Fort Henry was situated about a quarter of a mile above Wheeling Creek, on the left bank of the Ohio river, and was erected to protect the settlers of the little village of Wheeling, which, at the time of its investment, consisted of about twenty-five cabins. In the month of September, 1775, it was invested by about four hundred warriors, on the approach of whom the settlers had fled into it, leaving their cabins and their contents to the torch of the savages. The whole force comprising the garrison consisted of forty-two fighting men, all told; but there were among them men who knew the use of the rifle, and who were celebrated throughout the borders as the implacable enemies of the red-man, and as the best marksmen in the world. Of these, however, more than one half perished in an ill-advised sortie, before the siege commenced, and, when the fort was surrounded by the foe, but sixteen men remained to defend it against their overwhelming numbers. But their mothers, wives and daughters were there, and nerved the Spartan band to deeds of heroism to which the records of the wars of ancient and modern history present no parallel. Here it was that Elizabeth Zane passed through the fire of the whole body of red-skins, in the effort to bring into the fort the ammunition so necessary to its defense; here it was, also, that the wives and daughters of its noble defenders marched to a spring, in point blank range of the ambuscaded Indians, in going to and fro, for the purpose of bringing water for the garrison.
Messengers had been dispatched at the earliest alarm to the neighboring settlements for succor, and, in response to the call, Captain Van Swearingen, with fourteen men, arrived from Cross Creek, and fought his way into the fort without the loss of a man. Soon afterward, a party of forty horsemen, led by the brave and intrepid McCulloch, were seen approaching, and endeavoring to force their way through the dense masses of Indians, which nearly surrounded the station. Their friends within the fort made every preparation to receive them, by opening the gates, and organizing a sortie to cover their attempt. After a desperate hand-to-hand conflict, in which they made several of the Indians bite the dust, they broke through the lines, and entered the fort in triumph, without the loss of an individual. All except their daring leader succeeded in the effort. He was cut off, and forced to fly in an opposite direction. McCulloch was as well known to the Indians as to the whites, for his deeds of prowess, and his name was associated in their minds with some of the most bloody fights in which the white and red-men had contended. To secure him alive, therefore, that they might glut their vengeance upon him, was the earnest desire of the Indians, and to this end they put forth the most superhuman exertions. There were very few among them who had not lost a relative by the unerring aim and skill of the fearless woodsman, and they cherished toward him an almost phrensied hatred, which could only be satisfied in his torture at the stake.
With such feelings and incentives, they crowded around him as he dashed forward in the rear of his men, and succeeded in cutting him off from the gate. Finding himself unable to accomplish his entrance, and seeing the uselessness of a conflict with such a force opposed to him, he suddenly wheeled his horse, and fled in the direction of Wheeling hill, at his utmost speed. A cloud of warriors started up at his approach, and cut off his retreat in this direction, driving him back upon another party who blocked up the path behind; while a third closed in upon him on one of the other sides of the square. The fourth and open side was in the direction of the brow of a precipitous ledge of rocks, nearly one hundred and fifty feet in height, at the foot of which flowed the waters of Wheeling Creek. As he momentarily halted and took a rapid survey of the dangers which surrounded him on all sides, he felt that his chance was a desperate one. The Indians had not fired a shot, and he well knew what this portended, as they could easily have killed him had they chosen to do so. He appreciated the feelings of hatred felt toward him by the foe, and saw at a glance the intention to take him alive, if possible, that his ashes might be offered up as a sacrifice to the manes of their departed friends, slain by his hand. This was to die a thousand deaths, in preference to which he determined to run the risk of being dashed to pieces; and he struck his heels against the sides of his steed, who sprang forward toward the precipice. The encircling warriors had rapidly lessened the space between them and their intended victim, and, as they saw him so completely within their toils, raised a yell of triumph, little dreaming of the fearful energy which was to baffle their expectations. As they saw him push his horse in the direction of the precipice, which they had supposed an insurmountable obstacle to his escape, they stood in amazement, scarcely believing that it could be his intention to attempt the awful leap, which was, to all appearance, certain death. McCulloch still bore his rifle, which he had retained, in his right hand, and, carefully gathering up the bridle in his left, he urged his noble animal forward, encouraging him by his voice, until they reached the edge of the bank, when, dashing his heels against his sides, they hung, shivering on the brink of the abyss:
"For the horse, in stark despair,
With his front hoofs poised in air,
On the last verge rears amain.
"Now he hangs, he rocks between,
And his nostrils curdle in;
Now he shivers, head and hoof,
And the flakes of foam fall off,