers crawled out through the roof of the cabin. and made all possible haste to the block-house at Beam's for assistance. The day before, Capt. Martin had agreed to call at the Copus cabin the same evening with a number of soldiers and remain all night. But he and his soldiers, having been scouting all day and finding no signs of Indians, concluded that all apprehensions of danger were frivolous, therefore neglected to appear as agreed. He encamped above, on the Black Fork, and, on the morning of the disaster, moved leisurely down the trail from the direction of Ruffner's, reaching the scene of the fight too late to aid in the fearful struggle. On approaching the cabin, he and his soldiers were awe-stricken on beholding the work of death around them. They attended at once to the wounded, and the grief-stricken family of Mr. Copus, who were weeping over the murdered husband and father. Search was made for the Indians but, from the trail throughthe weeds that grew luxuriantly around the base of the hill, it was found that they had retreated around the southern brow of the bluff, gone up a ravine about a quarter of a mile away, and fled in the direction of Quaker Springs, in Vermillion Township. and hence pursuit was abandoned.

Mr. Copus and the murdered soldiers were buried by the command in one grave, at the foot of an apple-tree, a few yards south of the cabin, where their bones yet repose. Capt. Martin then took the family and wounded and began his march to the block-house. Proceeding up the valley about half a mile, they halted for the night, placing pickets about the camp to prevent surprise. In all, there were about one hundred persons in this camp that night. The wounded were carried on poles, over which linen sheets had been sewed, making a sort of stretcher. The next morning the little army passed up the trail, near the deserted cabin of Martin Ruffner ; crossing the Black Fork about where the State road is now located; that being the route by which Martin had advanced. The whole party reached the block-house in safety that evening. About six weeks after this, Henry Copus and five or six soldiers returned to the cabin, and, on their way, found Mr. Warnock leaning against a tree, as before stated, dead. They buried him near by. The two dead Indians, the one in the front yard and the one at the foot of the hill below the oak, were still there, and were, doubtless; afterward devoured by wolves.

Thus ends the last tragedy of the Greentown Indians. Their reasons for killing the Zimmer family have been noticed. Their reasons for killing Mr. Copus probably were that he had been instrumental in getting them removed; that is, fearing bloodshed, he had used his influence to get them away peaceably, on promise that their property should be protected. Finding their village destroyed, they entertained bitter and revengeful feelings toward Mr. Copus. As to the number of Indians engaged, nothing whatever is known. It was found on examination of the neighborhood of the Copus cabin, that forty-five fires had been kindled, just south of the corn-field, near where Sarah had seen the Indian. These fires had been kindled in small holes, scooped out of the ground to prevent their being seen. Mrs. Vail thought the Indians had feasted on roasted corn the evening before the attack. Some writers upon this subject have inferred from the number of fires that there were forty-five Indians engaged in the attack. This reasoning is erroneous, as Indians have frequently been known to build fires for the purpose of deceiving their enemies; and, on the other hand, half a dozen Indians might have used one fire.

Mrs. Copus and her family were removed to Guernsey County, Ohio, by Joseph Archer and George Carroll. They were hauled through the forest to Clinton, Newark, Zanesville and Cambridge, by a yoke of cattle, in an ordinary cart. The journey consumed many days, during which most of the family were compelled, on little food, to walk over a rough path, wade small streams, encamp by the wayside, and always in fear of being pursued and captured by the savages. They returned in 1815, and found their cabin as they had left it. A few of the Greentown Indians had also returned and re-erected their cabins, but peace had come by that time, and changed, somewhat, the savage nature of their Indian neighbors, with whom they ever after lived in peace and friendship.

There are yet a few mementos of that battle on the Black Fork remaining. A single log of the old cabin remains, and is doing duty in a smokehouse on the premises. The oak, behind which the Indian was shot still stands on the hillside, its top partly dead. A neat frame house stands a few feet west of where the cabin stood, and is occupied by Mr. John W. Vail. The spot is a lovely one. To the east, the steep, precipitoushill rises abruptly, and is yet covered with timber and great rocks. It is several hundred feet high, and from its base still gush the waters of the beautiful spring, just as they did on that fatal morning when its waters were dyed with human blood. Half a mile south, on the Black Fork, lives Mrs. Sarah Vail, in a cabin alone, which she has occupied fifty-five years. She and her sister, Amy Whetmore, now living in Seneca County, are the only surviving members of the Copus family, and were witnesses of the battle. Mrs. Vail was eighty years old January 1, 1880. Her mind is still clear and strong, and she has a vivid recollection of that fearful tragedy.

After the war, the Indians came straggling back, to occupy their old hunting-grounds, although but few of them had any fixed residence.

One day, two of them-young men-by the name of Seneca John and Quilipetoxe, came to Mansfield, became intoxicated and quarreled with some white men at William's tavern, before mentioned, which stood on the present site of the North American.

They left about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, and, shortly after, were followed by the white men, who vowed vengeance. They overtook them a mile east of town, shot them down, and buried them at the foot of a large maple at the edge of a swamp, thrusting their bodies down deep into the mud. The skeletons are probably there yet. The place is known as "Spook Hollow."