"...I trusted in the Almighty… I knew I could only be killed once,
and I had to die sometime."
-Anne Bailey, 1823

Thursday, February 21

Anne's Story


Greetings to all who may be interested,

I am Anne Bailey, born 1742 in Liverpool England, I traveled to this country, settled outside of Staunton, Virginia, married Richard Trotter and had a son we named William. October 10, 1774 my life was irrevocably changed when my dearest husband was killed at the battle of Point Pleasant. I found myself unable to take care of our young seven year old son and gave him up to the care of a neighboring family, Mrs. and Mr. Moses Mann. 
"Coming Home No More" by John Buxton

Thus doubly grieved, I set out on my own to recruit men to fight against first the red devils who plagued us on the frontier and later against the red coats - Yes, my own country men! Over time I also became a huntress, a spy and a fine scout. 

Image by Harold Jerrell

I was reputed to have been an Indian killer, a charge I'll neither credit nor deny.
Image with Tim Jarvis



I had the short lived pleasure of marrying again, to a Ranger named John Bailey. my happiness was, as I said short lived. 
Image with Kendall Thomson


In 1791 Fort Lee was under attack by the Shawnee, I shall never forget Colonel Clendenen announcing to the assembled men and women forted up within the safety of the fort's walls, that we were out of gun powder - the powder magazine was empty! 
"Defiance" by Steve White


I waited to hear one strong young man volunteer to travel the nearly 100 miles to Fort Savannah in Lewisburg, but none did! Finally I stepped forward and offered to make the dangerous ride. many who were there recall me saying I trusted in the Almighty, could only be killed once and I had to die sometime! I made that ride all two hundred miles, alone at nearly fifty years old!


I returned to the cheers and cries of Huzzah huzzah huzzah, we fought off those damn Indians and Fort Lee was saved! 
Image by Harold Jerrell


Later, they changed the name of Fort Lee to Charlestown and the great territory of Virginia was divided to include West Virginia and of course you know Charleston became the capital. My life was never easy, my dearest John Bailey was murdered, taken away from me too soon. I was still delivering messages and letters when the Treaty of Greenville was signed and we were told the Indian Wars were over. hmph! over? How is a war ever over when everything you've had and everything you've loved has been lost in that war? 
Image by Harold Jerrell
In any case one must make their way and so I did. You may have even heard tell of my delivering a gaggle of domesticated geese to the Kanawah Valley? indeed, times were tough, I told my tale of sorrow at many a home trading stories for a dram of whiskey, i do love my whiskey! I've even been known as a bit of a pugilist.





In my late 70s I made a home of sorts in a cave near 13 mile creek and there I stayed, making the local folk come to me if they wanted a tale of sorrow for the trade of a bit of bread or a wee dram. It was while living there in that wretched cave in 1818 my William came back to me. You see he had never forgotten his mother. He begged me to come to the Ohio Valley to join him and his family. ahhh, a family. I had grandchildren!! dear little ones to spend my last years with.

Image by Luann Houser
Image by Harold Jerrell

I left the beautiful Kanawha River Valley for Gallipolis in the Ohio Valley, William and I built a tiny little cabin for me to live in. I lived for a few very happy years within the loving comfort of my family. On November 22, 1825 I climbed into my bed with two of my beautiful granddaughters and finally went to rest in peace.



Monday, January 14

The Hunch and Scrunch Scout



The summer heat was more than oppressive; it was horrific, it was horrible, it was heinous! My shift clung wetly to my back and the sun hadn't even come up. I pulled my stockings up, fastened my garters and slipped my feet into my shoes, trying hard to keep my toes from poking through the holes in the bottom. My stocking heels had long since worn through, but fortunately my shoes were quite comfortable and wouldn't rub, even on the long journey before me. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted up into the cabin’s loft, causing me to hurry a bit more while lacing my stays. Once tied off at the top, I dropped my lightest weight petticoats over my head, slipped my arms into a shortgown, tied my apron ‘round my waist and finally tied my hair up into a scrap of cloth. Another long bead of sweat ran down my back, just one of many more to come I was sure.
               Coming down from the Morgan’s loft brought an immediate, but short lived relief from the heat. As hot as it was, I didn't deny the cup of coffee Mr. Morgan set before me.  Mr. Morgan, proprietor of Moon Valley Traders and I were joining a small group of men to explore the viability of traveling the last 20 miles of the Blue River and gaining access to the Ohio. We believed the area to be relatively safe for travel via canoe, but wanted to determine if it would be passable for families traveling by flatboat.


               My sleep sluggish mind was wandering when a certain mug caught my eye. It appeared to be made by my dear friend Mr. Jay Henderson, the potter. Still more than half asleep, I reached without thinking, picked up the mug, and turned it upside down to see the maker’s mark. 
J. Henderson Artifacts
Of course, not having had my own cup of coffee yet, my brain had not quite woken up and it certainly didn’t recognize the fact that the mug under scrutiny was, in fact, FULL of Mistress Morgan’s coffee! Nonetheless, recognized or not, the coffee was, in fact there, or at least it was; until I turned the mug upside down and I poured the hot coffee on my feet, skirts and the floor! Suddenly, I was wide awake and screeching as hot coffee filled my right shoe. Fortune was with me and the coffee quickly ran out the hole in the bottom of my shoe barely scalding my toes along the way.  Mortified, my eyes immediately searched the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Morgan to see how my folly had affected them. Thankfully, they were nearly falling upon the floor laughing. I just shook my head, swiped a towel from the table and set about cleaning my mess whilst they continued to laugh.
The Morgan's ~ Proprietors of Moon Valley Trade Company 
               Once fully fortified with coffee, Mr. Morgan and I set off into the darkness to begin our journey. Time passed quickly as we traveled in comfortable conversation. Just as the sun began to peek over the horizon Mr. Morgan rudely broke right into the middle of the Great Moccasin Mishap story exclaiming, “Where are we and how did we end up here?”

Apparently, so engrossed were we in the story of when I had burned an Indian's moccasin, we’d completely missed a turning and had gone several miles past our destination. Knowing our friends Josh and Pit would be impatiently waiting for our arrival hurried us along as we renegotiated our route. Finally, only a few minutes passed the determined time, we arrived at our destination to find Josh, Pit, and Pit’s dear wife Connie. Guns, foodstuffs, and supplies were quickly stowed, and soon we were off shore, paddling along the shallows of the Blue River, waving goodbye to Connie.


The rising sun sparkled off the water, fish jumped, and squirrels chided us for disturbing their morning routine. Together, our tiny flotilla of four people in 3 boats slid through the water in relative silence, each of us enjoying the place and time in our own way.  The heat of the day pressed upon us as we paddled our way along the river’s edge and as predicted my stays were soaked through well before nine in the morning.  Of course, the first time I remarked upon the heat Mr. Morgan was kind enough to cool me down instantly with a paddle splash of water! Pit and Josh instantly removed themselves from our immediate area as a splash war ensued. The winner of this war would be impossible to determine as we both ended up with mass casualties and quite a bit of water in our boat.
The real surprise for me came when the water sloshed around the bottom of the boat and the skin of a large snake appeared right between my feet. Not knowing if this skin was still attached to its owner I began to debate my options. Knife?  Rifle? Jump out of the boat? Fortunately, my agitation caused more sloshing and the remaining skin slipped into full view, thankfully, unattached to anything.  Now, you may wonder if I screamed like a girl during this little episode. Because I am the writer of this story I will say emphatically and unequivocally, “No! I did NOT scream like a girl, and you’ve no need to seek verification thereof, and please disregard anyone’s lies to the contrary.” Rather, I scooped up the remains of the offending creature, rinsed it in river water and made a hatband of it.





The day progressed; we paddled, checked maps, kept watch for sign of hostiles, and occasionally were forced to “hump and scrunch” as Mr. Morgan so eloquently called it, and I've changed to the more family appropriate "hunch and crunch" method. Perhaps you’ve an idea of this? If ever the bottom of your canoe, bateau or pirogue has drug along the bottom of a creek or river becoming momentarily stuck upon the shoals, you may have found yourself coiling your entire body into a hunched position only to uncoil rapidly, attempting to scrunch the boat forward bit by bit, using your paddle as a lever.  This trick was quite effective for us, provided there was just enough water to carry us off an offending rock or shoal. However, just about as nearly as oft, as not  we were forced to abandon our seats, step out into the water and drag our canoe along.  Considering the heat of the day, these short periods of walking the canoe along were not minded in the least.


The humping, scrunching, and dragging went on for a few more hours without incident, until around half past two when Pit’s canoe found its way into a snag he was unable to extricate himself from.  Mr. Morgan and I were surprised when from behind us suddenly, a splash was heard, a curse flew to the wind, and as we watched, Pit and all of his accouterments were unceremoniously dumped into the river.  Of course we immediately stopped, as did Josh. Josh handed me a line to hold his canoe and I was left to hold both boats while Dennis and Josh rendered aid to our dear friend.

As the menfolk pulled Pit and his wool blankets, his pack and other gear dripping and soaked from the river, I took in the beauty of our surroundings.  This beauty was instantly and irrevocably marred by my observation of a huge water moccasin! The snake, whose girth resembled the size of my wrist, lay coiled just below the surface of the water less than five feet from my ankles, its triangular shaped head just above the waterline tongue tasting the wind.  Now, once again, you may ask, “Did you scream like a girl?” and this time I will honestly answer, “No! I was literally too frightened to scream.”  
TO BE CONTINUED....


To find the conclusion to The Hunch and Scrunch Scout look for an upcoming edition of 
On The Trail Magazine. Click this link to subscribe to On The Trail


Friday, June 8

Fear no Evil





“Yeh, though I walk through the valley of death I shall fear no evil.” The voices in my head cried over and over without end. “I shall fear no evil.” Again, “Yeh, though I walk through the valley of death.” And again…Yet, I did fear evil, for how could I not, when its black fingers were curled around my heart? “I shall fear no evil.” Lo, Powell’s glorious valley had once held beauty, sweetness and light for me, yet I was terrified it would no longer. Indeed, my deepest fear was Powell’s Valley and Mr. Martin’s station was now bereft of all sweetness and light for me.

Days ago, the fear which pursued me during the first hours of travel toward Powell’s Valley were slightly assuaged upon being joined by Mr. Goodwin, just south of the Falls of the Ohio. Pitt made a fine traveling companion, turning my attention toward lighter concerns.  My other most dear, dear companion, Katie Rose was sweetness her very self, asking a blue million questions about the land to which we traveled and those whom we would meet. Her hopes were high we would encounter a few friendly faces, whilst mine were merely that we not encounter those with ill intent. As the hours passed, I admit my spirits rose and I began to question if I’d overly concerned myself with ridiculous concerns.

Image by Harold Jerrell

Indeed, upon our arrival at the station, it had seemed my fears were entirely ridiculous. Captain Willyard’s Company had possession of the station whilst Captain Martin and his closest family attended to mourning the recent loss of his beloved grandmother. Captain Willyard showed Katie Rose and me to a small but comfortable cabin safe within the ramparts. 

Mr. Goodwin was kind enough to sleep just outside our door to further ensure our safety. The hour being very late, Kate and I set our belongings aside, unrolled our blankets, and crawled gratefully into the straw tick mattress as quickly as possible, paying no attention to the mites, bits, ticks or lice within. “Yeh, though I walk…”

All too soon the cock began to crow and the sun began to lighten the eastern sky. 


 The morning began with a hearty laugh from me as Pitt poked me repetitively in the head with a long stick through a small window in our cabin. He was intent upon waking me to obtain his pack which he had safely stowed in a corner of the cabin. Luckily I was already awake and highly amused by his prodding.  I swung my legs off the bed, scooped my skirts from the peg upon the wall, quickly laced my stays and opened the door to a cold and hungry Pitt.  It seems he had left his stockings in his pack and desperately wanted them! Laughing I swung the pack at him and pulled the door of the tiny cabin shut to allow Katie to rest a few more hours.

Fortune or a helpful soldier had smiled upon us and there were a few embers still aglow in the fort yard fire. Soon the women of the company began to gather their resources and cook for all assembled. As coffee is more important to my disposition than food, I made my own kettle of coffee and soon began to feel a bit more civilized. 

My dearest girl slept on, oblivious to the cock’s crow, the smell of rashers, or even my meddling within the small confines of the cabin. Eventually however, her pretty green eyes greeted me and a slight smile curled her lips, while curls of blond hair spilled unruly across the blankets. My mind raised the mantra once again, “Through the valley of death…” Upon rising, Kate had the chore of bringing in water. 



Once finished with her few chores she immediately set about searching for young ladies such as herself and was soon out of my sight. “I shall fear no evil…” my stomach knotted at the loss of her, even knowing she was safe and sound nearby.

I too found others such as myself, temporarily seeking the station’s shelter. Mistress Phyllis Preston, who had very recently suffered the loss of her dear husband Bradley, was found at the fire side. My most sincere condolences were heartfelt for her and her son Christopher. Her demeanor in receiving these paltry words can only be described as regal. Ah, one such as she is to be greatly admired. The strength of her grief belied by her fine comportment. A truer lady I've not seen in some time. 





Other women gathered in the fort yard, Mistress Willyard, Mistress Seacrest, were known to me, but there were others as well. We shared a greeting and soon I wandered out to the dogtrot to see my friends Randy Wolfe, Tony Baker and Tom Conde. All seemed to have weathered the winter well.

As is his usual manner Mr. Conde was intent upon his weaving, yet he took time away to greet me warmly and convey kind words. So, too Misters Fourman and Wolfe; Randy inquiring after Katie Rose’s curdog who had been a pup in the Wolfe pack. 

Mistress and Mr. Selter arrived at the station and I was heartily glad to have their company which is of such comfort to me.  Mr. Boone himself was traveling through the area and made a fine companion as well.

We friends passed the time telling stories in the fortyard until a bevy of girls burst like quail upon us with skirts flying and incessant chatter. Kate had found a covey of Doctor Robert’s girls; Lucy, Molly, Rosie and Sophie, as well as a few others, some of which were previously unknown to Katie Rose but with whom she had already become fast friends and had been adventuring with. A quick peck upon my cheek and once more they flew down the hill.
Image by Mark Selter
Image  from Chetworth del  Gatto (Floyd Foster)
Time seemed almost idyllic in its sweetness. Memories of other sojourns in this place flooded my mind and constant reminders of times gone by were brought upon the lips of others. Still, my heart remained true in my resolve and I politely nodded, said little, and remembered fondly. Day safely slipped easily into night, friends were reunited, songs sung, stories told. The night became full with the song of laughter, soft firelight flickered within the walls of the station, and all seemed right in the world. My sleep with my dear girl snuggled up beside me, was unblemished by nightmares, memories, tears, or fears.  Heavily, I rested until the early, early morning cock’s crow.

Morning came slowly upon the camp and I sought the refuge of coffee amongst friends. Captain Martin had returned to the station and I conveyed my most sincere condolences upon him and his dear wife learning of the loss of the captain’s beloved grandmother. Later, I strolled with my basket to see if perhaps there was a bauble or some such thing to be purchased from one of the many suttlers, but returned to the station with no such prizes. Though much the better for having spent time among friends. Once more, my sweet girl was slow to rise and quick to leave my sight, off on her own adventures.
Image from Tim Massey


Reports of savages arrived on the lips of our scouts and spies and once more the refrain began within my head “I shall fear no evil.” One may choose not to believe in evil, but the denial there of is no better protection than burying one’s head in the sand. For indeed, there was evil in Powell’s Valley and its face was painted black of night and red of blood.
Image from previous year

Image by Mark Selter
The first whoop of a war cry sent women and children running for all they were worth to the protection of the stockaded station. My recent losses were so keenly felt I did not join the women’s flight but rather, snatched up my firelock “Lucky” and set off toward my revenge. The emptiness of my heart made my choice an easy one for there was nothing, save my sweet girl whom I’d already seen safely within the walls, the savages could take from me. Howling my anger, my shots rang true and brought down a dog or two who’d intended to nip the heels of our men. Safely tucked beside a cabin, my back to the wall, I loaded round after hot round, pouring lead upon the heathens.
Image  from Chetworth del  Gatto (Floyd Foster)

Whilst I had thought all the children had made it safely within the confines of the station walls, I was sick at heart to see one of the good Doctor’s own children snatched and carried in the arms of a giant savage. 

Image  from Chetworth del  Gatto (Floyd Foster)

 So quickly did this bit of trickery take place I was caught in a rare moment unloaded and helpless to save the poor child. My screams of utter frustration mimicked those of the savages and for one split second a thought burst through my skull; perhaps it was this kind of loss which caused those red dogs to howl so heinously. Quickly this treasonous thought was squelched as images of the savages burning, killing, maiming, and squealing like wild pigs burned through my mind.

iImage  from Chetworth del  Gatto (Floyd Foster)


Image  from Chetworth del  Gatto (Floyd Foster)

Just as my anger spilled over into madness, one of the damned dogs leaped toward me, dropping everything I came at him tooth and claw. Unexpectedly, I caught the tail of this tiger! As quickly as my hands got purchase upon him,he turned, immediately intent on getting as far from this madness as possible!
image by John Buxton

Like thick fog rushing over the night sky obliterating the silvery light of the moon, the savages one by one began to disappear from this place, leaving naught but destruction behind.

I returned once more to the confine of the walls and as there were many gathered to hear the sadness of my story, I was compelled to tell it once more. I believe my tears moved more than one man to register with Lieutenant Minnis and the other men of Captain Willyard’s Company to fight the savages who had taken so much from me and others of this frontier.  
Image from the book of faces

Upon the conclusion of my story the greatest possible shock and surprise was visited upon me when my dear dear friend and artist Doc Muzzy stood before the assembled men and women and presented me with a portrait of my happiest days shared with my beloved Katie Rose. To see her sweet smile and her baby cheeks smiling up at me in the portrait brought tears once more to my already reddened eyes, though these were the most cleansing of tears, clearing my vision to see the absolute beauty before me. Words defy me to describe how utterly and deeply pleased this painting made me. Kate snuggled close in my arm and shyly admired the painting as well.  

from the book of faces

Following this bit of beauty we all rejoiced as Captain Martin announced the winner of a fine riflegun which had been built here within the fort walls and even in far off Williamsburg. All were well pleased to know the prize would be well loved by the lucky winner. Our revelry was shattered when once more the shriek of children reached our ears. Those rabid wretched dogs had once more attacked. All to arms was the cry and once more I grasped Lucky in my hand, glad to have my powder and shot pouch already at my side. 
Image by Harold Jerrell
Image by Harold Jerrell
 In the gloaming of the night those heathens had snuck close and set fire to the outlying cabins, sparks and flames crackled in the night like hell's gates themselves opening. Our men fought their best and steadily the sound of firelocks filled the night.
image by Mark Selter

Closer and closer they came, the black of their skin reflecting the flames. Their hideously painted eyes filled with rage, hatred and revenge. So close was one these wretched animals I was able to discern his twisted fingers curled round a war club. I fired, bringing down the man to his right but quickly realized there would be no time to reload before this savage beast was upon me. 

 “Yeh, though I walk through the valley of death I SHALL FEAR NO EVIL!” 

Image by Harold Jerrell
 My scream of defiance took the man by surprise, yet it did not slow him as the full weight of his body slammed into mine.  Fire burned through my veins and strength I did not know I had flushed within me and I brought the butt of my flintlock toward his head. Lightly he flung it aside, another at his hand immediately took my firelock from my grasping hands and all at once I was lifted from the ground flung screaming, kicking and hitting with all my might over the black shoulder of the running man. The bible verse I’d learned as child screamed from me unbidden over and over as I fought for my life wielding the knife I always wear at my side.

Behind one of the small cabins I was unceremoniously dumped to the ground and surrounded by savages. My heels dug into the hard dry earth as they tried to find purchase to hoist my weight.  One of the men spoke harshly and shoved me back to the ground with one hand while he pointed with the other. With no thought whatsoever, I rolled off my backside, onto my knees, dug my toes in and launched myself toward the fort.  My swirling skirts hampered my first steps landing me hard back down on one bloody knee.  Barely feeling the pain and knowing it was nothing compared to what I may feel if the savages caught me once more, I ran as fast as my weary legs would carry me. Nearly blind in the oncoming darkness, I tripped over the body of one of the men who had fought so bravely against the savages.
image by Mark Selter

Sprawling I barely registered the blood and gore, but did immediately lay my hands upon the man’s cocked flintlock.  Praying the words of that verse again, I came to a knee, balanced my elbow upon the other, and took aim at my enemy. Quickly, I realized they had not pursued me. Their attention had been taken in an entirely different direction as the good men from the fort gained ground with each volley. Seeing my opportunity, I sited down the unfamiliar barrel, took a breath and slowly squeezed the trigger. I glimpsed a tiny spark but the damned thing only produced a flash in the pan!

 I immediately ducked behind the widow’s cabin and dared glance around the corner. I could not believe my eyes, lying on the dusty ground beside my shot bag and horn was my flintlock! Is it any wonder I’ve named her Lucky! Once more my legs pumped with all their might and though my heart was in my throat and absolute terror nearly blinded me, I ran back toward the savages, intent upon regaining my belongings.
Indeed Luck was surely with me as I regained possession of my dear sweet Lucky. I threw the bag and horn straps over my shoulder and immediately loaded, sited and felt the satisfying recoil of a perfect shot. The dogs had already begun to slink back into the woods; the majority of our shots merely nipped their heels. The men of the Captain Willyard’s Company pressed on until the savages were out of sight entirely, their wild whooping and war cries filled the night as they disappeared into the darkness.
image by Mark Selter

Once more we gathered the wounded and dead and drug them into the safety of the walls. Tears, shouts and the occasional shot rang into the night. My dearest Katie Rose was safe and sound, asleep nestled into our blankets within the walls of our tiny cabin. I gave a prayer of thanks and dropped a kiss upon her sweet cheek. Friends old and new gathered into the fortyard around the fire. Revelry and singing burst forth as a sort of catharsis I believe. Rum punch flowed  as we told tales, laughed and let loose of our fears for the night. As a lark Mistress Frost and I put up a show of pugilism, which was greatly amusing, at least to us!
Jug by Jay Henderson, Punch Bowl and Mug by Lisa Jo Crews
Late, late in the night, a few trusted companions and I left the safe confines of the station and made our way in the complete darkness until we arrived just outside the firelight of the savage’s encampment. Entranced in their whoops and strange language, they danced like devils round the fire. Our mission to count them and determine if any captives remained alive was completed and we ran like the wind back to the fort to make our sad report. Sad, for though the savage fires burned bright there were no captives still living. Naught but a few buttons glowing hot upon the earth the only proof our men had been tortured to death but hours before. The screams I’d thought to be savage hours ago had more likely than not been the last mortal sounds of my own friends and countrymen. Finally, exhausted both physically and mentally, I crawled into the blankets with my sweet girl.  Once more together, our breathing mingled, and soon I too was sleeping.


Upon rising Sunday morning I was greatly heartened to find Parson John would be holding divine services for all assembled. My mood matched the grey sky and it was hard to keep tears from falling like the rain which had begun late in the night. Further, when the Parson invited all to partake at the Lord's table I was nearly overcome with emotion as is oft the case for me at such times. 
image by Retha n Ken Reece, Book of Faces
T'is my own personal burden which prevents me from quenching my thirst or satiating my taste for the Lord's offerings, and t'was surely only the presence dear dear Maggie Delaney that kept me from breaking down entirely. Sturdily she stood beside me, an arm round my shoulders briefly. The words which passed between us at the close of the service warm my heart even now. I wonder if she knows what a rock of faith she is to so many others with her quiet strength and warm smile? She is so very very dear for such a humble washer woman. 
Image by Frank Jarboe

Time at Mr. Martins’ Station was short, and all too soon Katie Rose, Mr. Goodwin, and I were saying our goodbyes to friends. Mother Nature unleashed a storm upon us just as we left the confines of the station making our travels even more difficult. Yet onward we traveled and hours later Kate and I bid a fond farewell to Pitt.

Though there were moments in Powell's Valley I’d sooner leave behind and forget forever, all in all it had not been nearly as bad as I had feared. The savages were pushed back, friendships were renewed, and though many a dream had died in Powell’s Valley many of us would live to see another day and dream other dreams.  Indeed, I felt I had walked in the Valley of Death and lived to tell the tale.


Special thanks to Chetworth del  Gatto (Floyd Foster), Mark Selter, Harold Jerrell, John Buxton, John Frank Jarboe, Tim Massey and Reetha N Ken Reece  for the use of their images.