By Peter A. Barnes

“The trouble with wolves,” my grandfather would say, “is that they eat little children.”

Wolves were the stuff of fairy tales and fables in my childhood. “Little Red Riding Hood” and “The Three Little Pigs” were stories read to small children, like me, partly as entertainment and partly as a lesson to teach us to be careful out there, or a big bad wolf would get us for sure.

There were no wolves loose in Batavia in 1950, but telling children stories about dangerous things like wolves made our parents and grandparents worry a bit less about our safety when we were out of sight.

In 1825, however, wolves were more than just a threat to small children. Wolves and other large predators were a problem for adults too. Everyone had to take care, or a wolf, or a pack of wolves, just might get them. On foot, or even on horseback, a man caught unprepared might become food for a hungry pack of wolves.

Horses, cows and other farm animals were prey, as well. Cows calf, and horses foal, when and where the time comes. Barns or even fences to help protect them and their newborn were rare on early farms.

Wolves were dangerous, and bounties were offered and paid by towns and townships all over the pioneer countryside. As recounted in the History of Clermont County, Ohio, published in 1880 by Louis H. Everts, officials in Batavia paid numerous bounties for wolves. An old wolf might bring a dollar. A young and healthy one might be worth three. Bounties were also paid on bears and an occasional panther, but most were paid for wolves. Everts’ book also relates the story of a harrowing encounter between George Ely, the founder of Batavia, and a pack of wolves.

In the 1820s, at the time of Ely’s adventure, hunting provided much of the food for residents of Batavia. George Ely was a good hunter.

As the story is told, George had spent an entire day stalking a deer down the East Fork Valley to the open ground near the foot of Wood Street. After the long day’s hunt, he dispatched the deer with one shot. It was now late in the day. As the light faded on this late autumn afternoon, he put his gun and powder horn aside and set himself to the task of cleaning the deer and tying the meat up in a tree where he could retrieve it in the morning.

Suddenly he was beset by a pack of wolves. The wolves were between George and his rifle, and the river was at his back. Knowing that wolves were not fond of water, he retreated to the relative safety of the river. Waist deep in the cold water of the East Fork, George picked his way through floating ice as he moved slowly up stream toward his homestead, more than a mile away. The pack of wolves followed along the shore, growling and menacing his every move.

After several hours in the cold water he finally neared his cabin at the mouth of Elk Lick Creek. As he approached, he called out and was met by an old man called Bull, who had been staying at the Ely homestead. Bull carried two torches lit from the fire in the cabin. In the words of the published account, pioneers knew that wolves have a “wholesome dread of fire,” and the firebrands would serve to keep them at bay. Torch in hand, George could finally make his way out of the freezing water, and he and Bull were able to retreat to the safety of the cabin.

It is said that, after that encounter, George Ely maintained such a spite against wolves that for the rest of his life he never passed up the opportunity to collect the bounty on one.

Batavia is celebrating its bicentennial this year, and The Clermont Sun is publishing a series of historic vignettes. Peter A. Barnes, writer, consultant and a Batavia native, now lives near Milford pursuing his life-long interest in local history.