When they came to the ruins of their home and found that their father had been killed and scalped, they were so infuriated that they took a vow to kill every Indian that was in their power to kill, so long as they should live.
Such is the account as generally given, though a different version is entitled to equal credence. This says that the elder Wetzel was shot, in 1787, while paddling a canoe near Captina, on his return from Middle Island Creek, and that young Lewis received his first wound while standing in the door of his own home. Be that as it may, there can be no doubt that he and his brother took the barbarous oath as stated, and it is equally a matter of history that they carried it out in spirit and letter.
Martin Wetzel acted the part of a wild beast and committed acts for which no law human or divine can find justification. No red Indian ever showed greater perfidy than did he. During Colonel Brodhead's expedition in 1780, Martin Wetzel was a volunteer. An Indian messenger, under promise of protection, came into camp and held an interview with Brodhead. While they were talking in the most friendly manner, Martin Wetzel stole up behind the unsuspecting red man, and quickly drawing a tomahawk, which he had hidden in his hunting-shirt, struck the Indian in the back of the head a blow which stretched him lifeless on the ground.
Colonel Brodhead was exasperated at the atrocious act, yet he dared not punish Wetzel, for three-fourths of the army would have rallied in his defence.
In the life of Daniel Boone we gave an account of the campaign of Colonel Crawford in 1782. Lewis Wetzel served as a volunteer, being no more than eighteen years of age. The campaign was one of the most frightful disasters that ever occurred in the West, Colonel Crawford being captured and burned to death at the stake.
Among the disorganized soldiers who managed to escape the terrible vengeance of the red men, was one named Mills, who reached a spring some nine miles from Wheeling, where he was forced to leave his horse and go the rest of the way on foot. From Wheeling he proceeded to Van Meter's fort, where he fell in with Lewis Wetzel, whom he persuaded to go back with him in quest of his horse.
Wetzel cautioned him against the danger, but Mills was determined, and the two made their way back to the spring, where they saw the horse standing tied to a sapling. The scout knew what this meant, but the sight of his animal drew Mills forward, and running up to the tree, he began untying him. Before he could finish, there was a discharge of rifles from the wood, and Mills fell fatally wounded.
Knowing that the warriors were all around him, the fleet-footed Wetzel bounded off like a deer, with four of the swiftest runners speeding after him. The chase was a terrific one, and after a half mile, one of the Indians came so close that the fugitive, believing he was on the point of throwing his tomahawk, suddenly whirled about and shot him dead, resuming his flight with the same desperate exertion as before.
The art of reloading his gun while on a dead run had been practised by Wetzel, until he could do the difficult feat with ease. Never was there more urgent need of that peculiar skill than on the present occasion, for at the end of another half mile, a second Indian was so close that Wetzel turned to fire.
Before he could do so, the warrior grasped the end of the barrel, and as he was immensely powerful and active, he brought Wetzel to his knees, and came within a hair's-breadth of wrenching the weapon from his grasp. The white man, however, during the fierce struggle, managed to get the muzzle of the gun turned toward the savage, when he pulled the trigger, killing him instantly.