dication of leadership—got off second. On Dec. 28, 1788, this group, about 20 men in all, arrived at what is now the foot of Sycamore St. where there was a small inlet, later known as Yeatman’s Cove. It is true that a stained glass window above the main stairway in Cincinnati’s City Hall gives the date, in picturing this arrival, as Sept. 22 , 3788 . But most historians seem to agree that this refers to the preliminary visit of Symmes, Ludlow, Denman, Filson and others, not to the date of actual settlement.
The settlement had, at first, a grandiose name, “Losantiville.” This was the idea of John Filson, former schoolmaster and already widely known as a historian. His “ Discovery, Settlement and Present State of Kentucky” had been published in 1784. His synthetic name for the new settlement was made up of three words in as many languages—“Os,” Latin, mouth, “anti,” Creek, opposite, “ville,” French, city. The city-opposite-the-mouth. It was classic but a bit jumbled.
Anyhow, it did not last long. When Governor Arthur St. Clair came to Ft. Washington—the blockhouse and stockade which was soon built to protect the settlement — he changed the name to Cincinnati, in honor of the Order of Cincinnatus, to which many Revolutionary soldiers belonged.
Filson never knew the name was changed. This fine and scholarly gentleman—who, it seems, had one-third interest as did Col. Robert Patterson, in the 740 acre tract of land obtained by Denman from Symmes, disappeared suddenly one day when on the outskirts of the settlement. It was believed that he had been captured by Indians. Nobody ever found out what really happened to John Filson.
So Israel Ludlow, another man of ability who was to play an important part in the development of Cincinnati, took over the task of surveying and laying out the little town. There were “in lots,” which extended back from the landing and were between what is now Main and Broadway and “out lots” on which settlers had to pledge themselves to grow two crops successively, each crop to cover not less than an acre.
But we must leave Losantiville — it is not yet Cincinnati—and go down the Ohio to a point —northermost of any bend in the Ohio —about 16 miles below Yeatman’s Cove. We must go there, because that’s where John Cleves Symmes, last of the leaders to leave Limestone—he was waiting for assurance of military protection—landed with his group of settlers on Feb. 2, 1788. He had selected the location, had preferred it from the beginning, was confident that here, on the Great Miami, would rise the metropolis of the whole territory. As a matter of fact, there seemed good reason for his hopes.
But John Cleves Symmes was not destined to see his ambitions fulfilled —he was destined, on the contrary, to a life of increasing disappointment and anxiety, as legal complications multiplied due to the confusion of claims to the warrants he had given out for land—and the fact that lie had not really waited for Congress to act.
