Wolf-Cap; or, The Night-Hawks of the Fire-Lands: A Tale of the Bloody Fort

by T. C. Harbaugh

Erie, Huron, and a small part of Ottawa counties, comprise that portion of the Western Ohio Reserve known as the fire-lands. The tract embraces five hundred thousand acres, and the term “fire-lands” originated from the circumstance of the State of Connecticut having granted these lands, in 1792, as a donation, to certain sufferers by fire occasioned by the English during the Revolutionary war, particularly at New London, Fairfield and Norwalk. Connecticut, at that time, holding jurisdiction over much land in Ohio, made other grants, of a nature similar to the above, and to this day the Western Reserve is often called by its old title—New Connecticut.

Though Wolf-Cap, or Card Belt, was not a sufferer at English hands, he had a right to the ground on which his little cabin stood. That right was a grant from the proprietors of the fire-lands; but he had had the misfortune to lose the document while en route to his claim. He had trapped along the streams of his native State, Connecticut, until they refused to yield the wished-for supply of fur-bearing animals, and, longing for a new pelt El Dorado, he fell in with the inducements offered by the settlements of New Connecticut.

He established his claim to a certain spot of ground, notwithstanding the loss of the title, and erected his cabin, in 1811. A treaty had previously been made with the Wyandots, who inhabited a portion of the ground, and until the breaking out of the war of 1812, the red denizens of the fire-lands had kept the promises of the treaty unbroken.

But in the settlement of the fire-lands, as in the settlement of all new countries, a class of rough characters appeared on the surface. These were, in the greater part, Canadian trappers, who were dwelling on the grant prior to its change of owners, and they refused to accede to the demands of the legal squatters. They had no right to the land, for they had been English soldiers, and disturbers of the peace between whites and Indians.

They drove honest squatters from their homes, and carried on a reign of terror throughout the fire-lands, until the Connecticut company overawed them with settlers. Still they carried on their lawlessness. At midnight they would break into some squatter’s cabin and demand a sight of his deed; and if the poor man could not produce it, as was often the case, considering the poor facilities extant those days for preserving paper documents, he would be hustled from his door, and the torch applied to the logs.

Wolf-Cap’s domicil was invaded one night, two months prior to the opening of hostilities; but he gave the Night-Hawks—as the outlaws were called—such a warm reception, that they were glad to depart without accomplishing their purpose. In the affray one of the scoundrels was fatally shot by the trapper, and their numbers thus reduced to nine.

The leader of the band was a rather handsome, brigandisa sort of man, boasting of the name of Royal Funk. He had served under Arnold in his descent upon Connecticut, and followed other Tories to the West after the patriot struggle. He had a commanding eye, and a nature fitted to lord it over a lot of low characters like those whom he drew around him in New Connecticut, and christened the Night-Hawks.

Their villainies were brought to a close by the declaration of war. One day they left the fire-lands, and joined the British army of the North-west, and the settlers breathed freer. They devoutly wished that every Night-Hawk might fall beneath American bullets, and for months the tract enjoyed a peace that seemed a foretaste of the one quiet peace called blessed!

British gold drew hundreds of savages to the flag of St. George; but a portion of the Wyandots adhered heroically to the American cause. The fire-land settlers centered all their hopes on Hull. If he would repulse the allies before Detroit, their homes were safe. If the General failed, then the Night-Hawks and their red helpers would return to devastate homes illy defended.

Therefore, the reader can imagine the terror spread throughout the grant by the wild message of Johnny Appleseed: “The tribes of the heathen are round about your doors, and a devouring flame followeth after them.”