Copus massacre

On September 15, 1812, a violent clash unfolded along the Ohio frontier pitting American settlers against Lenape, Wyandot, and Mohawk Native Americans, an episode that would come to be known as the Copus massacre and that took place amid the broader War of 1812.

At its root lay a breakdown in trust between Reverend James Copus and the tribal members involved. Copus had been tasked with convincing the tribes to move voluntarily to the Piqua Reservation, the alternative being forced removal by the United States. Despite securing their consent to relocate, American soldiers proceeded to burn the village down completely, destroying every home. The tribes, believing Copus had deceived them, struck back in response. It is from Reverend Copus, who lost his life when his house came under attack, that the massacre takes its name.

Beyond Copus himself, three American soldiers were killed in the fighting, while somewhere between two and eleven Lenape, Wyandot, and Mohawk individuals perished. The settlers had been positioned to protect Charles Mill Lake, Ohio, and the actions of the displaced tribes were most likely driven by anger over repeated forced relocations and the razing of their village by the Americans.

Background

Long before the events at the heart of this story, European settlers had pushed into the territories now known as Pennsylvania and New York, lands that belonged to the Lenape, Wyandots, and Mohawks. Groups like the "New Jersey Association for Helping the Indians" drove these peoples westward through coerced relocation, establishing new Wyandot, Mohawk, and Lenape communities across what would become Ohio, though certain Lenape and Wyandot bands had actually originated in that region.

When the War of 1812 broke out, relations between Native peoples and the growing settler population grew strained. Army leadership worried that British forces might draw Native Americans into their cause as allies. Acting on this concern, Colonel Samuel Kratzer ordered the relocation of Native Americans, primarily members of the Delaware tribe, to the Piqua Reservation, delegating the assignment to Captain Douglas.

A local minister named James Copus, originally hailing from Greene County, Pennsylvania, had settled in the Black Fork valley in 1809 alongside his wife and their seven children, a fact confirmed by his appearance in area tax records from 1811. Living just a few miles outside Greentown, he had built a reputation as someone the Native Americans genuinely trusted. When the Delaware refused Douglas's demand that they depart, the captain turned to Copus for help in changing their minds. Copus initially declined to get involved, offering instead to vouch personally for their behavior. Douglas countered that his orders left no room for negotiation and warned that violence would follow if the Delaware refused to move. Eventually Copus relented and agreed to travel with the troops to Greentown, though only after securing promises that the Native Americans' lives and belongings would remain safe once they submitted. Meeting reluctantly with the village elders, he worked to reassure them, and after considerable effort, they consented to abandon their homes.

Once the soldiers had marched the Greentown residents away, a handful of stragglers looted the abandoned village and set it ablaze. Watching the smoke rise from their destroyed homes, the Native Americans came to believe that Copus had betrayed them.

Not long afterward, several of Copus's neighbors, among them the Zimmer family, were killed by Native Americans, prompting him to request protection. He and his family were subsequently relocated to a blockhouse for safety. After some days passed without further incident, Copus judged the danger to have passed. On September 14, 1812, nine militiamen from Captain Absalom Martin's Company out of Guernsey County, Ohio, escorted him and his family back to their homestead. Finding everything undisturbed upon arrival, Copus allowed himself to relax somewhat. That same afternoon, his daughter Nancy spotted a Native American lurking near the tree line but chose not to mention what she had seen.

Attack at the Copus homestead

On the morning after, a group of seven soldiers walked to a spring nearby to wash themselves, having left their firearms back at the house. It was there that Native Americans fell upon them. Three of the men bolted toward the trees, with their pursuers close behind. Two, Private George Shipley and Private John Tedrick, were caught and killed with tomahawks, while the third, Private Robert Warnock, took a bullet that would prove fatal.

Only one man made it back inside the cabin alive, George Dye, who took a musketball to the thigh but managed to join John Shambaugh, a neighbor of the Copus household, in defending the place. Copus himself was struck through the chest by gunfire just as Dye stumbled through the doorway.

To the east stood a ridge of hills, rising several hundred feet and thick with timber and boulders, which gave the attackers a natural stronghold from which to rain fire down onto the cabin below. The siege continued from this elevated position. Inside, the defenders ripped up floorboards and braced them against the door to keep bullets from reaching those within. A young girl, Nancy Copus, took a wound to the knee when a ball came through the doorway, but Shambaugh spotted her attacker and shot him dead. Another defender, George Launtz, suffered a broken arm from gunfire and is said to have killed the man responsible.

The exchange of fire lasted from first light until midmorning, leaving as many as eleven Native Americans dead. Eventually they withdrew, slaughtering the Copus family's sheep as they went. Once the danger had passed, a soldier climbed out through the cabin roof and made his way to the blockhouse to seek help. Captain Martin, along with his second in command Sgt. John Bratton, son of James Bratton, who had settled in Ohio back in 1799 as its first pioneer, had promised the night before to bring men to the Copus cabin and stay through the night. Yet after a full day of scouting turned up no sign of danger, they judged the threat minimal and instead made camp along the Black Fork, not arriving at the cabin until late morning of the attack itself. Once there, Martin's men tended the injured and combed the area for the attackers, but found no trace of them.

Copus and the three fallen soldiers, Shipley, Tedrick, and Warnock, were laid to rest close to the cabin. Seventy years after the fighting, the Ashland County Pioneer Society raised a monument on the site where the killings occurred. When it was unveiled on September 15, 1882, some 10,000 people gathered, among them Sarah Vail, Copus's own daughter. A separate monument was later placed nearby honoring those who died in the Zimmer massacre.

Legacy

On September 15, 1882, residents of Perrysville, Ohio gathered to dedicate the Copus Monument, a marker placed over a mass grave honoring the white soldiers who died there. The crowd that day numbered some 6,000 people. Writing in 1902, the Ohio genealogist Henry Howe recorded his impressions of that gathering.

According to Howe, people streamed toward Copus Hill from all directions as morning broke, arriving on foot, by horse, and in every sort of wagon or carriage imaginable, until the surrounding woods held nearly 6,000 souls overlooking the old battle site. The weather cooperated beautifully, offering one of those mild autumn afternoons perfect for the picnic baskets everyone had brought along. Music from the Mt. Zion band opened the program, followed by a prayer from Rev. J. A. Hail and further music before the welcoming address was delivered. Sarah Vail, James Copus's daughter, was brought before the assembled crowd; she had witnessed her father's death alongside the three soldiers and, at eighty-four years old, still lived nearby. Once the speeches concluded, roughly 1,200 vehicles formed a procession that rolled past the monument at the moment of its unveiling. From there the throng moved on to unveil the Ruffner Monument as well, closing out what Howe called a day that would not soon be forgotten.

At the urging of Rosella Rice, a local poet and writer, the monument also came to include a cenotaph honoring John Chapman, known popularly as Johnny Appleseed, even though he had no actual part in the fighting. Rice built much of her literary reputation on writings about Chapman, and her popular works helped transform him into one of the legendary figures of American folklore.