Last week we learned about the early years of Jesse Hughes’ life on the frontier. Before I continue, I must include the fact that it has been stated by some well-meaning, informed, possibly misinformed individuals that men like Christopher Gist, Lewis Wetzel, Thomas Cresap, Simon Kenton, and so many others, Jesse Hughes was nothing more than vicious cold-blooded killers.
I shall not defend or condemn these frontiersmen, but I believe it is important for us all to understand that at this time and place on the American frontier, the world in which our ancestors lived was vicious, violent, and in many cases, merciless. Death was a constant unwanted companion. Without a doubt, there were horrible atrocities on both sides. If ever there was a time when the old adage “Only the strong survive” was the reality, that period in our history was that time, indeed. In most cases it was, at the very least, a time when the gentle and the meek survived only through the grace and protection of the strongest of the strong’s defense of them. My great grandfather was ¾ Cherokee making this story exceedingly difficult to write.
I believe the best description of Jesse Hughes was offered by Lucullus V. McWhorter in his book, The Border Settlers of Northwestern Virginia. McWhorter wrote, “With (Samuel) Pringle’s band of prospectors of 1769, came a youth of about nineteen – Jesse Hughes. He was of Welsh extraction, slight in his proportions, and light and active in his movements. He possessed a form as erect as that of an Indian and had endurance and fleetness of limb that no man of his day surpassed. His height was about five feet and nine inches, and his weight never exceeded one hundred and forty-five pounds. He had thin lips, a narrow chin, a nose that was sharp and inclined to the Roman form, little or no beard, light hair, and eyes of that indefinable color that one person would pronounce grey, another blue, but which was both – and neither. They were piercing, cold, fierce, and as penetrating and restless as those of the mountain panther. He was of an irritable, vindictive, and suspicious nature, and his hatred, when aroused, knew no bounds. Yet it is said that he was true to those who gained his friendship.”
Alexander Scott Withers wrote in his book, Chronicles of Border Warfare, “The others of the party (William Hacker, Thomas and Jesse Hughes, John and William Radcliff and John Brown) appear to have employed their time exclusively in hunting, neither of them making any improvement of land for his own benefit. Yet they were of considerable service to the new settlement. Those who had commenced clearing land were supplied by them with an abundance of meat, while in their hunting excursions through the country, a better knowledge of it was obtained than could have been acquired, had they been engaged in making improvements.”
In an effort to be unbiased, I must include an interview with lady who was claimed to have known Jesse Hughes in her youth, she said, “Hughes’ countenance was hard, stern, and unfeeling; his eyes were the most cruel and vicious I ever saw. He was profane and desperately wicked. He was very superstitious. His temper was fierce and uncontrollable. He never worked but spent his time in hunting and scouting. His clothing was colored in the ooze made from the bark of the chestnut oak; he would wear no other color, this shade harmonizing with the forest hues and rendering him less conspicuous to game and Indians. When scouting, his dress consisted only of the long hunting shirt, belted at the waist, open leggings, moccasins, and a brimless cap; or a handkerchief bound about his head. Thus dressed, he was ever ready for the chase, or the trail of the Indian foe. His mode of dress as described above has been amply verified from other sources. When Indian incursions were expected, Jesse Hughes wore his hunting shirt both day and night, without regard to weather.”
In June of 1772, the Stroud family was living several miles south of Bull Town in Braxton County, VA (now WV). Adam Stroud was not at home when the Shawnee Indian party slewed his entire family and stole his cattle. The trail used by the Indians led in the direction of Bull Town. Settlers, Jesse Hughes, Will Hacker, William White, John Cutright and at least one other man unnamed heard about the Stroud massacre and organized a five-man armed expedition. It was reported that everyone in the Indian village of Bull Town was killed and thrown into the Little Kanawha. Other accounts say that Chief Bull and his family were not slain on the raid, that he and his family had already moved north of the Ohio to join other Indians they knew.
On U.S. 19 just before crossing the Little Kanawha River, there is a historical marker that reads, “Bulltown. Important point in plan of Washington to establish water transportation to West. Salt was made here as early as 1792. Attack of whites in 1772 upon Chief Bull’s village was among the causes of Dunmore’s War.”
In about 1790, at the time when Jesse Hughes was living in the Clarksburg area, some Indians came to the area to steal and plunder. During the event, an Indian stole Hughes’ horse. Jesse saw the Indian mount the horse and speed off.
Shortly after, several of the settlers took after the Indians to get back the stolen horses. Another unnamed man was made leader before Jesse joined the group. Their captain and some others wanted to follow the Indian trails. However, Jesse Hughes, knowing the Indians the way he did, told them that it would not be a wise thing to do. He told them that the Indians would drop off a rear guard to lay in wait and ambush them. Jesse argued that they should circle the Indians and head them off at the point where they usually crossed the Ohio River. But the leader pulled rank and over-ruled Hughes’ suggestion. He told Hughes if he was too cowardly to follow them that he could go home with the rest of the cowards. Hughes swallowed his pride and the jealous insult and said he’d go along with them.
After traveling but a few miles, the Indians did exactly what Hughes told them they would do. Where the trail ran down a ravine, two Indians lay in ambush. As the pursuing white men came along the winding trail, the Indians did something to make a noise so that Jesse and the men came to a quick halt. This was what the Indians were waiting for and in the split second of the sudden stop, two of the whites were mortally wounded. By the time the white men changed course, the Indians had fled.
All the men in the party then agreed that the plan of Jesse Hughes’ was better than the one they were employing. Some were left to care for the wounded and the remainder moved onward. In the meantime, the Indians reached the Ohio River and crossed it. All but Hughes felt it was foolish to cross the Ohio after the Indians and were turning back home. Hughes then said he wanted to find out who in the group were cowards. He wanted to know if any of them would cross the river with him to kill and scalp Indians.
All refused. The story is that Hughes said he would go alone and return with an Indian scalp or two or leave his scalp with the Indians for the effort. Hughes crossed the Ohio River and located the Indian camp. The camp was empty, save for a single Indian. Hughes assumed the others were out hunting. He crept up on the Indian, shot him, and scalped him. Then with the Indian’s scalp fastened to his belt, he made his way back home to prove his prowess. (Please keep in mind the total brutality of the western frontier at the time Jesse Hughes and the others lived and died. It was vicious and unforgiving.)
In his book, History of the Early Settlement and Indian Wars of Western Virginia, Dr. Willis DeHass wrote, “At a time of great danger from the incursions of the Indians, when the citizens of the neighborhood were in a fort at Clarksburg, Hughes one morning observed a lad very intently fixing his gun. ‘Jim’, said he, ‘what are you doing that for?’ ‘I am going to shoot a turkey that I hear gobbling on the hillside,’ said Jim. ‘I hear no turkey,’ said the other. ‘Listen,’ said Jim: ‘there, didn’t you hear it? Listen again.’ ‘Well,’ says Hughes, after hearing it repeated, ‘I’ll go and kill it.’ ‘No, you won’t,’ said the boy, ‘it is my turkey; I heard it first.’ ‘Well,’ said Hughes, ‘but you know I am the best shot. I’ll go and kill it and give you the turkey.’ The lad demurred but at length agreed. Hughes went out of the fort on the side that was farthest from the supposed turkey, and passing along the river, went up a ravine and cautiously creeping through the bushes behind the spot, came in whence the cries issued, and, as he expected, espied a large Indian sitting on a chestnut stump, surrounded by sprouts, gobbling, and watching if anyone would come from the fort to kill the turkey. Hughes shot him before the Indian knew of his approach, took off the scalp, and went into the fort, where Jim was waiting for his prize.
‘There now,’ says Jim, ‘you have let the turkey go. I would have killed it if I had gone.’
‘No,’ says Hughes, ‘I didn’t let it go,’ and, taking out the scalp, threw it down. ‘There, take your turkey, Jim, I don’t want it.’
The lad was overcome, and nearly fainted to think of the certain death he had escaped.
It was Jesse Hughes’ experience and keen knowledge of the ways of the Indian that had saved the lad’s life and the boy knew it.
In 1793, the Indians killed a cow and ate it. The cow belonged to Jesse Hughes. The frontiersmen might never have known who committed the act if not for the cow’s bell they took with them. One afternoon they rattled the cow’s bell on the mountainside above the fort. Some said to Jesse that his cow was coming home. Hughes replied that he would make the bell ring for something the next morning.
As nightfall came, he hid himself on the mountain where he had heard the bell ringing that afternoon. As soon daylight dawned, he heard the bell again. He crept toward the sound. Having gone but a short distance, he discovered two Indians, one large, one smaller in size. The big Indian was standing with his gun raised, ready for instant use, and the smaller one was going about on his hands and knees, with the bell on his neck, rattling it like a cow would if grazing in the woods. Hughes shot the big Indian and the small one ran. Jesse dropped his gun, grabbed the one belonging to the dead Indian and pursuing the other Indian, soon came up with him and shot him.
The gun Hughes had taken from the fallen Indian was discovered as belonging to Benjamin Carpenter (killed by the same two Indians that spring) and it along with the powder horn and shot pouch were returned to the Carpenter family.
As the population grew, Jesse again felt the need to move to the very edges of the frontier. He left his place on Hacker’s Creek in the fall of 1797. With his family, livestock, and his personal belongings he moved overland to that area around Vincennes, in the present State of Indiana. Several years later he moved into eastern Kentucky and finally came back to West Virginia. Born on Elk Creek, Augusta County, VA (WV), married and settled on Hacker’s Creek in 1771 or 72. Then moved to Wabash, IN about 1797 or 1798, but moved back east to KY in 1798. In 1799 he moved back to Jackson County, VA (WV) on Turkey Run. After 1799, he moved to Sandyville, Jackson County and settled on Sand Creek near Ravenswood, Jackson County.
Jesse Hughes’ final days were spent living with his daughter and son-in-law, George W. and Nancy Agnes Hughes Henshaw, at the mouth of Turkey Creek near Ravenswood in Jackson County, WV. He died on or about the end of September or the first of October of 1829 when it is said that he picked up his rifle and ventured out to go squirrel hunting in the woods that he loved so much. Soon, he sat down for a rest and death came quietly to him. He died as he would have wanted… alone in the woods with his rifle, and with his boots on his feet. He was 79 years old.
Forever humble. God bless.
Patricia Richards Harris
Doddridge County Historical Society