Wm. Lloyd Garrison, his co-laborer, wrote of him  " Instead of being able to withstand
the tide of public opinion it would at first seem doubtful whether he could sustain a
temporary conflict with the winds of heaven. And yet he has explored nineteen of the
twenty-four States - from the Green mountains of Vermont to the banks of the
Mississippi - multiplied anti-slavery societies in every quarter, put every petition in
motion relative to the extinction of slavery in the District of Columbia, everywhere
awakened the slumbering sympathies of the people, and begun a work, the completion  of
which will be the salvation of his country.  His heart is of gigantic size.  Every inch of
him is alive with power.  He combines the meekness of Howard with the boldness of
"Within a few months he has travelled about 2,400 miles, of which upwards of 1,600
were performed on foot, during which time he has held nearly fifty public meetings.
Rivers and mountains vanish in his path; midnight finds him wending his solitary way
over an unfrequented road; the sun is anticipated in his rising.  Never was moral
sublimity of character better illustrated.''
This county has the honor of being the first to supply the State with an Ohio-born
governor; this was Wilson Shannon, who was born February 24, 1802, in a cabin at
Mount Olivet and the first child born in the township.  He was of Irish descent.
The next January his father, George Shannon, went out hunting one morning. Late in the
day, while making his way home through the woods, a heavy snow-storm set in; he
became bewildered and lost his way; after wandering about in a circle some time that
constantly grew less he made unsuccessful efforts to start a fire and being overpowered
by exhaustion he se-tted himself close to a large sugar tree in the centre of his beaten
circle, where he was found in the morning frozen to death.
Wilson was educated at Athens and Transylvania University, and then studied law with
Chas. Hammond and David Jennings at St. Clairsville, and soon became eminent at the
bar.  In 1838 he was elected governor on the Democratic ticket by 5,738 votes over Jos.
Vance, the Whig candidate; defeated in 1840 by Mr. Corwin, and in 1843 elected
governor the second time.  In 1844 was appointed minister to Mexico.  In 1852 was sent
to Congress, where he was one of the four Ohio Democrats who voted for the Kansas and
Nebraska bill.  President Pierce later appointed him governor of Kansas, which position
he resigned in 1857 and resumed the practice of law.  In 1875, in connection with the
Hon. Jeremiah Black, of Pa., he argued the celebrated Osage land case before the
Supreme Court and won the case for the settlers.
As a lawyer he was bold, diligent, courteous and ever ready to assist the weak and
struggling.  Possessing a noble presence, in his old age he was described as a picture of a
hardy, hale old gentleman of the olden time. He died in 1877 and was buried at
Lawrence, Kansas, where the last twenty years of his life had been passed.
James M. Thoburn, D. D., elected in 1888 by the Methodists as missionary bishop for
India and Malaysia, was born in St. Clairsville, 0., March 7, 1836.  He was graduated at
Alleghany College at Meadville, Pa., and began preaching in Ohio at the age of
twenty-one.  He went to India in 1859 as a missionary, and in conjunction with Bishop
Taylor did much to build up the church among the native tribes. He built the largest
church in India at Calcutta, and preached for five years at Simyla, the summer capital  He
was editor for a time of the Indian Witness, published at Calcutta, and is the author of 
"My Missionary Apprenticeship”;  "A History of Twenty-five Years' Experience in
India," and of a volume of " Missionary Sermons."
BRIDGEPORT lies upon the Ohio river 135 miles easterly from Columbus, on the old
National road and exactly opposite Wheeling, W. Va., with which it is connected by a
bridge, and on the C. L. & W. and C. & P. Railroads.  It joins the town of Martin's Ferry;
forming with it to the eye but a single city. Back of it rise very bold hills and the site is
highly picturesque.
Bridgeport has 1 Presbyterian, 2 Methodist Episcopal and 1 Colored Baptist church.  First
National Bank, W. W. Holloway, president; J. J. Holloway, cashier.
Manufactures and Employees. - Standard Iron Co., corrugated iron, 205 hands;
Bridgeport Glass Co., fruit jars, 80; AEtna Iron and Steel Co., 610; La Belle Glass
Works, cut glass, etc., 335 ; L. C. Leech, barrels, etc.; Diamond Mills, flour, etc~; R. J.
Baggs & Son, doors, sash, etc., 35; Bridgeport Machine Shop.- State Report 1887.
Population in 1840, 329; in 1880, 2,390.  School census 1886, 1,130; T. E. Orr,
superintendent.  Bridgeport was laid out in 1806 under the name of Canton by Ehenezer
The locality had long been named Kirkwood from Capt. Joseph Kirkwood, who in 1789
built a cabin on the south side of Indian Wheeling creek.
Indian Attack on Kirkwood's Cabin. - In the spring of 1791 the cabin of Captain 
Kirkwood, at this place, was attacked at night by a party of Indians, who, after a severe
action, were repulsed.  This Captain Kirkwood "was the gallant and unrewarded Captain
Kirkwood, of the Delaware line, in the war of the revolution, to whom such frequent and
honorable allusion is made in Lee's memoir of the Southern campaigns.  The State of
Delaware had but one continental regiment, which, at the defeat at Camden, was reduced
to a single company.  It was there-fore impossible, under the rules, for Kirkwood to be
promoted; and he was under the mortification of beholding inferior office’s in the
regiments of other States, promoted over him, while he, with all his merit, was 
compelled to remain a captain, solely in consequence of the small force Delaware was
enabled to maintain in the service.  He fought with distinguished gallantry through the
war, and was in the bloody battles of Camden, Holkirks, Eutaw and Ninety-six."
Captain Kirkwood moved here in 1789, and built his cabin on a knoll.  There was then an
unfinished block-house on the highest part of the knoll, near by.  On the night of the
attack, fourteen soldiers, under Captain Joseph Biggs, with Captain Kirkwood and
family, were in the cabin.  About two hours before daybreak the captain's little son
Joseph had occaision to leave the cabin for a few moments, and requested Captain Biggs
to accompany him.  They were out but a few minutes, and, although unknown to them,
were surrounded by Indians.  They had returned and again retired to sleep in the upper
loft when they soon discovered the roof in a blaze, wiuch was the first intimation they
had of the presence of an enemy.  Captain Kirkwood was instantly awakened, when he
and his men commenced pushing off the roof, the Indians at the same time firing upon 
them, from under cover of the blockhouse. Captain Biggs, on the first alarm, ran down
the ladder into the room below to get his rifle, when a ball entered a wiudow and
wounded him in the wrist.  Soon the Indians had surrounded the house, and attempted to
break in the door with their tomahawks. Those within braced it with puncheons from the
floor.  In the panic of the moment several of the men wished to escape from the cabin,
but Captain Kirkwood silenced them with the threat of taking the life of the first man
who made the attempt, asserting that the Indians would tomahawk them as fast as they
The people of Wheeling - one mile distant - hearing the noise of the attack, fired a swivel
to encourage the defenders, although fearful of coming to the rescue. This enraged the
Indians the more; they sent forth terrific yells, and brought brush piled it around the
cabin, and set it on fire.  Those within in a measure smothered the flames, first with the
water and milk in the house, and then with damp earth from the floor of the cabin. The
fight was kept up about two hours, until dawn, when the Indians retreated. Had they 
attacked earlier, success would have resulted. The loss of the Indians, or their number,
was unknown - only one was seen. He was in the act of climbing up the corner of the
cabin, when he was discovered, let go his hold and fell.  Seven of those within were
wounded, and one, a Mr. Walker, mortally.  He was a brave man. As he lay, disabled and
helpless, on his back, on the earth, he called out to the Indians in a taunting manner.  He
died in a few hours, and was buried the next day, at Wheeling, with military honors.  A
party of men, under Gen. Benjamin Biggs, of West Liberty, went in an unsuccessful
pursuit of the Indians.  A niece of Captain Kirkwood, during the attack, was on a visit
about twenty miles distant, on Buffalo creek. In the night she dreamed that the cabin was
attacked, and heard the guns.  So strong an impression did it make, that she arose and
rode down with all her speed to Wheeling, where she arrived two hours after sunrise.  
After this affair Captain Kirkwood moved with his family to Newark, Delaware.  On his
route he met with some of St. Clair's troops, them on their way to Cincinnati.  
Exasperated at the Indians for their attack upon his house, he accepted the command of a
company of Delaware troops, was with them at the defeat of St. Clair in the November
following, "where he fell in a brave attempt to repel the enemy with the bayonet, and thus
closed a career as honorable as it was unrewarded.''
Elizabeth Zane, who acted with so much heroism at the siege of Wheeling, in 1782, lived
many years since about two miles above Bridgeport, on the Ohio side of the river, near 
Martinsville.  She was twice married, first to Mr. McLaughlin, and secondly to Mr. Clark. 
This anecdote of her heroism has been published a thousand times.
Heroism of Elizabeth Zane. - When Lynn, the ranger, gave the alarm that an Indian army
was approaching, the fort having been for some time unoccupied by a garrison, and
Colonel Zane's house having been used for a magazine, those who retired into the fortress
had to take with them a supply of ammunition for its defence.  The supply of powder,
deemed ample at the time,  was now almost exhausted, by reason of the long continuance
of the siege, and the repeated endeavors of the savages to take the fort by storm ; a few
rounds only remained.  In this emergency it became necessary to renew their stock from
an abundant store which was deposited in Colonel Zane's house.  Accordingly, it was
proposed that one of the fleetest men should endeavor to reach the house, obtain a supply
of powder, and return with it to the fort.  It was an enterprise full of danger; but many of
the heroic spirits shut up in the fort were willing to encounter the hazard.  Among those
who volunteered to go on this enterprise was Elizabeth, the sister of Colonel E. Zane.  
She was young, active and athletic, with courage to dare the danger, and fortitude to
sustain her through it.  Disdaining to weigh the hazard of her own life against that of
others, when told that a man would encounter less danger by reason of his greater
fleetness, she replied, “and should he fall, his loss will be more severly felt; you have not
one man to spare; a woman will not be missed in the defence of the f'ort."   Her services
were then accepted.  Divesting herself of some of her garments,  as tending to impede her 
progress, she stood prepared for the hazardous adventure and when the gate was thrown
open, bounded forth with the buoyancy of hope, and in the confidence of success.  Wrapt
in amazement, the Indians beheld her springing forword, and only exclaiming, "a squaw,”  
“a squaw,”  no attempt was made to interrupt her progress; arrived at the door, she
proclaimed her errand.  Colonel Silas Zane fastened a tablecloth around her waist, and
emptying into it a keg of powder, again she ventured forth. The Indians were no longer
passive.  Ball after ball whizzed by; several of which passed through her clothes; she
reached the gate, and entered the fort in safety; and thus was the garrison again saved by
female intrepidity. This heroine had but recently returned from Philadelphia, where she
had received her education, and was wholly unused to such scenes as were daily passing
on the frontiers.  The distance she had to run was about forty yards.
Among the best sketches of backwoods life is that written by Mr. John S. Williams,
editor of the American Pioneer, and  published in October, 1843.  In the spring of 1800
his father's family removed from Carolina and settled with others on Glenn's run, about
six miles northeast of St. Clairsvi1le.  He was then a lad, as he relates, of seventy-five
pounds weight.  From his sketch, " Our Cabin; or Life in the Woods," we make some
Our Cabin Described.  Emigrants poured in from different parts, cabins were put up in
every direction, and women, children and goods tumbled into them.  The tide of
emigration flowed like water through a breach in a mill-dam.  Everything was bustle and
confusion, and all at work that could work.  In the midst of all this the mumps, and
perhaps one or two other diseases, prevailed and gave us a seasoning.  Our cabin had
been raised, covered, part of the cracks chinked, and part of the floor laid when we
moved in, on Christmas day!  There had not been a stick cut except in building the cabin. 
We had intended an inside chimney, for we thought the chimney ought to be in the house. 
We had a log put across the whole width of the cabin for a mantel, but when the floor
was in we found it so low as not to answer, and removed it.	Here was a great change for
my mother and sister, as well as the rest, but particularly my mother. She was raised in
the most delicate manner in and near London, and lived most of her time in affluence,
and always comfortable. She was now in the wilderness, surrounded by wild beasts, in a
cabin with about half a floor, no door, no ceiling overhead, not even a tolerable sign for a
fireplace, the light of day and the chilling winds of night passing between every two logs 
in the building, the cabin so high from the ground that a bear, wolf, panther, or any other
aninial less in size than a cow, could enter without even a squeeze.  Such was our
situation on Thursday and Thursday night, December 25, 1800, and which was bettered
but by very slow degrees.  We got the rest of the floor laid in a very few days, the
chinking of the cracks went on slowly, but the daubing could not proceed till weather
more suitable, which happened  in a few days; door-ways were sawed out and steps made
of the logs, and the back of the chimney was raised up to the mantel, but the funnel of
sticks and clay was delayed until spring.
Our family consisted of my mother, a sister, of twenty-two, my brother, near twenty-one
and very weakly, and myself, in my eleventh year. Two years afterwards, Black Jenny
followed us in company with my half-brother, Richard, and his family. She lived two
years with us in Ohio, and died in the winter of 1803-4.
In building our cabin it was set to front the north and south, my brother using my father's
pocket compass on the occasion. We had no idea of living in a house that did not stand
square with the earth itself.  This argued, our ignorance of the comforts and conveniences
of a pioneer life. The position of the house, end to the hill, necessarily elevated the lower
end, and the determination of having both a north and south door added much to the
airiness of the domicil, particularly after the green ash puncheons had shrunk so as to
have cracks in the floor and doors from one to two inches wide.  At both the doors we
had high, unsteady, and sometimes icy steps, made by piling up the logs cut out of the
wall.  We had, as the reader will see, a window, if it could be called a window, when, 
perhaps, it was the largest spot in the top, bottom, or sides of the cabin at which the wind 
could not enter. It was made by sawing out a log, placing sticks across, and then, by
pasting an old newspaper over the hole, and applying some hog's lard, we had a kind of
glazing which shed a most beautiful and mellow, light across the cabin when the sun 
shone on it.  All other light entered at the doors, cracks and chimney.
Our cabin was twenty-four by eighteen. The west end was occupied by two beds, the
centre of  each side by a door, and here our symmetry had to stop, for on the opposite
side of the window, made of clapboards, supported on pins driven into the logs, were our
shelves.  Upon these shelves my sister displayed, in ample order a host of pewter plates,
basins, and dishes, and spoons, scoured and bright. It was none of your new-fangled
pewter made of lead, but the best London pewter, which our father himself bought of
Townsend, the manufacturer.  These were the plates upon which you could hold your
meat so as to cut it without slipping and without dulling your knife.  But, alas! the days of
pewter plates and sharp dinner knives have passed away never to return.  To return to our
internal arrangements.  A ladder of five rounds occupied the corner near the window.  By
this, when we got a floor above, we could ascend.  Our chimney occupied most of the
east end; pots and kettles opposite the window under the shelves, a gun on hooks over the
north door, four split-bottom chairs, three three-legged stools, and a small eight by ten
looking-glass sloped from the wall over a large towel and comb-case.  These, with a
clumsy shovel and a pair of tongs, made in Frederick, with one shank straight, as the best
manufacture of pinches and blood-blisters, completed our furniture, except a
spinning-wheel and such things as were necessary to work with.  It was absolutely
necessary to have three legged stools, as four legs of anything could not all touch the
floor at the same time.
The completion of our cabin went on slowly.  The season was inclement, we were
weak-handed and weak-pocketed; in fact, laborers were not to be had.  We got our
chimney up breast-high as soon as we could, and got our cabin daubed as high as the
joists outside.  It never was daubed on the inside, for my sister, who was very nice, could
not consent to “live right next to the mud.”  My impression now is, that the window was
not constructed till spring, for until the sticks and clay was put on the chimney we could
possibly have no need of a window; for the flood of light which always poured into the
cabin from the fireplace would have extinguished our paper window, and rendered it as
useless as the moon at noonday.  We got a floor laid overhead as soon as possible
perhaps in a month; but when it was laid, the reader will readily conceive of its
imperviousness to wind or weather, when we mention that it was laid of loose clapboards
split fiom a red oak, the stump of which may be seen beyond the cabin.   That tree grew
in the night, and so twisting that each board laid on two diagonally opposite corners, and
a cat might have shook every board on our ceiling.
It may be well to inform the unlearned reader that claphoads are such lumber as pioneers
split with a frow, and resemble barrel staves before they are shaved, but are split longer,
wider and thinner; of such our roof and ceiling were composed. Puncheons were planks
made by splitting logs to about two and a half or three inches in thickness, and hewing
them on one or both sides with the broad-axe.  Of such our floor, doors, tables and stools
were manufactured.  The eavebearers are those end logs which protect over to receive the
butting poles, against which the lower tier of clapboards rest in forming the roof.  The
trapping is the roof timbers, composing the gable end and the ribs, the ends of which
appear in the drawing, being those logs upon which the clapboards lie. The trap logs are
those of unequal length above the eave bearers, which form the gable ends, and upon
which the ribs rest.  The weight poles are those small logs laid on the roof, which weigh
down the course of clapboards on which they lie, and against which the next course
above is placed.  The knees are pieces of heart timber placed above the butting poles,
successively, to prevent the weight poles from rolling off . . . . . 
The evenings of the first winter did not pass off as pleasantly as evenings afterwards. We
had raised no tobacco to stem and twist, no corn to shell, no turnips to scrape; we had no
tow to spin into rope-yarn, nor straw to plait for hats, and we had come so late we could
get but few walnuts to crack.  We had, however, the Bible, George Fox's Journal,
Barkley's Apology, and a number of books, all better than much of the fashionable
reading of the present day - from which, after reading, the reader finds he has gained
nothing, while his understanding has been made the dupe of the writer's fancy - that while
reading he has given himself up to be led in mazes of fictitious imagination, and losing
his taste for solid reading, as frothy luxuries destroy the appetite for wholesome food.  To
our stock of books were soon after added a borrowed copy of the Pilgnm's Progress,
which we read twice through without stopping.  The first winter our living was truly
scanty and hard; but even this winter had its felicities. We had part of a barrel of flour
which we had brought from Fredericktown. Besides this, we had part of a jar of hog's lard
brought from old Carolina; not the taste-less stuff which now goes by that name, but pure
leaf lard, taken from hogs raised on pine roots aud fattened on sweet potatoes, and into
which, while rendering, were immersed the boughs of the fragrant bay tree, that imparted
to the lard a rich flavor. Of that flour, shortened with this lard, my sister every Sunday
morning, and at no other time, made short biscuit for breakfast - not these greasy
gum-elastic biscuit we mostly meet with now, rolled out with a pin, or cut out with a
cutter; or those that are, perhaps, speeded by or puffed up with refined lye called
salaeratus, but made out, one by one, in her fair hands, placed in neat juxtaposition in a
skillet or spider, pricked with a fork to prevent blistering, and baked before an open fire -
not half-baked and half-stewed in a cooking-stove. . . . 
The WoodS about us. - In the ordering of a good Providence the winter was open, but
windy. While the wind was of great use in during the smoke and ashes out of our cabin, it
shook terribly the timber standing almost over us.  We were sometimes much and
needlessly alarmed.  We had never seen a dangerous looking tree near a dwelling, but
here we were surrounded by the tall giants of the forest, waving their boughs and uniting
their brows over us, as if in defiance of our disturbing their repose, and usurping their
long and uncontested pre-emption rights. The beech on the left often shook his bushy
head over us as if in absolute disapprobation of our settling there, threatening to crush us
if we did not pack up and start.  The walnut over the spring branch stood high and
straight ; no one could tell which way it inclined, but all concluded that if it had a
preference it was in favor of quartering on our cabin.  We got assistance to cut it down.
The axeman doubted his ability to control its direction, by reason that he must necessarily
cut it almost off before it would fall.  He thought by felling the tree in the direction of the
reader, along near the chimney, and thus favor the little lean it seemed to have, would he
the means of saving the cabin.  He was successful.  Part of the stump still stands. These,
and all other dangerous trees, were got down without other damage than many frights and
frequent desertions of the premises by the family while the trees were being cut. The ash
beyond the house crossed the scarf and fell on the cabin, but without damage.
Howling Wolves. - The monotony of the time for several of the first years was broken
and enlivened by the howl of wild beasts. The wolves howling around us seemed to moan
their inability to drive us from their long and undisputed domain. The bears, panthers and
deer seemingly got miffed at our approach or the partiality of the hunters, and but seldom
troubled us.  One bag of meal would make a whole family rejoicingly happy and thankful
then, when a loaded East Indiaman will fail to do it now, and is passed off as a common
business transaction without ever once thinking of the giver, so independent have we
become in the short space of forty years!  Having got out of the wilderness in less time
than the children of Israel we seem to be even more forgetful and unthankful than they. 
When spring was fully come and our little patch of corn, three acres, put in among the
beech roots, which at every step contended with the shovel-plough for the right of soil,
and held it too, we enlarged our stock of conveniences.  As soon as bark would run (peel
off) we could make ropes and bark boxes.  These we stood in great need of, as such
things as bureaus, stands, wardrobes, or even barrels, were not to be had.  The manner of
making ropes of linn bark was to cut the bark in strips of convenient length, and water-rot
it in the same manner as rotting flax or hemp.  When this was done the inside bark would
peel off and split up so fine as to make a pretty considerably rough and good-for-but-little
kind of a rope.  Of this, however, we were very glad, and let no ship-owner with his grass
ropes laugh at us.  We made two kinds of boxes for furniture.  One kind was of hickory
bark with the outside shaved off.  This we would take off all around the tree, the size of
which would determine the calibre of our box.  Into one end we would place a flat piece
of bark or puncheon cut round to fit in the bark, which stood on end the same as when on
the tree. There was little need of hooping, as the strength of the bark would keep that all
right enough. Its shrinkage would make the top unsightly in a parlor now-a-days, but then
they were considered quite an addition to the furniture.  A much finer article was made of
slippery-elm bark, shaved smooth and with the inside out, bent round and sewed together
where the ends of the hoop or main bark lapped over. The length of the bark was around
the box, and inside out.  A bottom was made of a piece of the same bark dried flat, and a
lid, like that of a common band-box, made in the same way.  This was the finest furniture
in a lady's dressing-room, and then, as now, with the finest furniture, the lapped or sewed
side was turned to the wall and the prettiest part to the spectator.  They were usually
made oval, and while the bark was green were easily ornamented with drawings of birds,
trees, etc., agreeably to the taste and skill of the fair manufacturcr.  As we belonged to
the Society of Friends, it may be fairly presumed that our band-boxes were not thus
Pioneer Food. - We settled on beech land, which took much labor to clear. We could do
no better than clear out the smaller stuff and burn the brush, etc., around the beeches
which, in spite of the girdling and burning we could do to them, would leaf out the first
year, and often a little the second. The land, however, was very rich, and would bring
better corn than might be expected.  We had to tend it principally with the hoe, that is, to
chop down the nettles, the water-weed and the touch-me-not.  Grass, careless,
lambs-quarter and Spanish needles were reserved to pester the better prepared farmer.
We cleared a small turnip patch, which we got in about the l0th of August.  We sowed in
timothy seed, which took well, and next year we had a little hay besides. The tops and
blades of the corn were also carefully saved for our horse, cow and the two sheep. The
turnips were sweet and good, and in the fall we took care to gather walnuts and hickory
nuts, which were very abundant. These, with the turnips which we scraped, supplied the
place of fruit.  I have always been partial to scraped turnips, and could now beat any
three dandies at scraping them.  Johnnycake, also, when we had meal to make it of,
helped to make up our evening's repast. The Sunday morning biscuit had all evaporated,
but the loss was partially supplied by the nuts and turnips.  Our regular supper was mush
and milk, and by the time we had shelled our corn, stemmed tobacco, and plaited straw to
make hats, etc., etc., the mush and milk had seemingly decamped from the neighborhood
of our ribs. To relieve this difficulty my brother and I would bake a thin Johnny-cake,
part of which we would eat, and leave the rest till the morning. At daylight we would eat
the balance as we walked from the house to work.

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Deb Murray