Documents at the Brooke County Court House show that "William Hanks" owned this property in 1799 and had a stillhouse, cabin/house, gardens and orchards. Apparently this is where "Hank's Springs" derives its name.

OLD HANKS.

     Tourists say that the Ohio River scenery compares favorably with the Rhine, though devoid of the ruins of Ancient Castles and fragments of Antiquity that give an old time grandeur to the landscape. The Ohio today in a picturesque point of view is but the shadow of its former self. Its banks are now lined with cities, towns and villages, tasteful residences, verdant meadows and cultivated fields, but their beauty marred by the constant recurrence of enormous industrial plants. The Old River, however, in its original magnitude, before shrunken by time and civilization, had not destroyed its natural drapery, must have been grand almost to sublimity. Vast forests of oak, maple, hickory, walnut and sycamore trees amid its banks, while the ground beneath was covered with luxuriant grass. Emigration reached the east bank of the River and then tarried for some years, the North-west Territory still remaining to a great extent on the possession of its original owners.

     The eastern bank of the Ohio, about the year 1820 already exhibited the western progress of the Pioneers., Villages were established along it, with the boundaries of Pennsylvania and Virginia, with settlers at work on the forest-covered hills and valleys back of them, upon which, by rude culture, enormous crops were raised from the virgin soil. The only market was down the river upon the Mississippi, produce being floated down on flat boats and barges, which left the upper waters in the fall of the year, the owners retailing their contents to the Planters "enroute" or selling out at the wharves of the southern cities. The wheat grown was ground into flour at numerous grist mills upon the many tributaries of the Ohio and the corn distilled into whiskey at still-houses located near the limestone springs abounding throughout the country. The Pioneers or Settlers at this date led rough lives and were inured with hardships. Churches and Congregations were almost unknown. The men gathered on th Sabbath Day at the still-houses, where they engaged in shooting matches, gambling, horse-racing intersparsed with very hard drinking. They worked hard and drank accordingly.

     The winters were devoted to clearing land, with recreation at hoe-downs or dances to the music of the best fiddler in the neighborhood who "sawed-off" at a rapid rate quaint and curious airs known as "Down on the Old Tar River", "Old Dan Tucker", "Nigger in the Wood-pile", and so many of them, however, exhibiting remarkable similarity. The writer remembers in his early youth of being surreptitiously conveyed to one of these old time socials still in vogue, where stalwart men and women made the old cabin shake with vigorous shuffles. The Fiddler was placed our of the way upon a rough staircase leading to the sleeping loft, and behind him sat "Ye Scribe" looking down with juvenile wonder, not unmixed with consternation at the tumult below.

     The festivities terminated shortly before day-break, with a grand walk around to the air of "The Girl I Left Behind Me". A verse of the son still lingers in his memory.

     Who this woman was that caused the stampede of the Britons for along time puzzled our youthful mind. It was a matter of rejoicing to eventually solve the problem by the discovery that is was the 'Mericans and not Mary Kenzie who performed that feet of arms. This was consoling and more complimentary to English bravery. The incidents of that night were vividly impressed on the writer's mind by being suddenly seized and carried around, to be kissed by every female in the party. He stood the ordeal with juvenile gallantry, until an aged matron with yellowish streaks about the corners of her mouth, approached, when rank rebellion ensued, combined with kicking and gouging, only to be speedily suppressed with a half dozen enamored smacks, something like those flattering busses that gladdened th heart of Falstaff.

     It is many a year ago, it happened yet even as he writes he can almost taste that snuff. Our story, however, has more to do with the village of Charlestown on the east bank of the Ohio, within the borders of the Old Dominion. It contained about a dozen log houses, the main building or tavern stand being near the landing. The latter was more pretentious than the rest, in that it had a rather unsightly porch attached and contained the only bar-room in the village. Whiskey, however, was kept constantly at hand in nearly every house. A Blacksmith, Carpenter, Tailor and Shoemaker were the only skilled workmen among the citizens, except millwrights who were in great demand throughout the neighborhood. It was during the times of the Pioneers that the following incident took place.

     It was in the fall of the year that a flat-boat floating past the village sent our a skiff for the shore, laden with a single passenger, besides the oarsman. The loafers around the bar-room of the tavern, observing its approach, induced by curiosity, hastened to meet it at the water's edge. A slenderly built man with quick and nervous movements hastily landed and with the assistance of the oarsman deposited on shore, an iron-bound box securely locked. The skiff turned back into the river, the rower shouted,"Good-bye Frenchie", and hastened after the flat-boar now some distance ahead. The Passenger, after addressing a few words to the by-standers in a strange language, finally by signs obtained assistance and the box was taken to the tavern amid considerable excitement.

     SAM WELLS, the tavern keeper, somewhat noted for his strength and in most matters the Autocrat of the village stared in astonishment at the new arrival. He listened to the rapid speech and gestures of the visitor dumb-founded, but finally conducted him with his box to a spare room where by an English word now and then, and many gestures, the landlord was informed that the visitor wanted lodgings.
(Note, Charlestown is now Wellsburg and the tavern is NOW our Museum gh)

     He at the same time demonstrated his ability to pay by the display of a handful of gold coins. The landlord, on his return to the bar-room, stood treat for the crowd and then a babel of conjectures broke loose. The Blacksmith, the Carpenter and the Irish School Teacher all hastened to the tavern on hearing the news. Even the women stopped work and hurried to the same locality, anxious to hear the particulars. The presence of the stranger had he been an American would not have attracted much attention, but as the Blacksmith put the case: "A foreigner who has lots of money and can't tell who he is, or what he wants, is something that out to be looked onto". The Carpenter " 'Lowed that the men was a weakling put off the flat-boat to get rid of him". The opinion that at last obtained declared him a fugitive from over the sea, hiding from pursuit and, thereupon, a long argument as to the propitiate of giving him up in case he should be followed from beyond the mountains. The Schoolmaster, who told marvelous tales about Vinegar Hill and had strong aversion to the name of Cromwelll, insisted that is was against the Constitution of the United States to allow foreign governments to interfere with any man in this country no matter what he had done over the waters; otherwise Old England, bad luck to her, would be transporting back again all the Irish Patriots to quarter 'em. SAM WELLS concurred in this opinion and publicly announced that as long as Frenchie, as the Boatman called him, paid his board and lived properly, no man should disturb him. This did not satisfy a portion of the citizens who thought that the man should be asked to explain himself, and the Schoolmaster who was thought to know most everything was deputized to interview him the first favorable opportunity. It was observed the next day that the stranger walked in a singular manner, dragging the right foot after the left as if the ankle was rigid. He was passing the old schoolhouse when the Master came out and addressed him. "You haven't been long over from the 'ould country". said the Master. The stranger shook his head, spoke rapidly for a moment, bowed politely and hobbled on. The Master pronounced him a genuine Frenchman but admitted he couldn't understand a word he said.

     The Landlord found his boarder a very genial and pleasant inmate of his tavern. He took long walks over the hills circling around the east side of the village, gradually picked up a few English words and phrases, and was very good-natured over his blunders.

     When Spring came, he found a retreat on the top of a hill overlooking the village near a large, limestone spring, where he spent many hours watching the river as it placidly glided southward in it serpenting course. He was lounging under the forest trees there one day when the owner of the clearing came along. A colloquy ensued unsatisfactory in character until the stranger rose up, pointed out by signs a boundary around the spring, and by talk and gestures indicated a desire to purchase it. "Buy it?" said the owner. "Qui," was the reply with an affirmative nod.

     The former readily assented as the land was of little value. The two men together with the Landlord soon visited Mayor CONKLIN, the village Justice, who drew up a conveyance by which the spring and several acres of land surrounding it, became the property of the stranger, who tendered in payment gold coin with queer inscriptions upon it, which the Mayor pronounced French money, for he had seen the same kind among their soldiers at Yorktown. Its value was compacted, the deed acknowledged, and Frenchie was exultantly proclaimed by the Landlord, an "American Land Owner". The Purchaser built a cabin near the spring and began preparations to move into it. .

     The Villagers by this time had become warm friends of the new resident. A man who saluted everybody, never was in the road, and always sober, was entitled to respectful treatment, and this the Landlord swore "Henri Hanks" (the name given in the deed) should have. The settlers in the neighborhood, however, from that strange perversity in human nature that even in modern times manifests itself in rivalry or antagonism between land and city districts, disliked the Frenchman solely because the Village befriended him. The Tough element which assembled at the still houses on Sunday insisted that the Refugee harbored by SAM WELLS should be made to speak out. The fact that he refused to give his personal history was used against him until at last with a desire to antagonize the Village and satisfy public curiosity, it was several times determined to go down, trot the Frenchman out and discover who he was. This would have been done, had it not been circulated throughout the country that Sam Wells had taken the matter up for his Boarder and as the former was a man of courage and somewhat of an athlete, the excitement died away for a time.

     BILL CORNELIUS, the best man in the country, refused to acquiesce in this arrangement. His prowess was such that he lorded it over his neighbors at every corn husking and log-rolling that he attended. He heard the story and forthwith publicly declared during one of his drinking bouts at an adjacent still-house that the next time he went to town, he would talk the Frenchman out if that tavern and make his history.

     A threat if this kind according to the idea of personal honor then prevalent, must be strictly fulfilled if the boaster be subjected to the derision of his neighbors. Cornelius meant what he said and in consequence, one Sunday after drinking heavily, he invited his still-house friends to accompany him. Great excitement immediately ensued and the part all more or less under the influence of liquor rode to the Village in a body, drinking and yelling with reckless abandon.

     Sam Wells was sitting on his porch, Hanks in his room, and the Bar-room closed more from lack of customers than reverence for the day, when the Cavalcade came riding furiously up the street, with Cornelius in the lead. The entire party dismounted, hitched their horses to the forest trees, and approached the tavern.

     The former readily assented as the land was of little value. The two men together with the Landlord soon visited Mayor CONKLIN, the village Justice, who drew up a conveyance by which the spring and several acres of land surrounding it, became the property of the stranger, who tendered in payment gold coin with queer inscriptions upon it, which the Mayor pronounced French money, for he had seen the same kind among their soldiers at Yorktown. Its value was compacted, the deed acknowledged, and Frenchie was exultantly proclaimed by the Landlord, an "American Land Owner". The Purchaser built a cabin near the spring and began preparations to move into it.

     He was evidently intent on business as his weapon flashed in the sunlight, wielded by an expert hand. A bystander, however, voiced the judgment of the spectators by calling out: "Put up your corn cutters, Frenchie, the fight is over!"

     Tears of vexation rolled down his cheeks as friends with gentle words took him away. He was pacified by permission to repeat his challenge, amid the good-humored applause of the audience in the tavern bar-room, which the Master, basing his interpretation upon a single work, "Estates Unis" declared to be a general defiance of the United States. The demeanor of Mayor Conklin's on hearing of the contest was in accordance with his well known impulsive character. He declared that the Landlord only defended his legal rights, and had he been present himself, he would have stood by a Countryman of Lafayette to the death. He adjudged Hanks to be an American in all intents and purposes; naturalization laws being tyrannical restrictions on personal liberty and should be disregarded as unconstitutional.

     Old Hanks as the neighbors roughly but not unkindly called him now moved into his cabin and led the life of a recluse. His wants were few and supplied from the Village or his neighbors. He received occasional letters and packages from beyond the sea, by mail, and was well supplied with money. The Mayor and the Landlord, his most intimate friends, visited him on Sundays and spent the day in his cabin or lounging under the forest oaks on the hill lots, watching the river, engaged in conversation carried on by Hanks in broken English while his manner was gentle.

     The following incident indicates that the challenge proclaimed by him at the time of the "Big Fight" was not mere bravado. It was the custom of the young men on the night before New Years to go from house to house and usher in the new year by the discharge of fire-arms, followed by the settlers rising and greeting their visitors with food and stimulants. The usage was merely a part of the Christmas festivities, devoid of evil intent. A party of Merrymakers returning from an excursion of this character concluded to wake up Old Hanks. Knowing his ignorance of the neighborhood custom, they anticipated great amusement from his consternation at the noise tanging near his cabin window. At a given signal, a volley of firearms rang out over the hill; no response being made, the party reloaded and were about to repeat the discharge when the cabin door flew open and its inmate charged furiously upon them sword in hand. Rifles, shotguns, and non-descript weapons loaded and cocked were pointed directly at him, accompanied with menacing oaths, but on he came and the crowd faced with the alternative of either shooting him down or retreating, ignominiously fled.

     The Neighbors observed that even Mayor Conklin never boasted of his military record in the presence of his friend. The Mayor was one of those revolutionary Rebes who had been out both in '76 and '12 and, therefore, the most revered man in the Village. He was over six feet high, straight as a ramrod, and proud as Lucifer when clothed in his regimentals on Muster Day or the Fourth of July.

     He usually closed his patriotic duty of drilling the Militia on such occasions by copious mimitrings which his Neighbors locked up as on of the prerogatives of that liberty won on the battlefields of the revolution. He delighted in giving the full particulars of every engagement in which he participated save that of Bladensburg. This led his friends to believe that certain incidents were connected with that battle which it would not be patriotic to reveal. This reference to the Mayor was necessary in order to intelligently narrate the following occurrence during which the hermit of the hills appeared for the last time at a public gathering.

     The Village chanticleers were heralding approaching morn and the rays of the sun just appearing above the hills in the east, when Mayor Conklin with his old military cloak wrapped around him sat on the steps of his Cabin polishing the sword of '76, while his wife inside was engaged in the patriotic duty of brushing his regimentals ready for the Militia Muster to be holden that day according to the statute made and provided. The place chosen was a clearing north of the Village near the base of the hills, the latter still covered with forest trees. The whole settlement gathered there at an early hour in the morning, the men to fulfill the letter of the law and engage in dissipation. They drank hard during the day at extemporized bars placed under the trees or in rude tents. The meeting was enlivened with a series of races between horses of local celebrity. The Mayor soon made his appearance and commenced preparing the raw material for drill and future wars. It was a Herculean task. No sooner would the attention of the Commander be directed to the front than the rear would break ranks to engage in some deviltry requiring his presence to abate the disorder, at last the column was formed and the Mayor with a mein and deportment savoring of the times of '76 placed himself at its head, in front of the fife and drum, gave the command "Forward March" and looking straight ahead, marched around the field. The Fifer somewhat intoxicated missed about half the air of "Yankee Doodle", his instrument wobbling between his chin and nose, emitting a few notes as it passed his mouth. The Drummer in like condition beat away vigorously perfectly satisfied if he hit the drum, no matter where.

     As the Company nearly completed the circuit of the field, the leader was infuriated to find that more than half of its members were out of ranks. He drew his sword, threatened dire punishment, and ordered them back, but all was helpless confusion. Someone suddenly raised the cry of Bladensburg! It was taken up and echoed over the ground with shouts of laughter. The Leader's face grew red, his fury increased, so did the cries and shouts to the great delight of the crowd. At this crisis, Old Hanks, slowly approached the ground and instantly endeavored to assist his friend. He borrowed a musket from a straggler and went through the manual of arms, suiting the action to the work with a celerity and accuracy that soon attracted the attention and quieted the crowd. His feat was regarded with encouraging cheers which he courteously acknowledged, and turning to the leader said:

     A horse race in progress soon terminated all attempts at drill.

     The Old Man was never afterwards present at a public assembly but found recreation in the society of his intimate friends. He grew old. There are no air brakes on the car of time. It always reached the depot of eternity, where the passenger, willing or unwilling, must disembark forever.

     One day he received a batch of papers by mail and glancing at their contents would have fallen but for a neighbor's assistance. A great sorrow fell upon him and he rapidly failed in health. His friends called on the Country Doctor, who shook his head sadly. It was a case for the lance or colonial box. He was furnished with the best products of the Still and many delicacies by neighbors, but all in vain. At last the end came with his friends at his side. His mind as he weakened reverted to the past and taking up his old despairing cry on the Plains of Belgium, he cried out in a voice of indescribable anguish: "Napoleone, Napoleone !" and followed his Imperial Master.

     Tender hands performed the last sad rites tendered him as he requested by the side of the babbling brook, whose murmurings had soothed his exile, far away from the Frenchland that he so often prattled about in his delirium. The Mayor was apparently unmoved and presided with military stoicism at the funeral, but the same night, he mourned his friend with staggering steps and streaming eyes slowly made his way home from the Village bar-room. An administrator was appointed who sold the effects at public outcry.

     The neighbors fathered on the day of the sale to see Old Man Hank's things. The iron bound box was opened and a pair of swords produced and bought by the Landlord. Next, came the uniform of a French Officer, which the Mayor bid in with a husky voice. Lastly bundles of letters and newspapers in the French Language were purchased as relics by the Neighbors. The sale over, the Settlers dispersed and the Cabin gradually succumbed.

     With the lapse of time, some of the letters were translated in after years and Henri Hanks found to have been an officer under Bonaparte, who during the abdication took the oath of allegiance to the Bourdon King, rejoined the Emperor on his return from Elba, was captured at Waterloo, court-martialed, and sentenced to death, saved by the intervention of English officers, but condemned to the galleys at London for life, where after serving some years, his sentence was committed to perpetual exile.

     He found refuge in the wilds of America, a stranger in a strange land, where he lived upon the hope of his leader's escape. The death at St Helene was too much for a frame worn and weary from hardships and sorrow. The forests followed him. The name of the exile at this day is never heard except from lips of an old resident, who delights to talk of the incidents of his boyhood.