of war, but they were very like mere murders, and one
of Wetzel's exploits could hardly be called anything but murder. General
Har-mar in 1779 had invited the Indians to come and make peace with him
in the fort near where Marietta now stands. Wetzel and another Indian
fighter lay in wait for the envoys who passed from the tribes to the
general, and in pure wantonness, shot one. He then took refuge with his
friends at Mingo Bottom, where the officer sent by Harmar to arrest
him, dared not even attempt it. Wetzel was the hero and darling of the
border, where the notion of punishing a man for shooting an Indian was
laughed at. But after a while he was taken, and lodged, heavily ironed,
in the fort. He sent for the general and asked him to give him up, with
a tomahawk, to a large band of armed Indians present, and let him fight
for his life with them. Of course Harmar could not do this, but Wetzel
won upon him so far that the general had his fetters removed, leaving
only the manacles on his wrists, and allowed him to walk about outside
the fort. He made a sudden dash for the woods; the guards fired upon
him, but Wetzel got safely away; and at a distant point he reached the
Ohio. He could not swim, with his hands in irons, but by good luck he
saw a friend on the Virginia shore, who came in answer to his signs and
set him over in his canoe. Later the soldiers found him in a tavern
at Marysville, and arrested him again. He was taken to the fort at
Cincinnati, where Harmar was now in command, but he was released by a
judge of the court just in time to save the fort from an attack by
the backwoodsmen, who were furious that Wetzel should be so persecuted
simply for killing an Indian.

One of the stories told of Wetzel's skill in Indian warfare relates to
an adventure he had after his escape from hanging by the soldiers. He
was coming home at the end of a hunt in the Ohio woods when he saw an
Indian lifting up his gun to fire. Each sprang behind a tree, and each
waited patiently for the other to expose himself. At last Wetzel put his
bearskin cap on his ramrod, and pushed it a little beyond the edge of
his shelter. The Indian took it for his enemy's head and fired. Before
he could load again Wetzel was upon him, and his end had come.

It is not easy for us at this day to understand how a man so
blood-stained as this should be by no means the worst man of the border.
Wetzel is said to have been even exemplary in his life apart fro