Doddridge County – 1810
While sitting down to a relaxing book about some of our county’s history as I do often, I found an interesting story involving a very brave Christopher Ash and his favorite hunting partner. I wanted to pass it on to our readers. I hope you enjoy it.
First, I should give you a little background history on Christopher Ash and his family. According to Hardesty’s Historical Encyclopedia, on page 300, Christopher’s parents, Adam and Catherine Yost Ash, settled on Gregory’s Run located in nearby Harrison County. However, their son, Christopher, was not satisfied with the hunting conditions there and went on to Doddridge County where the hunting was better. He later became a surveyor, and it is stated in one account that he accumulated about 20,000 acres of land, some of which was around Center Point and Ashley.
The following story was relayed to Alex Davisson by Levi Ash and was said to be a true story:
“It seems that when Christopher Ash and son, John, went from the Sardis section to live in Doddridge County, they met with some hardships because of the bears and other wild animals. Doddridge County was still a wilderness even around Center Point because this incident dates back to around 1810. The bears were numerous and since they had seen few, if any, human beings, they were not too much afraid. They often raided the settlers’ premises and carried away their livestock, particularly the hogs. The Ash family liked pork, but the bears made it almost impossible to raise hogs. The hogs could be kept in enclosures that protected them during the spring and summer seasons, but the problem arose when fattening time came in the autumn. Since there was insufficient corn for both the settler’s family and for fattening the hogs, the acorns from the oak trees were used instead of corn. The hogs, therefore, were turned loose in the woods. By cold weather, they would be roly-poly and fat enough to butcher, provided the wild animals had not destroyed them meantime. Levi Ash said as soon as the hogs were turned loose in the woods, the trouble would begin. The bears would begin carrying them off and devouring them. He said that on any day the herd of hogs might come running panic-stricken out of the woods and into the clearing. Then when the settler counted his hogs, one would be missing. Every few days this same thing would happen. The hogs would stampede back into the clearing with another member missing.
Finally, in desperation, the Ash family sought advice from a friend who lived farther westward down toward the Ohio River. Christopher Ash could have been visiting a brother named John who settled in the Sancho Valley of Tyler County. The friend said: “I’ll tell you what to do. Do this and you can raise hogs again.” He told them to keep one male hog until he was perhaps three or four years old and until he was large enough to have long tusks. Then the settler said to turn him out with the rest. This hog with the long tusks would take care of the bears,” he said.
Accordingly, the Ash family did as they had been advised and after three or four years it was decided the hog was as large as he would get, and his tusks were long and sharp. He was turned out with the rest and the herd disappeared, searching for acorns which they would find in abundance where the tall oaks grew. In a day or so, however, the herd appeared on the edge of the clearing, then came running like mad to safety. As usual, one was missing, and of all things, it was the protector himself that was gone! The father was exasperated and said: “Now you see how much dependence you can put in what people tell you. We have kept that hog all this time and he was the first one the bears took.”
On second thought, however, and for the sake of curiosity and revenge, Christopher decided to trail the bear. Gun in hand he proceeded as noiselessly as possibly through the trees. After a while he spied the bear some distance on ahead. The bear was sitting on top of a big rock with its back to the hunter, and lo and behold, down on the ground still very much alive was the angriest hog he had ever seen. Froth was running from the hog’s mouth as it went around and around the big rock upon which Bruin was sitting. The hunter raised his rifle, took careful aim, and shot the bear. When it rolled off the rock to the ground, the hog was after it in a twinkling and tore it to pieces with his sharp tusks. The fury of the hog was a sight not to be forgotten quickly. A hog in a rage is a fearful thing. All prudence and fear seem gone, and it attacks seemingly insensible to whatever the cost may be to itself. It appears to go temporarily insane and froths at the mouths at the mouth with demoniacal rage. On this occasion Ash was unable to stop the hog until the bear was ruined and made unusable.
When it was all over the hog followed his master back home and rejoined his herd. Levi said the bear problem was solved from then on, and for a long time. However, each fall, history repeated itself and the hogs could be expected any day or night to come rushing home in a panic, always with one missing. The family soon learned without county that the one missing would be the protector hog. Always the owner went to the aid of his hog. Whether it was day or night, he immediately took to the trail, and hunted until he found his hog. Always it was to find a bear treed or at bay. The hog would be there keeping watch and waiting for his master to come. Sometimes it might be as much as forty-eight hours before the hunter found them, but the hog would not quit his watch no matter how hungry he became. He would wait patiently (or impatiently) as long as necessary, holding the bear to the spot until help came. Then master and hog would go home together, side by side. Levi said this sort of thing went on until the hog became too old for combat, and finally died. He said that during the time the hog lived it treed twenty bears.
When Alex Davisson finished this story, he looked up and said: “I know this sounds fantastic, but I believe every word of it, because I know Levi Ash would not lie!”
SNAKE-DOGS IN EARLY TIMES
With the exception of the deer, the larger animals disappeared from the Ten Mile section about a hundred years ago (at the time of Levi Ash’s telling). The bears, panthers, and wild cats retreated westwardly as the forested areas were cleared. The snake, however, remained longer.
Rattlesnakes, though, have still been seen during this century. The copperhead snake and the black snake continued to be a menace. Almost every summer someone in the community was bitten by a poisonous copperhead snake. There were no snake serums at that time, so the treatment was to turn the mouth of a bottle of turpentine over the bleeding places where the snake’s fangs had cut into the flesh. The bottle was held tight against the would for a considerable length of time and before long, the poison injected by the snake would begin to discolor the turpentine as the venom was drawn out of the cuts. Prior to this turpentine treatment the would was isolated by a tightly wound bandage between the wound and the heart. This was to prevent the poison from entering the bloodstream, in so far as possible. Dogs were often bitten and usually it was on the head.
In such cases the head usually became swollen to twice the usual size. The treatment was sweet milk and the juice from a certain plant called the Snake Weed. It grows along streams in wooded places. The plant can be recognized because the leaf is about the size of a snake’s head, and it resembles one in shape, according to Cecil Fisher, a lumbermill operator, who brought a specimen of this plant to the writers. The dogs that were properly treated, usually but not always recovered. A dog that had been bitten and had recovered seemed to possess a burning hatred for snakes. He would hunt and kill them relentlessly. The dogs at that time were not worthless but were valuable assets. Our forefathers trained their dogs and did not make playthings out of them. An older dog was usually used to train the younger ones. To watch one of the snake-dogs fight a poisonous copperhead was a remarkable experience.
The writer, O. B. Morris, remembered seeing this happen on one occasion. It took place about the year 1909. A copperhead had been seen several times on the premises and near the dwelling house of his childhood home. One day one of the small children was found playfully jabbing at this coiled snake with his finger. It could have bitten him, but had not. The mother, Julia Ash Morris, sent a message for help to her father, Levi Ash, who lived in Doddridge County.
In a few days, he paid them a visit, bringing with him one of his snake-dogs. When he returned home, he left the dog. Already there had been a series of fights between this dog and any snakes he could find. Day after day, he hunted them down, until finally his circle had widened to take in the surrounding fields and meadows. One afternoon, he became aware there was a snake in a rock pile. His excited barking caused a young lad to investigate the cause. The little black dog was circling a large rock pile, trying to locate the snake. Finally, he leaped upon the pile and began kicking the big rocks out of his way. At last, the snake could be seen as it lay coiled, and still protected by the rocks. Since the dog could remove no more rocks without being bitten, this was a real problem. However, he seemed not too much perplexed. Jumping back and forth, he barked fast and furiously. It seemed that he was tormenting the snake and trying to get it angry. The snake raised its head into striking position and waited.
It could have run away into a hole in the ground, but instead remained motionless. Probably it knew that it had all the advantage in the battle. The dog must do the attacking and the dog could fight only with his head. By this time both seemed to realize this was a fight to the death. Sooner or later the dog must lunge and try to grab the snake, if possible. Then the snake would strike with great swiftness. The dog had one advantage.
This was the element of surprise. The snake could never know exactly when would come that final lunge. Only the dog knew that. The barking and jumping continued for two or three minutes. Then, suddenly the dog leaped toward the snake, but veered to the side at exactly the right instant to avoid the spring of the snake. The snake had leaped through the rocks but had missed the dog. This was what the dog wanted. Moving so fast the human eye could scarcely follow, the dog was on the snake before it could recoil and had caught it just behind its head. He pulled the snake out of the rocks and started shaking it. Its body flew from side to side so fast that the movements almost blended together. Perhaps every bone in the snake’s body was broken by the gyrations. When it was safe to do so, the dog put the lifeless snake down, watching it as he regained his breath.
Learning by hard experience, these dogs became uncanny in the ability to remove the snake menace.”
Levi Ash’s little black dog had done its job well and was able to go home to his master and live to fight another day.
These kinds of family stories fill the family histories throughout our county, state, and nation. It’s important that we document them for future generations. Do you have a story you’d like to share? Just call me at 304 873-1540 or email me at: [email protected]. I’d love to share it for you.
Until next time, God bless & always remain humble.
Patricia Richards Harris