fae
TRADITIONS AND ROMANCE
BOR DEH TE

AND

REVOLUTIONARY TIMES.

 

EDITED BY EDWARD 58. ELLIS.

 

VOLUME II.

NEW YORE;
BEADLE AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,
: 118 WILLIAM STREET. «
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1864,
by BEADLE AND Company, in the Clerk’s Offigg’ of the District Court of the United
States for the Southern District of New York.

(T. 12.

 
CONTENTS.

; Aaron Burr and Margaret Moncrieff, - - - - - - 257
Aaron Burr’s story about Mrs. Arnold’s baseness, - - - 93
Abraham Horton’s story of the Spy, = - - - - - - 268
A curious record, - - : ‘ ‘ " e ie 321
Adam Poe’s encounter with the Indian giant, - - a 3 et
Adventures of the Hughes brothers, - oo ae . - - 170
Alexander McConnell’s adventure with Indians, - - - - 836
Andrew Tumlinson’s sacrifice, - - - - - - - 148
Anecdote of Mrs. Heyward, -- - - '= 475°" os =a
Anecdote of Mra, Wilson, - 4 - +. - 3g sts os
Anecdote of Mrs. Wright, in London, - - - : - - 230
Anecdotes of Daniel Boone, — - - - : 7 “ - §4-61
Anecdotesof dogs,-, “=... - - - ss - = 23%
Anecdotes of Indians, - “ - - - - - 111, 112, 118
Anecdotes of Lew. Wetzel, - : esate ims es 2 a . 80-84
Anecdotes of the Revolution, - - - - - - 187-192
4 Battle of Bloody'Brook,- - = 4s <4 = = - . - 240
Battle of Bloody Run, - - ~ - - - - . - 246
Benedict Arnold’s baseness, - - - - - . ‘ -.- 90
' Benedict Arnold’s history in the British service, . - - 95
- Benedict Arnold insulted by Colonel Brown, : - - - 84 a
Jenham’s romantic adventure, - - . - - Z : 338 :
Bosomworth’s intrigue with the Creeks, - - - - - 119
British barbarity, . : - Mee es a 7 - “QR
Burning at the stake of Colonel Crawford, - -- . s - 2”
Burning of towns in Connecticut, - - a 2 ~ id 186
Burton Eustick’s achievement, = - - 3 2 : - 25
i Cammel’s revenge, - - 7 : é i ¥ : 1 B5t
’ Canassatego’s opinion of civilization, — - 3 i é é - 109
: Captain Gregg and the dog, - ~ | we eictae geile iain 5 tare
Dalzell’s defeat, —- : . i ; ; e : . - 246
Daniel Boone’s rescue of Kenton, : - - - : ’ 50
. David Morgan’s adventure, - . s is “ - - - 69

Death-song of the Natchez chief, Seca ai ae «D0

 
1v CONTENTS.

Diary of the Revolution, aera cca ak Se
Emily Geiger’s services to the patriot cause, -
Escape of Captain John Steele, = - - - -
Exploits of Gavin James, - - - - -
General Campbell’s justice,  - - . - -
General Scott’s release of the murderers, - -
Hamilton saving his cloth,  - - - - -
Harry Harland, the mock deserter, - - -
“Harvey Birch”—Cooper’s Spy, - foc saae
Horrors of the prison-ships, - - - -
Hughes killing the turkey,  - - “ - a
Hunting excursion of Lew. Wetzel, - - -
Incident of the massacre of Wyoming, - -
Indian girl saving Howard’s life at the stake, -
Indian protecting the boy at River Raisin, - -
Indian’s stratagem, - - - - - -
Intrepid conduct of Neal Washburne’s sister, -
Jacob Wetzel’s adventure with Simon Kenton, -
Jacob Wetzel saved by his dog, - : - ¥
James Morgan’s struggle for his child, «  - -
Jesse Hughes killing the turkey, - or .
Lord Rawdon and Mrs. McCalla, - - -
Luther Kennicut’s secret services, - - - -
Mad Ann, the huntress, —- - - - -
Magnanimity of Rohn-yen-ness, - = - - -
Margaret Moncrieff, the female spy, - - -
Margaret Shippen’s (Mrs. Arnold) sufferings,
Mary Musgrove, the Indian queen, - - -
Massacre of the Laybrook family, - - : -
Massacre of the Moravians, - : -
McCleland and White’s adventure on Mt. Pleasant,
McClure’s adventures with Indians and dogs, -
Milly, the Indian maid, rescuing the Georgian,  -
Morgan’s wife, - - . - - - -

Mrs. Bratton and Captain Huck, - “ i 2

Mrs. Huggins, the Minnesota captive, - -
Mrs. McCalla’s devotion, - - : “ -
Mrs. Palmer interceding with General Putnam,
Mrs. Wright, in London, anecdote of, - - -
Nancy Hart and the Tories, " z i i
Noble conduct of James Harrod, - é " -
Oo-na-le-tah’s devotion, —- - 5 * 2
Owen Davis carving out court business, - ;
Peter Francisca, the West Virginia Samson, _— -

232-288
262

- 839
145

- 88
205

- 180
307

- 265
30

- 166
79

- 178
152

- 200
56
64-68
76
ED
161

- 166
126

- 265
1138

- 197
257
- 92
119
- 211
280
- 62
826
=~ 165
165

- 848
13

- 126
9:

- 230
854
- 202
1538

- 295

137
CONTENTS. Vv

Pioneer life in the West, - - : 4 - 3 - 858

ted Jacket’s speech to the missionary, = - s - “ - 106
Religious sentiment prevailing during the Revolution, - . - 238
Savage protecting Mr. Jenkins, - - és is z : a 904
Sawyer and Cowley’s adventure with the Indians, - - a BBY
‘Sergeant Champe’s recognition of Captain Cameron, - - 299
Sergeant McDonald’s exploits, - - - s P Z a
Simon Kenton’s rescue of Daniel Boone, - - 5 < 3 50
Stephen Ball hung by the Tories, - - - - - - 55a
Swallowing a scalping-knife, —- - - - - s . 55
Story of Malatche, the Creek, - - - - x 5 f49
The dog—powers of his mind, - - - - - > : 216
The heroic dog, - - - - - . - - 7 2 Soe
The Indian’s theft, - - - - - - - f . 160
The last blast of Anthony, the trumpeter, - - - “ae
The Minnesota‘massacre, - : - - - - zs 99
The Natchez, - - - . - - . - - - - 206
The soldier’s ruse, —- - - - - - - - - 151
Washington’s magnanimity, - - - . . - 3 a. eae
White’s attempt to drown the squaw, : - - - ke 64.
Wife of General Thomas Nash, - oe. - : - - 2298
Wife of Governor Griswold, —- - - - - - 4 229
Wild Cat’s (Coacoochee) “talk” to Colonel Worth, — - ‘i - 100
Wilson’s escape from the British, : - ~ - - 345
Wingemund refusing to save Colonel Crawford, - - - - 270
Woman capturing a Hessian, - - F - “ 5 ai Tes

- .
 

ILLUSTRATIONS.

MRS. HUGGINS, THE MINNESOTA CAPTIVE,

MRS. PALMER INTERCEDING WITH GEN. PUTNAM,
STEPHEN. BALL HUNG BY TORIES,

KENTON SAVING BOONE’S LIFE,

JACOB WETZEL RESCUED BY HIS DOG,
3ENEDICT ARNOLD INSULTED BY COL. BROWN,
WILD CAT’S “TALK” TO GENERAL WORTH,

MAD ANN, THE HUNTRESS, -

“ FRANCISCO, THE WESTERN SAMSON,

INDIAN GIRL SAVING,.HOWARD,
HUGHES KILLING THE TURKEY,
HAMILTON SAVING HIS CLOTH,

MAGNANIMITY OF ROHN-YEN-NESS,

THE HEROIC DOG, - - -

THE WOMAN CAPTURING THE HESSIAN,

BATTLE OF BLOODY BROOK,

MISS MONCRIEFF, THE FEMALE SPY, -
WINGEMUND REFUSING TO SAVE COL. CRAWFORD,
OWEN DAVIS CARVING OUT COURT BUSINESS,

CHAMPE’S RECOGNITION OF CAPT. CAMERON,

LAST BLAST OF ANTHONY THE TRUMPETER, -
McCLURE AND THE OLD INDIAN,

ESCAPE OF CAPTAIN JOHN STEELE,

PIONEER LIFE IN THE WEST,

57

85
101
117
134
157
178
181
194
209
225
241
254
277
2938
301
813
829
345

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TRADITIONS AND ROMANCE

BORDER AND REVOLUTIONARY TIMES.

 

THE MINNESOTA CAPTIVE.
STEPHEN BALL HUNG BY TORIES.
MRS. PALMER AND PUTNAM.
KENTON SAVING BOONE’S LIFE.

 

NHW YORK;
BEADLE AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS,
118 WILLIAM STREET.

 
 

Entered according to Act of Congress, 1n the Year 1864,
by BEADLE AND Company, in the Clerk’s Oftice of the District Court of the United
States for the Southern District of New York.

 

 
A

MRS. HUGGINS,

THE

MINNESOTA CAPTIVE.

 

Wuen the reader takes up the Dive Taxxs, it is with the ex-
pectation of perusing incidents that occurred at least half a
century ago—incidents of which, perhaps, he entertains a
shadowy remembrance of hearing his grandparent speak,
long years since, when he was but a boy at his knee. But
we are now about to record an occurrence that took place
within the memory of the youngest child whose eyes may
chance to fall upon these pages.

In the burning month of August, 1862, a whirlwind of fire
and death swept over the mountains and plains of Minnesota.
The great rebellion, then as now, absorbed the principal at-
tention of the people, so that this attracted much less notice
abroad than it would have done in ordinary times. But the
thrill of horror that ran along the border when they realized
what a fearful massacre had burst upon them, will never be
forgotten by the survivors. At such times there always occur
scenes of terrible moment, acts of daring, hair-breadth escapes, —
and innumerable conflicts, which never become known except
to the participators. There are a few, however, that are
chronicled by the pen of the historian, and among these we
present the narrative of Mrs. Sophia Josephine Huggins, wife |
of the beloved misionary who was slain at his station, near
Lake Iyedan, or Lae qui Parle.

The massacre, which began at the Lower Agency, a number

of miles ‘distant, on the 18th of August, did net reach this
13
  

 

Searxeesetneee ree

eee ane

TALES AND TRADITPONS.

station until the next day, and then it came with a most start-
ling suddenness. It was during the afternoon that three men,
each carrying a gun, came from Red Iron’s village, and entered
the house. They evinced much friendship, were communica-
tive, and appeared particularly pleased with a sewing-machine
that was used. They minutely examined it, and seemed anx-
ious to understand how it was that it wrought with such
astonishing rapidity. About four o’clock the three men went
out, and shortly after was heard the report of two guns in
rapid succession. The Indians instantly rushed in, so wild
and terror-stricken, that Mrs. Huggins at first suspected that
their old enemies, the Chippewas, had come down upon them.
They exclaimed :

“Go out, go out; you shall live, but go out. Take nothing
with you.”

As the lady passed out, she saw her friend, Julia, bending
over the lifeless body of Mr. Huggins.

“Oh, Josephine! Josephine!” was all the terrified mourner
could exclaim.

Although her heart was ready to burst with grief, she was
compelled to force it down, and attend to the safety of her
loved ones and herself. She and Julia—the latter carrying
the small child, Letta, and the mother the boy, Charles—hur-
ried over to their friend DeCota. Before doing so the faithful
wife, at the imminent risk of her own life, ran into the house
and procured a lounge cover, which she spread over the corpse
of her beloved husband. :

Upon reaching DeCota’s, Mrs. Huggins found him starting
back with Julia. She asked permission to accompany them,
but he thought the danger too great, and would not allow
it. Shortly after, Mr. DeCota returned, and Mrs. Huggins
asked whether he could not conduct them to Yellow Medicine.
He replied that they would certainly be tomahawked upon
the way, but added that he would probably start with them,
on the morrow, for the white settlements on the Red River.
Upon the return of Julia, she stated that Walking Spirit, an
Indian Chief, had buried Mr. Huggins. The savage had

14

 

 

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ee

MRS. HUGGINS AT THE INDIAN CHIEF’S HOUSE. — 7

expressed great sorrow at the melancholy death, and asserted
that if he had been present he would*have defended the life
of the beloved missionary to the very last.

. The house which Mrs. Huggins had just left was full of
plunderers. They consisted not only of the murderers, but
of Indians from the Lae qui Parle villages. Those demons,
as if not contented with their deeds of blood, destroyed every
thing upon which they could lay hands, and were unable to
carry away.

After a consultation, the Indian Chief, Walking Spirit, con-
cluded that the fugitives would be safer at his house than at
DeCota’s, and accordingly, in the evening, they took up their _
quarters there. The brother of Mrs. DeCota, Blue Lightning, —
accompanied them. As they passed through the village, they
attracted no little attention. The majority seemed disposed
to be friendly, and the women, for a wonder, were respectful,
and even sympathetic. Their lords, on the contrary, seemed
to pay no attention at all to them.

Upon reaching the chief’s house, he received them, kindly,
and gave the most honorable place in his lodge to Mrs. Hug-
gins. There was great excitement in the village through the
entire night. Mrs. Huggins heard constant shouting and
whooping, and numbers of the savages entered the lodge of
Walking Spirit, and held long conversations with him. The
exhausted children, however, slept sweetly and soundly until
morning. At the morning meal, a bountiful repast was fur-
nished, the choicest portions of which were offered Mrs. Hug-
gins, who was the royal guest of the lodge.

As yet, the fugitives were by no means safe, and another
friend, Mr. John Longee, who lived across the river, urged
them to come to his house. It was finally agreed to accept
his invitation, the old chief admitting that it, perhaps, was

.the best plan. They were not disturbed on their way thither,

and found a cordial welcome awaiting them.
On Thursday Mr. Longee visited the village, and brought
back the most harrowing accounts of the massacre, which was

raging with a fury that threatened death to<every white
15 .

 
  

TALES AND TRADITIONS.

person within reach of the infuriated Indians. In the even-
ing, the brother of Julia made his appearance, costumed
like an Indian. He said that if she put on the Indian
dress, and remained with him, she would be safe, but ad-
vised Mrs. Huggins against accompanying them. At the
invitation of Mr. DeCota, she decided to remain, for the pres-
ent, in his family.

On Friday morning, her cherished friend and counsellor,
Julia, left her. After her departure, the widow felt sad and
lonely enough, and realized how deeply she must depend upon
God for protection and deliverance in this hour of extremity.
After her departure, Mr. Longee and Mrs. Huggins started
on horseback for Walking Spirit’s village. Their going
through the woods was most dangerous and trying. The
lady says she was in constant expectation of a rifle-bullet from
some concealed Indian, who had caught sight of them; but
they passed safely through, until they reached Lame Bear’s
village, where Mr. Longee concluded it best for all to dismount,
and for him to leave them. Journeying together, or upon
horseback, they could scarcely escape attracting the attention
of those whom they were most anxious to avoid.

The reception at DeCota’s was a grievous disappointment
to the sensitive Mrs. Huggins. They had invited her there,
and now, instead of receiving them with open arms, they
were told to pass on to the old chief, Walking Spirit. Sad-
dened and depressed, our heroine made her way to the lodge
of this warrior, where the reception abundantly compensated
for the slight she had just suffered. The chieftain was absent
at the time, but when he returned he was as joyous and
frolicsome as a child, at the return of the fugitive to his home.
He told her to remain at his house, and, as soon as he could
secure the time, he would take her to her friends.

Six long, weary weeks passed slowly away. How sad and
lonely, indeed, none but that young stricken widow can tell.
But the same consolation that had been the comfort and de-
light of her husband was hers. The blessed Bible that had
once been his, was her constant eompanion, and from its pages

16 +

4

 

 
A SLIGHT DISTURBANCE. 9

she drew those great truths so sustaining to the human heart
in its hour of affliction.

With tact and judgment, Mrs. Huggins endeavored to con-
form to the tastes and opinions of those around her. By this
means she endeared herself to them, and rendered her own
situation less monotonous than it otherwise would have been.
She assisted the chief’s wife in sewing, cooking, bringing
water, or any other chore to which she could turn her hand.

Mrs. Huggins relates but one slight disturbance that occur-
red during her residence with this really noble-hearted Indian.
She had spent the greater portion of the day at Sacred Nest’s,
and, upon her return, Walking Spirit remarked that it was not
good for her to remain away so long; that his house was the
best place for her at such a time. His wife also added that
the Sissetonwaus would probably come down and kil her, if
she did not stay with them. Under the circumstances, the
displeasure of the couple was natural. enough, and we can all
excuse it, when we recall the motives that were its cause.

One day, some of the chief’s relatives entered the lodge,
bringing with them a Frenchman, who spoke broken English,
as their interpreter. He said that he lived many miles to the
north; that he had no children, and made the request for one
of Mrs. Huggins’, pledging himself to protect and bring it
up as if it were his own. The mother made the natural reply
—a kind but decided refusal.

This seemed displeasing to the old woman, who expressed
surprise that she did not part with her little girl, Lotta, but
we may doubt her being a mother, if she could talk in this
manner. Hitherto she had treated the children of Mrs. Hug-

‘gins with great kindness and affection, but she now became
indifferent and fault-finding with them. This filled the mother
with great apprehension, that one or both of them would be
stolen from her, and she kept, so far as possible, an unremit-
ting watch over them.

This living among the Indians affected her boy unfavorably.
He became feeble and unwell, and never regained his health

during his stay with them. Their food was mostly corn,
17
Seucaieny oe eed

   

10 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

potatos, dog meat, and occasionally a little coffee and sugar.
Sometimes, Mrs. Huggins states, when she saw the dirty
dishes, and the filthy manner in which the food was prepared,
she felt a little squeamishness, but she nobly endeavored to
live up to the admonition “ when in Rome, do as Romans do.”

At the time of Mrs. Huggins’ second entrance into the
lodge of Walking Spirit, Sacred Nest and his wife were absent
upon a buffalo-hunt, and did not make their appearance for
several weeks. When they did so, they sat down and wept
with her. Their grief was great. Sacred Nest took Lotta
in his arms, and, as he stroked her hair, and looked down in
her childish face, he said : l

“ Poor thing—poor thing!” and then, looking to the mother,
added: “It is hard, very hard; but God is good, though all
men are bad. With Him it is light, though all is dark here.”

This couple evinced much friendship and kindness to the
poor mother and her children. They invited them to their
lodge, and feasted them right royally when there.

The holy Sabbath passed as did the other days. Mrs. Hug-
gins endeavored to remember it; but she got behind, and
observed several Mondays in its stead.

Some time after this the wife of the chief called Mrs. Hug-
gins out to observe something which had caught her eye.
I’ar up the road they discovered a large company of Indians,
rapidly approaching. The women of the village, who by this
time had become greatly attached to their white friend, gath-
ered around her, and told her she must keep closely concealed,
with her children, so long as they remained in the village.
She was accordingly hurried into a tent, where, with the two.
children, she cowered down, and, through a small orifice in the
tent, anxiously watched their movements.

There was a large number of savages. Many were mounted,
and many were on foot, numbers of whom had charge of
earts. It was a difficult task to keep the children from crying
out, but the mother succeeded by exciting their childish fear
of the bad men without. .

The visit of these Northerners, as they ‘were called, created

18

 
&00D DAY’S PROPOSAL FOR MRS. HUGGINS.. I

a great excitement in the village. There was constant run-
ning to and fro, and a great anxiety to conciliate and retain
their good will. They were a frightful-looking set, whooping
and shouting, and firing their guns continually. Their malig-
nant ferocity gleamed thioagh their paint-bedaubed visages,
and Mrs. Huggins well knew what would be her fate should
she chance to fall into their hands. Such large numbers were
roving about the village, and passed so close to her, that she
was in imminent danger of discovery; but the same kind
Providence that had brought her through such a labyrinth of
perils, did not forsake her. The dreaded Indians took their
departure about noon, and the village returned to its usual
quiet again.

Soon after this all the men of the village, including Walk-
ing Spirit, with his wife, took their departure, and she was
left for three days with the old woman. She suffered terribly
from fear, hardly sleeping at night, but nothing came to dis-
turb her, and, at the end of the time mentioned, her friends
returned.

A couple of weeks after this, when all were employed in
braiding corn, some one came in with a letter to the chief.
As he was unable to read it, he handed it to Mrs. Huggins.
The latter was almost certain it concerned her, and anxiously
opened it; but to her disappointment she saw it was written
in Dacotah. She returned it, saying she could not read it,
He remarked that he would give it to Sacred Nest, who would
read it for him.

Upon the return of Sacred Nest, he said that Good Day,
who lived at the Yellow Medicine, had written it. The chief
explained its contents, which had made him exceedingly angry.
The man wanted Mrs. Huggins for a wife. He said that
Good Day was a very bad man, who already had a wife.
Thereupon the chief threw the letter into the fire, torshow:his
anger against, and his contempt of the man. Ther
ended. :
Mrs. Huggins was subjected to all manner of fear. ae

not long after this that the old woman went out of the lodge,
19

 
 
  
   

 

—
Aa

—

ee ee
: rs

TALES AND TRADITIONS.

telling her to remain there, as there was a bad man in the
village, who would kill her. A few moments after this, the
blanket which served as a door was thrown violently aside,
and a man, terribly excited and furious, sprung in. He held
a drawn sword in his hand, and his face was painted so
grotesquely that it added a tenfold fierceness to his looks.
With a remarkable presence of mind, Mrs. Huggins looked
calmly in his face, as if to inquire the meaning of such un-
gentlemanly intrusion. She was certain that this was the
man of whom she had been warned, and that he meant to
slay her. Yet she quietly continued sewing, and, after con-
fronting her a moment, he turned and retreated almost as
suddenly as he had entered.

A moment later the chief dashed in, panting and excited.

“ You frighten me by your hurry,” said Mrs. Huggins.

“ You frighten me,” he replied; “I was afraid you would
be killed before I got here.”

It proved that the irate savage was in search of his wife,
who had left him. He finally discovered her, and vented his
fury in cutting her pack to pieces.

The wife of the missionary was constantly subjected to
such experiences as these. When strangers made their ap-
pearance, it was generally the custom to conceal her and her
little ones from sight, until they had departed, or it was as-
certained that no danger threatened.

‘Shortly after this, the entire village begun their prepara-
tions for departing north. They were constantly employed
in burying corn and potatos, and pounding corn off the cob
to take with them. They manifested a great hurry to be on
the move, although the women expressed. dissatisfaction at

the prospect of going. They affirmed that their destination |

was 2 bad country, where there there was no wood, and very
little to eat. Finally, word reached them that all the white
prisoners had been killed, and that all Indians who did not

flee north would be slain as a consequence. This expedited

their departure. The next day the entire village were on

their way teward the north. :
20

 

*
‘?

 

    

MRS. HUGGINS LEAVES HER INDIAN FRIENDS. 18

Nothing of interest transpired forsey eral days. They con
tinued their journey, many of the Indians:in constant fear of
an attack from the avenging whites. One morning a man
rode up to the tent, and uttered something in the Indian
tongue that made all start to their feet. The tent was imme-
diately pulled down, and put into the wagon, and they made
all haste to get out of that section of the country. The little
party, consisting of the chief and his family, soon joined a
company of Indians, who traveled until afternoon without
stopping.

For four days their path led through a region abounding
with beautiful prairies and lakes. Sometimes this enlivening _

scenery and the natural reaction of her spirits, made Mrs, ~°

Huggins cheerful ; but the remembrance of the loved one who
had been stricken down by her side, and the dread fear of
what she was to be subjected to among those savage people,
quickly dispelled all such emotions, and she was sad and weary
as before.

A day or two later, a man brought some tidings. in the
camp which created a great excitement. Mrs. Huggins did
not understand what it meant, but she was filled with a fever-
ish hope that her escape was close at hand. When, in answer
to an inquiry of hers, the old chief’s wife asked her whether
she wished to leave them, her suspicion was confirmed, and
she anxiously awaited coming events.

At noon when they encamped, preparations were made to
receive visitors, and shortly after, Enos Good Hail, Lazarus
Rusty, Robert. Hopkins, and David Renville entered. The
glow of their faces showed to the expectant heart of Mrs.
Huggins that they bore good tidings with them. .

After they were seated, Enos Good Hail produced two let-
ters, one for Walking Spirit, from Colonel Sibley, and trans-
lated by Mr. Riggs. Colonel Sibley was encamped near Lae
gui Parle, and had sent for Mrs. Huggins by those friendly
Indians. The next morning she took her departure in their
company. The kind-hearted chief, Walking Spirit, who had
befriended: her so much, gave them his own oe They
TALZS AND TRADITIONS.

exchanged affectionate farewells, for both parties had learned
to respect and love one another.

The first night’s encampment was near the old trading posts,
at Big Stone Lake. Lame Bear and some of his people were
encamped there, and treated the party with hospitality. The
day before they reached Camp Release, they came upon twelve
murderous-looking warriors, seated upon the ground, smoking.
There was no escape from them, and so our friends put a bold
face on the matter, and passed them as though they feared
nothing. After getting fairly by them, they drove very fast,
frequently looking back to see that they were not pursued.

This night they encamped in sight of Zac qui Parle, and
the next day they reached the spot which had been the home
of Mrs. Riggs and her husband before this fearful outbreak.

{nos Good Hail and Walking Spirit accompanied her to the
grave of her husband. Stakes were driven around it, to pro-
tect it as well as possible. Then she walked over the old
familiar places, where he had so frequently been, her loved
companion, and what pen shall picture the weary sadness of
that overburdened heart ?

An hour’s ride brought them to camp Release. She was
completely prostrated by fatigue and excitement. Here she
was treated with all kindness and consideration, and rapidly
regained her health. Her children, too, who had been worn
down by their extreme exertion, were soon restored to strength,
and she found abundant cause for devout gratitude to God.

Mrs. Huggins remained at Camp Release for about two
wecks. She is quite a young woman, and her vigorous con-
stitution hy that time made her herself again, and ghortly

after she and her children took their departure, and joined
their friends below.

An officer who served in the expedition sent out to quell
the Indians, in an article published in Harper’s Monthly, gives
some incidents of the massacre which fill the mind of the
reader with a horror not soon to be forgotten. He says:

* But who can tell the story of that hour? of the massacre

of helpless women and children, imploring merey from those
29

 
THE INDIAN MASSACRE. 15

whom their own hands had fed, but whose blood-dripping
hatchets the next moment crashed pitilessly through their flesh
and bone—of the abominations too hellish to rehearse—of the
cruelties, the tortures, the shrieks of agony, the death-groans
of that single hour? The few that escaped by any means,
heard enough, saw enough, felt enough to engage their utmost
powers. Those that stayed behind never told their story.
From house to house the torch soon followed the hatchet ;
The flames enveloped alike the dead, dying and wounded.
Tired of butchery in detail, the savages fired a dwelling, and
in it burned alive a mother and her five children; a few of
their charred bones were afterward found among the ashes.
Some escaped through back doors, over fields, down the side
of the bluff to the river. Those fortunate enough to get over
by the ferry or otherwise, hastened with utmost speed to the
fort. Others hid among the bushes, in hollow logs or holes,
behind stumps, or in the water. Maddened with unresisted
success—for not a shot, not a blow had yet been aimed at them
—with fiendish yells the Indians followed, or sought new vic-
tims among yet unsuspecting settlers. The ferry was taken
possession of, the ferryman’s house, the neighboring stacks,
the mills, the piles of lumber, were set on fire. The ferry-
man himself, tomahawked before his own door, was disem-
boweled, his head, hands and feet chopped off, and inserted in
the cavity. They overtook a boy trying to escape. Tearing
off every thread of clothing, they pricked and pierced him
with their blunt-headed javelins, laughing at and mimicking
his agony till death came:to his relief. Narcis Gerrian, as
they entered, leaped from the mill window for the river; ere
he had reached it, of three shots they fired at him, two pierced
his breast. He swam across, almost drowned. Four days he
went without food, and, after dragging himself, more dead
than alive, through woods and swamps, for sixty-five miles,
was found by a party of refugees, and carried to Henderson,
Passing a stick through both ankles of a woman, they drag-
ged her over the prairie, till, from that alone, torn and
mangled, she died.

23

 

 
 

16 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

“'Those that escaped spread the alarm. As they heard it
the people fled precipitately, scarce knowing whither they
went. After them the Indians followed throughout the entire
line of settlements, over a frontier of hundreds of miles, com-
mitting barbarities that could scarce be exceeded if all hell
were turned loose. Not far from the Agency a few families
of settlers had congregated. The Indians overtook “them.
The first volley killed the few men among them. The defense-
less, helpless women and children huddled together in the
wagons, bending down their heads, and drawing over them,
still closer, their shawls. Cut Nose, while two others held
the horses, leaped into a wagon that contained eleven, mostly
_~¢hildren, and deliberately, in cold blood, tomahawked them
all—cleft open the head of each, while the others, stupefied
with horror, powerless with fright, as they heard the heavy,
dull blows, crash and tear through flesh and bones, awaited
their turn. Taking an infant from its mother’s arms, before
her eyes, with a bolt from one of the wagons, they riveted
it, through its body, to the fence, and left it there to die,
writhing in agony. After holding far a while the mother be-
fore this agonizing spectacle, they chopped off her arms and
legs, and left her to bleed to death. : Thus they butchered
twenty-five within a quarter of an acre. Kicking the bodies
out of the wagons, they filled them with: plunder from the
burning houses, and, sending them back, pushed on for other
adventures.

*“ Antonio Freniere found a house in which seven children,
the oldest a girl not over twelve, were huddled together in
one bed; hearing his footsteps, they pulled the bed-clothes
further over their heads, and lay trembling. It was impossi-
ble for him to take any of them along with him. Going into

the cellar, and finding a pan of milk, he brought it and gave

it to them, and, promising to come again and remove them,
was obliged to leave them there and goon. Afterward, when
others came there, they found that the Indians’ hatchet had
already done its work. Not far frém the house lay killed,
upon her back, a mother, with her infant left upon her breast.

i

a

 
er are

BURTON EUSTICK’S ACHIEVEMENT. 17

“The dead, as well as the living, were outraged and muti-
lated by the savages. They killed a farmer in his house, and,
laying him on the table, braced open his mouth with a stick,
and left it filled with milk. They left another to be eaten by
a hog, which they drove in and shut up in the same room;
afterward nothing but his bones and the hog were found.
They tore out the heart of another, and left it fastened on a
stick, stuck up beside him. The extent to which they carried
these outrages depended upon the time they had for their
execution, and the mood in which they happened to be. If
they had time to kill but few of a settlement, and burn but
part of the houses, they seemed invariably to light upon the
traders, and those that had sold them whisky; for, though
they were passionately fond of ‘fire - water,’ they hated the
men that had brought it among them.

“One little boy, not ten years of age—Burton Eustick—
alternately carried and led by the hand his younger brother
of five taking every possible precaution to avoid being seen,
for eighty miles, to Fort Ridgely, and safely arrived there
with him, having accomplished a heroic deed, of which any
man might boast. A woman, with her three children, escaped
from their home, with barely their lives. The youngest, an
infant, she carried in her arms; the other two little girls

walked and ran painfully along by her side through the-— ,

tangled brier-vines. They lived on wild plums and beers
and, when those were gone by the frost, on grape-tendrils an

roots. They coverted like a brood of partridges, trembling,
starving, nearly dead, The infant was taken home to heaven.
The mdther laid its body under a plum-bush, seraped together
a heap of dried leaves, and covered it, placed a few sticks
over them to prevent the rude winds from blowing them
away; then, looking hastily around again, fled with her re-
maining ones. It was seven weeks ere they were found and
rescued. Some, of less nerve, completely lost their mind by
the first fright, and wandered about, demented, through the
thickets, till found.” ”

 

 

 
TALES AND TRADITIONS.

 

vy

STEPHEN BALL HUNG BY TORIES.

Sraren Istanp was occupied asa British post during the
greater portion of the War for Independence, and was an
important position, as it afforded easy access to the Jersey
shores, whence foraging parties could draw supplies of pro-
visions for the army, and furnished a safe retreat for those
foraging parties when pursued by the American militia.
Toward the close of the war, several circumstances combined
to cause a scarcity of provisions in the British camp, among
which the activity of various bands ef militiamen in cutting
off all parties of the enemy, unless they were in great force,
was not the least in importance. Every means was adopted
to overcome this difficulty, and an appeal to the cupidity
of the inhabitants was made by the commanding officer on
the Island, in which he stated that all persons, whatever their
principles, who would bring provisions tv the camp, should
have permission to sell them—be paid the highest price—and
should be allowed to return unmolested. Such a proclamation
- was calculated to effect the object; for it is well known that
Congress could not pay for supplies to their armies except in
depreciated Continental money, and as there was no other
market for them, the farmers had but one alternative: either
‘to sell them for British gold, or the almost worthless paper
money of Congress. It is not surprising, therefore, that
many whose patriotism was not doubted, chose the former,
and, whenever opportunity offered, slipped over to the Staten
Island shore with their produce, for which they received a
fair price in the hard cash of King George.

Among those who were deluded to this course, was a man
by the name of Stephen Ball, who, having four quarters of
beef to dispose of, thought it better to get its equivalent in
gold than in paper money. In pursuance of his object, he

-

 

 

 
 

ARREST OF STEPHEN BALL. 19

placed his beef on board of a boat, and carefully covering
it from observation, so that his intent might not be suspected,
in case he should meet any one who knew him, he put off one
night and rowed through Newark Bay to “the Kills,” which
he crossed, and landed on Staten Island early in the morning
of February 15, 1781. He found no difficulty in disposing of
his beef; but for fear that he might be observed in leaving the
Island, and his object suspected by some of his friends, he
determined to wait until the shades of night should screen his
retreat, as it had his approach. Fatal determination! The
delay cost him his life.

It so happened that while wandering about on the Island
he was met by a man named Cornelius Hetfield, one of those
cold-blooded villains who have no regard for any of those
principles which govern even the most barbarous warfare, but
fought for plunder, and was governed only by the bloody
instincts of his brutal nature. The man had command of a
party of six renegades of a similar stamp, whose names were
Job Hetfield, Jas. Hetfield, Sen., Jas. Hetfield, Jr., Elias Man,
Samuel Man, and JobSmith. All of these were former residents
of Elizabethtown, except Smith, who was from Bergen. The
leader, Cornelius Hetfield, recognized Ball, and knowing his
rebel proclivities, arrested him under the pretence of his being
a spy, notwithstanding the asseverations that his object was a
peaceful one. They stripped and searched him; and finding
the money which he had received for his beef, they quickly
relieved him of it, and appropriated it among themselves, and
then carried their prisoner before General Patterson for trial
asaspy. This officer explained to them the object of Ball’s
visit to the camp, and directed them to let him go. This did
not suit their purpose, as in that case they would haye to
restore him his money ; and they made another effort to rid
themselves of this incumbrance, by taking him to General
Skinner, who refused to try him by court-martial, and pre-
tended to shudder at the idea of trying and executing a man
who had brought them provisions. Foiled in this attempt,

the determined refugees made up their minds to try him
27

 
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20 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

themselves, and a mock court-martial was instituted on the
spot. The verdict may readily be imagined, and the sentence
was that he should be “hung by the neck until he be dead!”
In vain he pleaded the proclamation inviting visits such as
his; in vain he begged that his case might be heard by the
proper authorities; his judges were inexorable, and he was
told that he must prepare to die. They well knew that the
course they were about to pursue would not be sanctioned
by the British commandant, and to screen themselves from
observation, they took their prisoner to the opposite shore,
where there could be none to interfere with their hellish
object, and where they would be undisturbed in its consum-
mation. They placed him on board of his own boat, and
rowed across to the old Tide-Mill, on Bergen Point. They
found a small persimmon tree near the beach, which answered
for a gibbet, and beneath its branches they all gathered with
their prisoner, except one, who was left in charge of the boat.
The unfortunate man looked in vain in the countenances of his
executioners for the smallest sign of commiseration; but
over the faces of all was spread an expression of hatred, or
of perfect indifference to his fate. Finding that they were
bent on putting him to death, and that there was no hope of
their relenting, he begged to be allowed time to prepare him-
self for the great change from life to eternity. But even this
boon was denied him by his captors, who told him with an
oath that he had but ten minutes to live. He was also told
that if he wanted any one to pray for him, one of their number
would officiate; and one of the impious wretches ventured to
commence a prayer. The words choked his utterance, how-
ever, and he was obliged to give over the attempt, amid the
brutal cheers and coarse laughter of his associates. A barrel
was procured, and, at the expiration of the allotted time, the
wretches, in whose hearts beat no responsive feeling of pity
for their unfortunate victim, ordered him to mount thereupon.
Even after he had done so, and one of their number had tied
the hangman’s knot under his ear, after throwing the other
end of the rope over a limb of the tree; he entertained the

28

 

 
STEPHEN BALL HUNG BY TORIES. 21

hope that the Tories only intended to frighten him, for he
could not entertain the thought that they would murder him
80 coolly and deliberately. Just before he was swung off,
James Hetfield stepped forward, and drawing* his knife from
his belt, placed it in the hand of the prisoner, declaring, with
an oath, that he should not go into the other world unarmed.
The signal was now given, and while those who held the rope
pulled the prisoner off his feet, the barrel was kicked away
from under them—and Stephen Ball was launched into
eternity.

After he had hung until they were satisfied that he was
dead, the rope was cut, and the body fell into a shallow grave
which they had dug at the foot of the tree. They then leaped
into their boat, and returned to the opposite shore. A day
or two afterward, the father of the unfortunate man, hearing
of the tragical death of his son, obtained a flag for the pur-
pose of bringing off his corpse; but this privilege was denied
him, and it was not until after the war that his body was
disinterred and placed in the burying-ground at Newark.
When the British evacuated the island upon the declaration
of peace, most of the ruffians engaged in this diabolical act

fled to Nova Scotia. Cornelius Hetfield returned to New

Jersey in 1807, and was arrested for the crime. He was dis-
charged by the judge, (Pennington) however, on the ground
that the treaty of peace precluded the punishment of such
acts.

But the acts of atrocious cruelty perpetrated by the Tories,
were not always committed by those who acted without
authority. It was by order of officers that some of the most
malignant persecutions of the war were waged; while it was
well known that the scenes which were enacted on board the
Jersey and other prison-ships, are almost too terrible to relate.
They were one unrelieved succession of horrors. Oppression,
tyranny that gloated in its power and revelled in its crimes,
suffering, sickness, agony unutterable, and death! Over
eleven thousand victims consigned to untimely graves by the
ferocity of their oppressors! Where in the history ef wrong,

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22 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

can we find a page so black and blasted as this? Within
these ships were crowed all classes and all ages, from infancy
to decrepid age, and here they lived in darkness, with scarcely
sufficient air to breathe, and that so foul, a light could not
burn in it; some dead, dying, or delirious with fever; prayers
and blasphemies filling the air; their bodies overrun with
vermin; crowded up to dead and corrupted bodies; no food.
but was polluted and repugnant to the stomach, often crazed
with thirst; no relief, no pity, no hope; nothing but death—
death in its most horrible forms—suffering and anguish! The -
imagination can not picture the scene in all its horrors. Some-
times a dying wretch would creep to the guard and beg a
drop of water to quench his raging thirst; his answer would
be a curse, a kick, or perhaps the thrust of a bayonet, which
would end his agony at once. At one time, two young
brothers were sent on board the Jersey. The elder took the
fever, and in a few days become delirious. One night, as he
was dying, he became calm and sensible, and begged for a
little water. His brother with tears entreated the guard to
give him some, but in vain. The sick youth was soon in his
last struggles, when his brother offered the guard a guinea
for an inch of candle only, that he might see his brother die)
Even this was refused. “‘ Now,” said he, drying up his tears,
“if it please God that I ever regain my liberty, ’ll be a most
bitter enemy.” He regained his liberty, rejoined the army,
and when the war ended, he had eight long and one hundred
and twenty-seven small notches on his rifle stock! On one
occasion, while quite a large number of prisoners were
gathered at the grate at the hatchway to obtain fresh air, a
sentinel for mere pastime thrust his bayonet down among
them, and twenty-five next morning were found to be dead.
And this demoniac spirit was practised more than once. We
turn from the contemplation of this picture with sickening
horror. Great God! ean it be possible, that deeds like these
could have been enacted by thy creatures ?

Once in a great while, some captive was so fortunate as to
escape from those gatés of hell—but not often. One who did

30

a aS Par ty ip hn it is a Si
HORRORS OF THE JERSEY PRISON SHIP 28

not escape, but who attempted it, thus relates the adventures
of a fellow-prisoner :

‘“*T was one of eight hundred and fifty souls confined in the
Jersey, in the summer of 1781, and witnessed several daring
attempts to escape. They generally ended tragically. They
were always undertaken in the night, after wrenching or filing
the bars off the port-holes. Having been on board several
weeks, and goaded to death in various ways, four of us eon-
cluded to run the hazard. Weset to work and got the bars
off, and waited impatiently for a dark night; we-lay in front
of Mr. Remsen’s door, inside of the pier head, and not more
than twenty yards distant. There were two guard sloops,
one on our bow and the. other off our quarter, a short distance
from us. The dark night came—the first two were lowered
quietly into the water—the third made some rumbling. I
was the fourth that descended, but had not struck off from
the vessel before the guards were alarmed, and fired upon us.
The alarm became general, and I was immediately hauled on
board. They manned their boats, and with their lights and
implements of death, were quick in pursuit of the unfortu-
nates, cursing and swearing, and bellowing and firing. It
was awful to witness the scene of blood. It lasted about one

hour—all on board trembling for our shipmates. These des-

peradoes returned to their different vessels, rejoicing that they
had killed three d d rebels.

‘“‘ About three years after this, I saw a gentleman in John
street, near Nassav, who accosted me thus: ‘ Manley, how do
you do?’ I could not recollect him. ‘Is it possible you do
not know me? recollect the old Jersey,’ and he opened his
vest and bared his breast. I immediately said to him, ‘ You
are James M’Clean.’ ‘Iam,’ he replied. We both stepped
into Marrener’s public house, at the corner, and he related
his marvelous escape to me.

“*'They pursued me—I frequently dived to evade them,
and when I came up, they fired on me. I caught my breath,
and immediately dove again, and held my breath, till I

crawled along the mud. They no doubt thought they killed
31

 

 

 
   

O4°. TALES AND TRADITIONS.

me. I, however, with much exertion, though weak and
wounded, made out to reach the shore, and got into a barn,
not far from the ship, a little north from Mr. Remsen’s house.
The farmer, the next morning, came into his barn, saw me
lying on the floor, and ran out in a fright. I begged him to
come to me, and he did. I gave an account of myself, where
I was from, how I was pursued, with several others. He saw
my wounds, took pity on me, sent for his wife, and bound up
my wounds, and kept me in the barn till nightfall; took me
into his house, nursed me secretly, and then furnished me
with clothing, ete.; and when I was restored he took me with
him, into his market boat, to this city, and went with me to
the west part of the city, procured me a passage’ over to
Bergen, and I landed somewhere in Communipaw. Some
friends helped me across Newark Bay, and then I worked my
way, until I reached Baltimore, to the great joy of all my
friends.’ ”

MRS. PALMER AND PUTNAM.

Near Peekskill, in the State of New York, there is a spot
still replete with awful interest—the vicinity of a huge boul-
der and old chestnut tree, near which a British spy was hung
by order of General Putnam. His name was Edmund Palmer,
and his story is one of those tearful episodes which go to

make up the measure of war, but which are seldom related by
the historian. Of a noble, commanding figure ; possessed of
natural qualities of head and heart, which Scdapbed him to
those who knew him ; connected by blood and affiliation with
some of the most fescue families in W estchester County,
_ and surrounded by an affectionate wife and children, he had
every thing to make him happy and contented. The revolu-
tionary contest, however, came, and, ere three years had
passed away, he had yielded his life a sacrifice to his loyalty

to a king who cared nothing for suffering humanity or ghe
33 -

 

 
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MRS. PALMER PLEADING FOR HER HUSBAND. 27

rights of his subjects, so long as he could wring from their
earnings the wherewithal to swell his income and minister to
his pleasures. In an unfortunate hour Palmer united himself
to, and was made Lieutenant of a company of Tories, which
subsequently formed a part of that marauding band which
the infamous Governor Tyron led forth to burn and destroy
the homes and firesides of the so-called rebels. In the summer
of 1777 he was sent by his commander to recruit for the
ranks of his company among the yeomanry of his native
place, with orders to observe carefully the position of the
Americans, their numbers, ete., etc. In accordance with his
instructions, he repaired in disguise to the vicinity of Peekskill,
to execute his dangerous trust. Suspicions were aroused in
regard to his objects, and a Sergeant’s guard was sent to
arrest him. He was brought to headquarters, in the course
of a day or two, was tried by court-martial, and, enlisting
papers being found on his person, he was convicted of being
a spy, and sentenced to be hung.

An hour after the sentence had been passed upon the unfor-
tunate man, Putnam was sitting in his quarters, busily engaged
in looking over some maps, when an orderly entered the room
and informed him that an old man and a young woman desired
an interview. He had hardly stated the fact to his superior
before the door opened to admit the wife and father of
Palmer, who, having heard of the sentence of the court, had
come to intercede for his life with the General. Mrs. Palmer
did not wait for Putnam to rise and receive her, nor did she
require a formal introduction—it was enough for her that the
man before her possessed the power of life or death over the
beloved object of her heart’s affections, and she rushed for-
ward, seized his hand in hers, and fell at his feet in humble
supplication. No situation in life could be more unpleasant
and unfortunate to Putnam than the one in which he now
found himself placed. The rough soldier could face the can-
non’s mouth, or march forward in the din of battle, with the

balls showering about him like hail, and not experience the —

least apparent emotion, but to withstand the tears and entreaties
30
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28 TALES AND TRADITIONS,

of a woman pleading for her husband’s life, was a novelty
in his experience, and a trial which he would have willingly
avoided. There is a vein of tender, sympathetic feeling in
the roughest nature, and we frequently find in the hearts of
those whose proclivities and antecedents give little evidence
of such emotions, a delicate chord which thrills responsive to
the slightest touch. Thus it was with the iron-hearted Gene-
ral. The shriek of agony, the dying groan, the despairing

cry of wounded, mangled men, was a sound familiar to his

ear, and use had become “second nature;” but to the voice
of woman, in heartfelt supplication for mercy to a husband
condemned to die, he was totally unused, and knew not how
to meet it. He besought the almost broken-hearted wife to
rise, and assured her that if it were in his power to save her
husband, he would willingly do so, but he had been tried by
a court of officers—had had a fair trial; the evidence, how-
ever, was conclusive of his guilt, and he must die.

* Oh, do not tell me so!” exclaimed the suppliant. ‘Do
not condemn me to a life-long misery ; my children to poverty
and wretchedness. Give, oh! give me back my husband, and
I will go on my knees to serve you! will bless you and pray
for you while I live. He is innocent of blood, and has been
guilty only of indiscretion. Why should your hard, stern
laws condemn him to death, me to widowhood, and his chil-
dren to orphanage, for doing that upon which you pride your-
selves. He did but obey his orders, and for this he must
suffer a felon’s death.”

“Madam,” replied Putnam, “you forget that if he had
attained the object for which he was sent, the loss of hundreds

of lives might have followed. The information of which he.

is possessed might cause an attack upon us by the enemy, and
the lives of many of his countrymen might be sacrificed in
consequence.”

“‘Tmprison him, then! immure him in your deepest dungeon
while this fearful war is waged, but spare, spare his life! You
can if you will—do not tell me to the contrary. Itis for you
to say whether he shall die on the gibbet, or live a comfort,

36 me

.

 
THE SENTENCE EXECUTED. 29

protection, and support to his family and friends. Oh! that
man should have such power, and wield it without pity or
remorse. Be merciful, as you hope for merey, when you shall
stand before that judge who shall decide your fate for an
endless eternity; and as you expect to be pardoned for the
deeds done in the body, pardon him who has done you no
real harm—whose crime was intentional, not actual.”

It is needless to say that her appeal had a powerful effect
upon Putnam, who, notwithstanding his sense of justice, and
hatred of the very name of spy, was very much affected by
it, and finally dismissed his visitor, if not with hope, at least
with the idea that further persuasion might alter his feelings
somewhat. She did not dream of the fact that the execution
of the sentence would follow so soon upon its passage, for
she had been carefully kept in ignorance of it, and had placed
great reliance upon the efforts of Sir Henry Clinton in her
husband’s behalf. He had been written to immediately upon
his arrest, and his interposition strenuously urged. The
morning succeeding the visit to Putnam, a messenger, with a
flag, arrived from the British General. He bore a letter to
the American Commander, but its tone was calculated rather
to hasten than delay or avert the fate of the prisoner. Think-
ing it beneath him, probably, to solicit a favor of the rebels,

he demanded the person of Edmund Palmer, claiming him as_

a British officer, and threatening his direst wrath in case he

was not delivered up. Such a note was as a spark of fire to —

the combustible nature of Putnam, and, while the prisoner

was being led forth to meet his fate, he sat down and wrote —

the following laconic answer to Sir Henry:
“ Heapquarters, August 7th, 1777.
‘‘Srr—Edmund Palmer, an officer in the enemy’s service,
was taken as a spy, lurking within our lines. He has been
tried as a spy, condemned as a spy, and shall be executed as
a spy ; and the flag is ordered to depart immediately.
“Pp. S.—He has been accordingly executed.

“TgragL PurnamM.”
The gibbet on which Palmer suffered was a rude structure —

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30 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

   

of logs, and stood for many years as an object of superstitious
dread to those of the country people who were compelled to
pass it after nightfall.

Of a similar inflexible will and uncompromising patriotism
was General William Campbell, and to him it fell to mete out
a similar bitter cup of justice to a Tory and spy.

General Campbell was tall and raw-boned, with an iron con-
stitution, capable of incredible endurance ; hard-favored, and
large of limb and feature; he had light hair, eyes, and com-
plexion, with a serious—nay, almost a stern look; was
slow and scant of speech, and in his manner uncommonly
grave and constrained. Of Scottish descent, he inherited the
principles and predilections of the persecuted Presbyterians
of that northern land. His religious zeal and his devotion to
liberty, were alike deep, fervent, and exclusive. In all domes-
tic and social relations perhaps the most amiable of men, he
set his face like a flint against the enemies of his country and
of freedom ; and he who would send his negroes (a rare prop-
erty among the mountains), to work for a poor neighbor, and
plough himself through the heat of the day in the fields—
who gave each spare moment to his Bible and his God, and
scrupulously acted up to the golden rule of “doing unto all
men as you would they should do unto you”—proved himself
as pitiless and inflexible as Claverhouse or Cumberland,toward
those who betrayed or deserted the holy cause for which he
contended and died. From many characteristic traits, related
by tradition, of the hero of King’s Mountain, we select the
following, not only as illustrating his Roman firmness, and
integrity of patriotism, his resolute promptitude of action,

_ but as an adequate sample of the horrors of that species of

warfare, where brother must strive against brother, and kin-
dred blood reek red and hot on the hands of either side.

At the period of the occurrence about to be narrated, the
General lived on a branch of Holston River, in what is now
Washington County. The crisis of the Revolution lowered

_ dark and disastrous ; the Whigs were drooping and dispirited ;
the Tories, rather more numerous than was natural in the

38

 

 

 
°

 

—_ ~eoe

 

    

CROWLES, THE DISSEMBLER. 31

mountain fastnesses, always sacred to liberty, full of malign
hope and insolent exultation. The most active and conspicu-
ous of the traitorous phalanx, was one Bradley Crowles, an
American by birth, but an Englishman in polities and preju-
dices, who, six or eight years before, had come into the upper
country in the capacity of a trader; and, opening an assort-
ment of groceries and dry goods on the roadside, had recom
mended himself much to the plain-hearted people who dealt
with him As a matter of great favor, he was boarded and
lodged in the family of the-farmer, on whose land he had
located his store; and who, besides his claims as a man of
standing and substance, was scarce the less courted and con-
sidered for being father to the loveliest among the blooming
and agile nymphs of Western Virginia. Crowles was re-
markable for the comeliness of his person, and soon won gen-
eral favor with the fair maidens round about, by the softness
of his manners, and superior fashion of his dress; he played
well, too, on the violin, and evening after evening was spent
in soothing his old landlord’s ear with the fine melancholy
strain, commemorative of Braddock’s Defeat, and expressing
more plainly and powerfully than the strongest language could,
the dismay and alarm which the news of that unforeseen
catastrophe spread throughout the colony. Moreover, the
insinuating stranger, though lacking the high tone of careless
courage and venturous resolution, which animated the fearless
foresters around him, was acute, indefatigable, and intriguing,
far beyond their simple ken. Still, despite his art and his ac-
complishments, he had to undergo a probation well nigh com-
parable, as he thought, to Jacob’s servitude, ere his love suit
was smiled upon by the rustic belle, who monopolized and
disdained the hearts of all the young men on the hillside.
Jane Parish was just such another in beauty and bravery, as
we fancy the “ warrior-love” of Theseus to have been; but,
unlike the Amazonion queen, she yielded up her young and
pure affections to one the reverse, in all high attributes, of
herself, and the hardy race from whence she sprung. Nature

had endued her with the spirit of a Boadicea or a Brenhilda,
39
TALES AND TRADITIONS,

and inured from her cradle to all bodily exercises, she was,
like the rest of the mountain damsels, perfect as a horsewoman,
a huntress, and a shot. In this and some other points, she
painfully felt the inferiority ot the handsome lowlander; yet
she loved him with a tenderness and constancy that eventually
overcame all opposition to their union. Jane was an only
daughter, and her parents unaccustomed to thwart her wishes ;
so at length she gave herself, with their reluctant consent, to
the man of her choice. The objections of the old folks proved,
however, well founded, as, little by little, his true character
developed itself. He made, to be sure, a faithful and indul
gent husband; he was frugal, industrious, and successful in
business ; so far so good. But the family of Enoch Parish—
as staunch a Republican as America ever bred—a freeman,
who, alone and unaided, amid a hostile host, would have
rushed to uphold the stars emblazoning the proud national
banner, not less holy, in his eyes, than their Prophet’s sacred
standard to the Turks—a freeman, who held a loyalist to be
beyond the pale of redemption, and a traitor as a veritable
and accursed incarnation of the evil one himself—were all
embued with similar principles and feelings; and as their new
. relative, growing after his marriage less circumspect in con-
ducting his disloyal and villainous practices, became suspected
and stigmatized as “no better than an English spy,” disunion
begun to pervade the domestic circle; and the young wife
awakened from her dream of perfect happiness to see him, to
whom she was pledged in love and honor for life, an object
of contempt and abhorrence to her sire and her kindred, and
herself still clinging to him the more fondly in proportion to
their scorn and hatred, pitied and despised, fi, guch sort as
angels might view a fallen child of: light, willingty wedded to
the crimes and punishment of ‘a demon. Crowles left the
dwelling of his father-in-law, where they had continued till
after the birth of their second child, and removed to an estab-
lishment of their own, some miles up the country. Here,
availing himself to the utmost of his- power over the neigh-

borhood, mostly his customers and debtors, by withholdins
40

 
unyy [trgq voydai

a
4

fq

o

“SOLO J

 
 
 

GENERAL GAMPBELL’S WARNING. 85

supplies and enforcing payment, or-granting accommodation
(o any extent on either score, he went on with his unwearied
and judicious efforts to promote the British cause, till serious ©
disservice ensued thereby to the colonists, and public odium
begun to attach itself to his name. About this time, General
Campbell returned home, after a long absence; he soon heard
of Crowles, and of the mischief he was doing. Alive to aught
that touched the interests of the popular side of the conflict,
he watched the accused with a wary and impartial eye; his
sagacity was speedily satisfied of the necessity of his removal
—his determination formed as to the mode. It was far from
his wont to ensnare an enemy unawares, or without giving
him a fair chance for his life. The apostate spy was duly
warned to desist from his obnoxious course and depart the
country, in failure wheredf this dreaded chieftain communi-
eated his intention to string him up at the earliest opportunity,
with his own hand. Crowles well knew the man with whom
he had to reckon; he was aware of the like summary punish-
ment having been inflicted by the champion of the west, on
more than one Tory; and that his treasonable and parricidal
proceedings had richly earned the threatened halter; still,
judging himself ensconced in a tower of strength, by his con-
nection with a Whig family, so respectable as the Parishes,
and vainly relying on his consummate craft to cope with, and
elude the vigilance of the terrible Campbell, he was so regard-
less of his safety as to persist in remaining, and in pursuing,
though with more secrecy and prudence, the vile and danger-
ous trade which he had so long driven, no less to his own ad-
vantage than to that of his foreign employers. But his death
warrant was issued—his days already numbered. One Sun-
day the General was on his way to meeting—for he was
regular in his attendance on public worship as in his private
devotion—his wife, a sister of Patrick Henry, and in powers
of speech almost equal to her immortal brother, rode with
him (wheel carriages there were few or none in that frontier
region), and on a third horse a servant carried their only
child before him. As the party proceeded sedately along,
43

 
 

 

86 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

the distinguished couple engaged in religious discourse befit-
ting the day and their destination, who should they suddenly
come upon, at a turn of the road, but the doomed and desert-
less Bradley Crowles! To seize his bridle rein with one
rough hand, and to tumble him from his saddle with the other,
was but the work of a minute to the athletic warrior.
Crowles, deficient alike in muscular power and inward energy,
attempted neither flight or defense, though his assailant was,
like himself, unarmed. The sentenced Tory felt that his last
hour had come; gifted by the ecstacy of mortal terror, with a
superhuman eloquence, he besought not his stern judge, but
Mrs. Campbell for pity and for life. One of the most excel-
lent and compassionate of her sex, she was loud and impas-
sioned in her intercession for the poor wretch, who cowered
beneath her husband’s grasp like a chicken in the clutch of a
hawk. Calmly, but with immovable firmness, he bade her be
silent in a matter which she understood not, and, unless she
desired to witness an inevitable severity, to take the child
from the attendant, and ride ov. Seeing the futility of her
supplications, and eager to escape the horrid sight impending,
she obeyed, weeping bitterly the while over a necessity so
dreadful. Meanwhile, the inflexible avenger of his country’s
wrongs, without one word of reply to all the agonized_peti-
tions for mercy poured forth to him, had bound the hands of
the vietim fast behind him with a handkerchief; the strong
limb of a stately chestnut tree, shooting horizontally across
the road, was selected as able to bear the burden about to
dangle from it, and the servant ordered to lead the spare
horse beneath the convenient bough, and to take off and twist
together the bridle reins, one of which being made fast about
the criminal’s neck, the General, as he held the other in his
ready hand, exhorted him to commend his soul to God for
the last time. The bewildered wretch essayed to pray, but
his ideas utterly failed him, and the words faltered slow and
incoherent on his tongue; still, in the faint hope of succor or
respite, he prolonged the imperfect orisons till they were
stayed by the advance of his relentless executioner, who,

a

 
~<

THE LAST ACT OF THE TRAGEDY. 387

motioning him forward, proceeded to perform the last act of
the tragedy. Throwing the almost lifeless Crowles by main
strength on the saddle, he ascended the tree and attached the
other end of the leather noose securely to the branch above ;
this done, he hastened down, and, giving a sudden lash to the
horse, it sprung from under the culprit; the body fell with a
heavy wrench; the neck cracked, and every limb, violently
convulsed, quivered long and fearfully in the air. General
Campbell stood in stern silence, looking on the dying strug-
gles of the spy, till the last vibration of thong and limb had
ceased ; then, directing his servant to take the horse to Mrs.
Crowles, with the information of her husband’s death, and
where the body was to be found, he mounted his own gallant
steed, and, rejoining his wife, rode on to meeting in -leisurely
unconcern, as if nothing unusual had happened.

Mrs. Crowles was at this time the mother of three children,
and on the eve of confinement with her fourth. She had been
for some days awaiting, in great anxiety, the return of her
husband, from an errand of more than ordinary peril.
She was still a woman of great beauty ; for, though the fresh-
ened glow of her maiden bloom had vanished, it was replaced
with a more touching, if less brilliant charm, in the air of
matronly dignity, gently blent with melancholy tenderness,
now softening the expression of her fine features. As she sat
in the door of the log cabin, her large, black eyes, alternately
cast from the Bible, in which she read, to the infant on her lap,
and then turned wistfully down the road, in search of her
Bradley’s approaching form, she might have served as the
model to a painter about to limn the Genius of America—full
of majestic firmness, yet pale in saddened doubt, at the glomi-
est juncture of our righteous war. Suddenly the clatter of
horses’ hoofs, growing louder and louder, echoed on her eager

ear; the two biggest children ran toddling along toward the

gate, to meet “daddy,” and get a ride to the house on
“daddy’s” horse. The glad wife made all haste to rise that
her burden of book and baby permitted, and went smilingly

forth to meet the person dearest to her on earth, though he
45 ;

 
 

a een

  

38 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

wus the insidious betrayer of his country, and had placed her
at deadly variance with all in her father’s house. A black
man with a led horse is seen slowly riding up to the door—
that horse she instantly recognized as her husband’s—the rider
is known for the servant of General Campbell, the implacable
foe, the pitiless destroyer of Tory and of traitor. At once
the whole truth is comprehended by the widowed sufferer ;
there needs no words to tell it. Neither swoon, nor shriek,
nor sigh, succeeded the appalling conviction, as it flashed
across het brain; calm, cold, and colorless as a corpse, she
stood and heard the message by the negro, then mutely signed
him to depart. There was no living soul about the premises
but herself and her little ones, the only servant being gone
on a Sunday’s visit to her friends. But, possessed of the
nature and habits of a Spartan female, the bereaved woman
sufficed for herself, and wasted not the time in weeping and
wailing words over her fatherless children. These she made
ready to go abroad; then removing the saddle, that had been
the owner’s footstool to eternity, she accoutered herself and
the animal in the riding gear proper to her own use, loaded
and shouldered the gun with which, in her girlish days, she
had brought down many a soaring bird, and many a bounding
deer; and, leading the horse by the bridle, with the youngest
child in her arms, the two boys following her, she proceeded
on foot to the nearest house, distant about a mile and a half.
No womanly sign of grief burst all this while from eye or lip,
or breast:
“Vengeance, deep brooding o’er the slain,
Had locked the source or softer woe.”

Her resolution was taken—her mind made up; her first care
and thought was for the body of her murdered, as it seemed
to her, husband, her next, to shoot the man who had but in
flicted the just penalty of martial law on that husband’s mis-
deeds. Buoyed up by the energy of her revengeful purpose,
she reached the farm-house of John Helms; he was from
home. Jane told her tragic tale to its shocked in-dwellers,

confiding her orphans to their kind charge, bade them raise
46

vr

 

 
e

AN EPISODE OF GEORGE WASHINGTON. 39

the neighborhood to follow her to the fatal spot; and, disre-
garding all persuasion or remonstrance, mounted her palfrey
and rode rapidly off, on her pious duty of guarding the re-
mains of her beloved partner from insult or injury by man or
beast of prey. The inhabitants of these upland tracts were
few and scattered far, the roads rough and circuitous, and
besides, it was the Sabbath day; so that much time neces-
sarily elapsed before a sufficient number were collected, and
the simple preparations made for cutting down and removing
the corpse. These completed, the party pressed forward with
all speed to the relief of the forlorn but high-souled heroine.
They reached the place of execution; the evening shadows
were gathering fast around, but the level rays of the sinking
sun, as he shone behind the lofty chestnut tree, streamed in
yellow luster on the scene beneath. A dark object, strongly
defined on the blue of the opposite horizon, first arrested
their attention; it was the body of Bradley Crowles, swing-
ing, stiff and stark from the projecting bough ; the only living —
thing in view was the horse, quietly grazing at the edge of
the woods. Stretched on the ground, at the foot of the fatal
tree, lay the hapless Jane Crowles; she was sometime dead.
Overcome with fatigue and emotion at. asight so awful to the
eyes of a wife, she had taken the pangs of travail before her
time, and sunk under them. The cold autumnal winds, sadly
sighing her requiem, lifted her long hair and blew the with-
ered leaves over her as she lay in her pale loveliness, a martyr
to conjugal affection, and one of the many sacrifices to the
crimes and evils coincident with, but unrecorded in the annals
of Civil War.

As a relief to the terrible sternness of these two pictures,
we will relate a little story of the “ Father of his Country,”
by which is illustrated that magnanimity which it was natural
for him to exercise wherever his sense of public duty would
allow him to act as his feelings dictated.

On a day in an early part of the Revolution, a an American
officer slowly wended his way, on horseback, along one of the

unfrequented roads running among the mountains, in the —
47

 

 
 

 

40 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

vicinity of West Point, where was then stationed the Ameri-
can army. It would have been impossible for any one to
have looked upon the thoughtful hero, the majestic, yet
benevolent expression of the countenance, the firm contour of
the lips, the mild, penetrating expression of the eye, and the
noble expression of the figure, without detecting the presence
of Washington.

Presently he drew up before a mansion on the road, ‘dis-
mounted, and approached the house. Almost immediately a
door was thrown open, and an aged gentleman, in a civilian’s
dress, rushed forth and greeted the comer with many pro-
testations of welcome.

The family in which Washington, on this occasion, was
received, was one which he had often been in the habit of
visiting.

During the stay of the army at West Point, he frequently
dined with its members, and with its head he had at first
reposed confidence and friendship. But suspicions of his
honesty began to be whispered about, and in some quarters
he was accused of perfidy to the American cause. To these
suspicions Washington gave no heed; but having been
invited to dine with him on a certain day, at a certain hour,
and this invitation being pressed with so much over-earnest-
ness, as well as accompanied with an insinuation that his
appearance with a guard would be taken as an indication of
his want of confidence in his friend’s fidelity, the General’s
suspicions at last became aroused. He resolved, by accepting
the invitation, to prove at once their truth or falsehood.

It was to fulfill this engagement that Washington pro-
ceeded to the residence of his suspected friend.

The time appointed for the dinner was two o’clock, but it
was. not later than one when the guest dismounted at the
door of his host. He had an especial object in this early
arrival.

The host proposed to occupy the interim before dinner by
a walk on the piazza. Here, as they conversed, it became
apparent to the General that his friend’s manner was excessively

r

  

 

 
THE DETECTED TRAITOR, 41

nervous. Without revealing his impressions, Washington
continued the discourse, and while he avoided betraying
his object, he purposely led the conversation to subjects,
such as would be likely to agitate his host, if guilty. So poor
an actor was his companion, and so often was his conscience
probed by the apparently innocent remarks of the Com-
mander-in-Chief, that his nervousness became so marked as to
give the greatest pain to Washington at this proof of his
infidelity.

The American General, in commenting upon the various
beauties of the landscape which surrounded them, pointed
out the spot where lay the encampment of the enemy; at the
same time commenting upon the extraordinary lack of prin-
ciple which could induce men of American birth to forego the
interests of their country, to enrol themselves among their
country’s invaders, for no other temptation than a little glit-
tering gold. Before the penetrating looks which Washing-
ton fixed upon him while making these remarks, the guilty
traitor quailed; but at this juncture he was relieved by the
sound of approaching horses, and as both guest and host
turned in its direction, a company of dragoons in British
uniform appeared upon the brow of the hill, galloping rapidly
along the road toward the house. 3

** Bless me, sir,” exclaimed Washington, “‘ what cavalry are
these approaching the house ?”

“A party of British light horse,” rejoined his trembling
host, “who mean no harm, but are merely sent for my pro-
tection.”

“‘ British horse sent here while I am your guest!” said the
Chief, with startling firmness, turning upon his host with an
air of command which caused the small soul of the betrayer
to quail and blench. ‘ What does this mean, sir?” while a
terrible look gathered upon his brow.

By this time the troop had arrived and were dismounting
from their horses. This gave courage to the traitor. ty

““ General,” = he, approaching his guest, “ General, you.

are my prisoner.’
49

tn

 
  

42 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

“T believe not,” replied Washington, his manner having
recovered its former calmness, “ but, sir, I know that you are
mine! Officer arrest this traitor!”

In bewildering consternation the hypocrite looked from the
General to the men; the one an American officer, the others
apparently British soldiers. The puzzle was easily solved.

Washington had ordered a company of Americans to dis-
guise themselves as British cavalry, and to arrive at the
mansion a quarter before two—by which means he would be
enabled to decide upon the innocence or guilt of the suspected
person.

The issue proved his suspicions well founded, and the mode
he adopted for detecting the plot, displayed his great saga-
city. The false friend was handed over to the soldiers, and
conducted to the American camp as a prisoner. He confessed
that be had been offered a large sum to betray Washington
into the hands of the English; and that, at the hour of two,
a party of British horse would have surrounded the house
and captured the American Chief.

Washington meditated making a severe example of this
doubly perfidious man— perfidious to his guest and to his
country—but yielded to the earnest solicitations of his family,
and pardoned him.

SIMON KENTON SAVING THE LIFE OF BOONE, |

Reap the lives of Boone, Kenton, the Zanes and their com-
peers, and say, infidel, if thou canst, that God in his Provi-
dence raised them not up to subdue and conquer the land for
the use of the white man. How else can we account for that
indomitable courage, that determined energy and self-sacri-
ficing devotion, which marked the length and breadth of their
career. To them war was a pastime, and suffering, danger,
and privation the accompaniments of their daily life. Fear

* gine Gta 50

 

  

 

 

 
PIONEER FORT IN KENTUCKY. 43

they knew not; and when danger fled before the approaching
footsteps of innumerable settlers, they pursued it even to its
strongholds. Possessed of the cunning, subtlety and artifice
of the Indian, they had all the energy and resource of the
pale-face, and it is not a wonder that the former succumbed,
and retreated step by step toward the setting sun, until the
“places that once knew them shall know them no more for-
ever.”

Boonesborough was one of those forts, or stations, erected
by the early settlers of Kentucky, to protect themselves and
families from the incursions of their savage foes, and was the
scene of many a thrilling and soul-stirring incident. It was
erected in April, 1775, by Daniel Boone, and was located on
the southern bank of the Kentucky River. It was the first
fort built in that region, and its erection excited the fears of
the Indians, who were highly incensed at the rapid advance-
ment of the whites into their beautiful hunting-grounds,
which feeling was still further increased by the British, who
had forts north of the Ohio, and offered them bribes for every
scalp, or prisoner, they took. Such being the incentives,
Boonesborough was besieged on several occasions by the
Indians in large parties, sometimes assisted by their white
allies. It is an incident at one of these sieges which our
engraving is intended to illustrate.

It was the first birth-day of Independence, the fourth of
July, 1777. The sun, which was just peering above the

eastern horizon, gave token of a brilliant day. The birds —
had laved themselves in the clear cold rills, and were com- ~
mencing their matinal songs in welcome to his coming pre-

sence. All Nature recognized the opening day, and decked
itself in its gaudiest hues to meet it.

cat

ft

, The gate of the fort opened and two young men issued
therefrom, who took their way to the adjoining fields to com-
mence their daily toil. They entertained no fear of immediate
danger from the proximity of Indians, as it had been the
practice to send scouts up and down the river every week to

look for Indian “sign.” But a few days before the scouts
51

 

    

 
 

eee corinne

  

  

44 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

   

had been out, scouring the country on both sides, and no trail
or other evidence of their presence had been seen. Hence
they took no precaution against an attack, not even taking
their guns with them. Fatal mischance! that very moment
a body of the red-skins were creeping silently and stealthily
through the underbrush of the adjacent forest toward the fort.
Unconscious of their peril, the youths went on until they were
within about sixty yards of the Indians’ covert, when, as
they were about commencing their labor, they were fired.
upon by at least a dozen rifles. The whole scene passed
under the eyes of a young man, who had for a few preceding
moments been leaning upon his rifle, gazing listlessly after
the two youths from the gate of the fort, where he was
awaiting the laggard steps of two companions who were to
go out with him that morning on a hunting excursion. In
an instant how changed was his appearance. With body
erect, his nostrils dilated like a war-horse in action, his hands
firmly grasping his faithful rifle, and with his eyes fixed on
the spot where the smoke was lazily rising in the morning
air, he stood, the very personification of intense excitement.
The young men in the fields, who had been uninjured by the
first fire of the Indians, were now running for life toward the
fort, while immediately behind them followed a dozen swarthy
warriors, thirsting for their blood and scalps. ‘They had
nearly reached the wished for goal, when a shot from the
leading Indian, who had paused a moment for the purpose,
brought down the hindermost one within seventy yards of
the gate. Dropping his rifle, “the savage sprung forward
with a shout of triumph, and proceeded leisurely to scalp the _
yet warm corpse. He had presumed too much, however, on
the distance between himself and the fort, and paid the
penalty of his presumption. Springing his rifle to his
shoulder with a jerk, Simon Kenton—for he it was who had
been watching the scene from the gateway—drew a bead
upon the red-skin, and he tumbled over dead. Calling then
upon his companions, who had hy this time come up, he
bounded forward, regardless of the superior numbers of

° De

az

 

 
.

THE AMBUSH. ‘ 45—

the enemy, in pursuit of them. They, retreating gradually,
drew Kenton and his companions into dangerous proximity
to a large body of their fellows, who were concealed in the
adjacent woods.

It must not be supposed that all this had taken place with-
out alarming the inmates of the fort. When, however, Boone
and others, called out by the sound of fire-arms, rushed to the
gate, nothing was to be seen or heard but the firing in the
woods, and the corpses of the youth and Indian in the fore-
ground. Ordering those around him to the number of ten,
to follow him, he started for the scene of conflict, to which he
was directed by the now increasing reports of rifles. He
found the Indians. as well as Kenton and his companions,
treed. The latter might easily have been overwhelmed by
numbers, but this was not the object of the savages. Kenton,
observing a warrior aiming his piece at Boone’s party from
behind a tree, by which act he exposed his person, aimed,
fired first, and brought him down.

Boone, turning to cheer on his men, discovered a a body
of the enemy had got between him and the fort and cut off his
retreat. Quick as thought he gave his orders, “ to the right
about! fire!! charge!!!” and at them they went, one to ten.
It was fearful odds, and the whites suffered accordingly. Out
of fourteen, seven were wounded, among whom was Boone
himself, whose Jeg was broken by a ball from the rifle of a
stalwart warrior who rushed forward to tomahawk him and
‘secure the scalp, a trophy which would have made him a
chief. He was not destined, however, to attain the much
coveted honor. Kenton, who had just rammed down his last
ball, and who was on the retreat, saw the danger of his chief,
met and averted it. There was not a second to lose; the
savage was already over him, and the next instant would
decide the fate of Kentucky’s noblest Captain. With the fury
of an enraged tiger, and with the impetus of one of his own
bullets, he sprung forward, and not waiting to bring his piece
to the shoulder, he thrust it full at the breast of the Indian

and discharged it. Such was the force of the blow and the
53

 

 
 

46 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

discharge, that the savage measured his length at least six
feet from his tracks. Dropping his rifle, Kenton took his
friend and commander in his arms—and he was no light load
—and carried him in safety within the fort.

After the gates had been made fast and every thing wag.
secure, Boone sent for Kenton, and taking him by the hand,
said :

“Well done, Simon! you have behaved yourself like a
man; indeed, you are a fine fellow.”

This, coming from Boone, who was naturally taciturn and
not much given to compliment, was no faint praise. Kenton
had well earned it, however, for he had killed three Indians
with his own hands, and saved the life of the leader.

It was but a few months after this when Boone had an
opportunity of returning the service, in a less degree and with
less peril to himself, but still in a manner which must have
afforded him some satisfaction.

Boone set out, at the head ‘of a small force, with the inten-
tion of sugprising the Indian village on Paint Creek, beyond
the Ohio, which, of all their towns, lay most convenient for.
such an attempt. They passed the river unobserved, and had
approached the vicinity of their object, when, as they were
moving cautiously through the woods, Simon, who, as usual,
was some hundreds of yards in advance, was surprised by the
most boisterous peals of laughter a short distance in front,
and evidently approaching. He instantly “treed,” and had
barely time to conceal himself before two warriors came in
sight, riding back to back, on a small pony. Entirely unsus-
picious of danger, they were indulging in all kinds of antics,
and making the arches of the woods ring with their noisy
merriment. Our scout—it really seems a pity to tell—put an
abrupt end to their sport by firing at them in dine, when they
both fell, shot through the breast and back, the foremost
dead, and the other desperately wounded. Resolved not to
lose two honestly-earned scalps, Kenton run up and was try-
ing to tomahawk the wounded Indian, when his quick ear
caught a slight noise, and glancing aside, he saw two more

%

 
BOONE’S SLEIGHT-OF-HAND. 47

savages taking aim at him from a distance of about twenty’

paces. A quick spring saved him; but both balls whistled
close by his ears, and he had barely sheltered himself behind
a tree, before a dozen warriors appeared in the opposite
djrection. The tables were now completely turned; he had
for a few minutes, hard work to avoid the aim of so many
enemies, but was at length rescued by Boone, who had hur-
ried forward with his party at the sound of the guns, thus
partially discharging the obligation under which Kenton had,
laid him, a few months before, and Kenton had the satisfac-
tion of taking off his two scalps.

An anecdote is told of Boone which is highly characteristic
of his humor as well as his coolness. He was once resting in
the woods with a small number of followers, when a large
party of Indians came suddenly upon them and halted;
neither party having discovered the other until they came in
contact.

The whites were eating; and the Indians, with the ready
tact for which they are famous, sat down with perfect com-
posure and commenced eating also. It was obvious that they
wished to lull the suspicions of the white men, so as to seize
a favorable opportunity for rushing upon them. Boone
affected a careless inattention; but, in an undertone, admon-
ished his men to keep their hands upon their rifles. He then

strolled toward the savages, unarmed, leisurely picking the

meat from a bone; the Indian leader, who was similarly
employed, rose to meet him. Boone saluted him, and then
requested to look at the knife with which the Indian was
eating his meat. The chief handed it to him without hesi-
tation; and our pioneer, who, with his other accomplishments,

possessed considerable expertness at sleight-of-hand, deliber-

ately opened his mouth and affected to swallow the long-
knife, which, at the same moment, he threw adroitly into his
sleeve. The Indians were astonished.

Boone gulped, rubbed his throat, stroked his body, and
then, with apparent satisfaction pronounced the horrid mouth-

ful to be very good. WHaving enjoyed the surprise of the
55

 

2 aS ct de

 
48 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

' spectators for a few moments, he made another contortion,
and drawing forth the knife, as they supposed from his body,
civilly returned it to the chief. The latter took: the point
cautiously between his thumb and finger, as if fearful of being
contaminated by touching the weapon, and threw it from him
into the bushes.

Boone sauntered back to his party; while the savages,
instantly dispatching their meal, marched off, desiring no
further intercourse with a man who could swallow a scalping-
knife.

But it was not the whites alone, who could resort to tricks,
in order to free themselves of an enemy. A singular maneu-
ver was practised by a party of Indians, who had stolen some
horses from the whites, on the Elkhorn, in 1788.

They were pursued by a superior number of Americans,
for about twenty miles, and overtaken at a spot where they
had halted to rest, in a bushy copse of wood. The whites
came upon them suddenly, and the parties discovered each
other simultaneously. The pursuers made preparations to
fire; the Indians sprung up from the ground, on which they
were sitting, and gave a yell; but instead of making any
show of resistance, run about as if distracted. One, who was
probably a chief, threw himself between the two parties, and
continued to scream and jump, dodging from side to side,
springing aloft, and throwing his body into violent convul-
sions. This strange exhibition attracted the notice of the
Kentuckians, and kept them from firing; while the other
Indians, gathering up their guns and blankets, disappeared—
dispersing in various directions, so as to leave no trace, and
baflle pursuit.

Lastly, the dexterous savage, perceiving that his comrades
were so scattered as to be safe from immediate danger, sud.
denly threw off his assumed character, and dashing into the
bushes, made his escape, leaving a foe, superior in numbers,
bewildered with amazement at the extemporaneous display
of ingenuity. .

We have given, in a previous number, a brief biography

56

 
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SMITH, IN COMMAND OF THE FORT. 51

of Simon Kenton, with an account of that fearful torture-ride
on an Indian horse, and the sufferings which followed it,
which formed one of the most perilous and incredible portions
of his history. His name is not as widely known as Boone’s,
whose equal he was in daring, though not, perhaps, in sagacity.
Boone’s name is written everywhere over the early annals of
Kentucky and the West; almost innumerable are the exciting
scenes in which he played a part; nor did his own family
escape any of the suffering or dangers attendant upon pioneer
life. His own daughters, when very young girls, were once
carried off, with a comrade, by the savages; but were finally
rescued by their father, with a company of his friends, after
being nearly killed by the fatigue and fright of twenty-four
hours’ rapid march, but not otherwise injured.

Boone was also compelled, on one occasion, during a des-
perate skirmish with the Indians, to leave his son in the woods,
in a dying condition, or to give up his own life to remain by
his side—a terrible alternative to a parent, but which Boone,
with his usual wisdom, decided in the most prudent manner.
If there had been a shadow of hope of saving his child by
such a sacrifice, he would readily have thrown away his own
life—but as the boy was already dying, and neither could
escape, should he encumber himself with the weight of an-
other, he left him to his fate—no doubt with a keener pang of
anguish than his stoic lips ever confessed to.

Among! 'the adventurers whom Boone describes as having
reinforced his little colony, was a young gentleman named
Smith, who had been a Major in the militia of Virginia, and
possessed a full share of the gallantry and noble spirit once
attributed to his native State. In the absence of Boone, he
was chosen, on account of his military rank and talents, to
command the rude citadel, which contained all the wealth of
this patriarchal band—their wives, their children and their
herds. It held, also, an object particularly dear to this young
soldier—a lady, the daughter of one of the settlers, to whom
he had pledged his affections. It came to pass, upon a certain
day, when a siege was just over, tranquility restored, and the

59
 

  

52 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

employment of husbandry resumed, that this young lady,
with a female companion, strolled out, after the manner of
ladies in love, and along the banks of the Kentucky River.
Having rambled about for some time, they espied a canoe
lying by the shore, and, in a frolic, stepped into it, with the
determination of visiting a neighbor on the opposite bank.
It seems they were not so well skilled in navigation as the
Lady of the Lake, who “ paddled her own canoe” very dex-
terously ; for, instead of gliding to the point of destination,
they were whirled about by the stream, and at length thrown
upon a sand-bar, from which they were obliged to wade to
the shore. Full of the mirth excited by their wild adventure,
they hastily arranged their dresses, and were proceeding to
climb the banks, when three Indians, rushing from a neighbor-
ing covert, seized the fuir wanderers, and forced them away.
Their savage captors, evincing no sympathy for their distress,
nor allowing them time for rest or reflection, hurried them
along, during the whole day, by rugged and thorny paths.
Their shoes were worn off by the rocks, their clothes torn,
and their feet and limbs lacerated and stained with blood.
To heighten their misery, one of the savages begun to make
love to the betrothed of Major Smith, and, while goading her
along with a pointed stick, promised, in recompense for her
sufferings, to make her his sguaw. This at once roused all
the powers of her mind, calling its energies into action. In
the hope that her friends would soon pursue them, she broke
the twigs as she passed along, and delayed the party, as much
as possible, by tardy and blundering steps. But why dwell
on the heartless and unmanly cruelty of these savages ?

The day and the night passed, and another day of agony
had nearly rolled over the heads of those afflicted females,
when their conductors halted to cook a wild repast of buffalo
meat.

In the meantime, the ladies had been soon missed from the
garrison. The natural courage and sagacity of Smith, now
heightened by the distress of love, gave him the wings of the
wind and the fierceness ofa tiger. The light traces of femalo
60

~~

 

 
THE CAPTIVES RESCUED. 53

feet led him to the place of embarkation—the canoe was
traced to the opposite shore—the deep print of the moccasin
in the sand, told the rest; and the agonized lover, accompan-
ied by a few of his best woodmen, pursued the “ spoil-encum-
bered foe.” The trail once discovered, they kept it with that
unerring sagacity peculiar to our hunters. The bended grass,
the disentangled briars, and the compressed shrub, afforded
se the only, but to them the certain, indications of the route.
When they had sufficiently ascertained the general course of
the retreat of the enemy, Smith quitted the trace, assuring
his companion that they would fall in with them at the pass
of a certain stream ahead, for which he now struck a direct
course, thus gaining on the foe, who had taken the most diffi-
cult paths. Arrived at the stream, they traced its course
until they discovered the water newly thrown upon the rocks.
Smith, leaving his party, now crept forward upon his hands
and knees, until he discovered one of the savages seated be-
fore a fire, and, with a deliberate aim, shot him through the
heart. The women rushed toward their deliverer, and, recog-
nizing Smith, clung to him in the transports of newly-
awakened joy and gratitude, while a second Indian sprung
toward him with his tomahawk. Smith, leaving the girls,
aimed a blow at his antagonist with his rifle, which the sav-
age avoided by springing aside, but at the same moment the
latter received a mortal wound from another hand. The
other, and only remaining Indian, fell in attempting to escape.
Smith, with his interesting charge, returned in triumph to
the fort, where his gallantry, no doubt, was repaid by the
sweetest of all rewards.

bs

~ A deeply interesting story, relating to some of this same band
of Boone’s and Kenton’s scouts, is told, in the neighborhood
where it occurred. We have sat and listened to the harmless
music of the guitar, on the edge of the rocky precipice which
was the scene of the exploit, and have heard the story told
by the lips of some of the earliest settlers of Fairfield County,
while gazing at the bold front and wild recesses of the

: Mouat.
un, 61

 
54 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

One day, in the Indian summer, a runner arrived at the
block-house, at the mouth of Hocking River with the intelli-
gence that the Indians were congregating in large numbers in
the Hocking Valley, and- evidently making preparations for a
campaign against the settlers. They were engaged in throw-
ing the hatchet, shooting at a mark, and indulging in athletic
exercises, such as invariably presaged offensive operations on
their part. The Hocking block-house at this time was not
in the best condition for defense, and the little garrison heard
these tidings with considerable apprehension. ‘To make cer-
tain of the matter, it was arranged that. a guard should be
kept out in the woods, so as to apprise the settlers upon the
approach of the Indians, when they were to retire within the
stockades and defend it to the last.

While these precautions were being taken, two rangers,
White and McCleland by name, were sent out to reconnoiter
Hocking valley, and to bring back definite information of the
number, strength, and intentions of the enemy. These com-
prehended all their instructions. As to the manner in which
they were to be carried out, and the time occupied, the spies
were left entirely to themselves.

On a beautiful sunshiny day in October, these two rangers
left the block-house and set out on their perilous undertaking
Moving stealthily and rapidly through the wood, enveloped
in all the fiery beauty and somber gloom of autumn, they at
length reached a singular eminence, now known by the name
of Mount Pleasant. The western termination of the sheer
precipice is more than three hundred feet/in hight. Climbing
to its extreme summit, the rangers saw the broad valley
spread out for miles before them, the Hocking River winding
lazily throngh its center, as it swept off to the westward. It
required barely a glance to show that the rumors which had
reached the block-house were well founded.

Right beneath them, the eagle-eyed hunters observed hun-
dreds of dusky warriors congregated upon the open prairie,
running foot-races, engaged in horse-races, leaping, throwing

the tomahawk, and performing their war dance, with all its
62

 

we

 
wo

 

THE TWO SCOUTS. 55

horrible accompaniments of yells, screeches and whoops.
Fresh war parties were constantly arriving, until even White
and McCleland, great as was their experience, expressed their
astonishment.

“ Courage !” muttered the latter, as he peered over the edge
of the cliff; “there’s a powerful lot of the dogs. What a
scrimmage we might get up if we could coax a half dozen of
’em out one side, where the rest wouldn’t interfere.”

The eyes of the brother ranger sparkled, as, removing his
coon-skin cap, he gazed down into the valley. Then, replac-
ing it, he rolled upon his back, and, holding his hand over
his mouth, kicked both feet into the air, with a vigor that at
times fairly held him for the instant upon his crown.

“What ails you, Tom ?” asked McCleland, in astonishment.

“J was just thinking what a chance there will be for some
fun. Them red-skins down thar mean fight, and as that is
what we mean down at the block-house, what’s to hinder us
from having a real old-fashioned—”

“Sh! down!”

From the look-out, McCleland had detected a company of
Indians coming toward the bluff, and he felt pretty certain
they intended to ascend it. They, therefore, lost no time in
concealing themselves in one of the numerous fissures, from
which they witnessed the savages less than a dozen yards dis-
tant. Finally, they withdrew, and the two were left to them-
selves again.

White and McCleland now consulted together, and agreed
to remain in this spot for several days, that is, until they had
ascertained, pretty definitely, the destination of the Indians.
For their food, they relied upon a quantity of jerked venison
in their possession, while numerous indentations in the roeks
afforded them considerable quantities of rain water. During»
the cold autumn nights they drew their blankets around their
shivering forms, and nestled down among the leaves and
stones, not daring to strike a spark from their flint and tinder,
nor even to discharge a rifle, for fear of attracting suspicion
to themselves.

  
  

56 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

 

After spending several days in this manner, their supply of
water gave out, and they were reduced to the necessity of
either giving up their enterprise, or of searching for more.
McCleland resolved upon the latter, and, with a couple of can-
teens slung over his shoulders, and a rifle in his hand, he
eautiously descended to the prairies skirting the hills on the
north. Under cover of a dense thicket, he reached the river,
and, turning a sharp point, came upon a celebrated spring of
water, still famous in that neighborhood. Filling his canteens,
he returned in safety to his companion, who had anxiously
watched his approach.

It was determined that they should alternate with each
other in obtaining the precious element, and accordingly the
next day,White, in charge of the canteens, descended from
the point, and set out in quest of the spring. He met with
equal success, having successfully avoided every enemy upon
his return. This was kept up for several days, until it once
more devolved upon White to perform the duty. He had
reached the spring, filled his canteens, and was seated upon
the ground, gazing dreamily at the water, as it bubbled up-
ward through the sand, when his ear caught the sound of
footsteps. Turning quickly around, he saw two squaws within
a few feet of him. The eldest, the instant she caught sight
of the ranger, gave utterance to a whoop that resounded
against the cliffs, and far out into the woods. White compre-
hended his imminent peril at once. To save his own life, it
was necessary to slay the two beings before him. The lithe
and powerful ranger inflicted a noiseless death upon the elder
squaw, and, springing into the water with the young one, en-
deavored to drown her. She resisted powerfully, and, while
endeavoring to force her under, to jis amazement she ad-
dressed him in his own language. Now, for the first time, he
noted that she was white, like himself. A few words explained
all. Years before she had been taken prisoner by the Indians,
after they had slain nearly all of her family.

“Do you want to go with me?” asked the impatient

ranger.
64

 

 
a

 

THE SCOUTS’ RETREA'T DISCOVERED. 57

“] will do anything to rejoin my friends again,” answered
the girl.

“Then foller.”

With this he plunged away in the direction of the Mount,
the girl speeding rapidly after him. They were yet a consid-
erable distance away, when an alarm cry reached their ears.
White understood the cause at once. The body of the squaw,
floating down stream, had been discovered by some of the
warriors, and an instant attempt to avenge her death was cer-
tain. Hurrying forward, they at length reached the Mount,
where, as may well be supposed, McCleland anxiously awaited
them, White had barely time to explain matters, when his
brother ranger assured him that their hiding-place was discov-
ered, and that twenty warriors at that moment had reached
the eastern slope of the Mount, taking care to keep their per-
sons under cover. Shortly after, the spies distinguished their
swarthy enemies leaping from tree to rock, until they were
completely surrounded, except upon the eastern side, which,
as will be recollected, was a steep precipice of immense hight.
All chances of escape were, therefore, cut off, and the deter-
mined hunters resolved to defend themselves to the last.

Assuring the girl of their impending doom, they advised
her to return to the Indians, and tell them that she had been
taken prisoner; but she replied she would meet death a thou-
sand times before returning again to her terrible captivity,
and that if they would give her a gun, she would show the
savages that she understood the use of it as well as they.
White and McCleland, feeling certain she could not escape
being a prisoner again in case she remained, still remonstrated
with her, but she positively refused, and they gave over their
useless task.

In approaching the hiding-place of the rangers, the Indians
were compelled to pass; in single file, over a narrow neck, a
sort of back-bone to the summit, where they were exposed
for a moment to the rifles of their foes. Beyond this neck
they were secured the shelter of the trees and rocks in advance-

ing; but in springing from one to the other, or
 

58 TALES AND TRADITIONS.

:
opportunity for skillful marksmen to pick them off; and, not
knowing how many whites were in ambuseade, they became
exceedingly cautious as they approached the narrow neck to
which we have alluded. :

For several hours, the unerring rifles of the whites kept
the savages at bay. So sure as a tufted head appeared for an
instant upon the open ridge, or a part of the person was ex-
posed in leaping from one shelter to another, it was pierced
by the bullet, and the savage rolled, dying or dead, to the
earth. This species of warfare was kept up until, convinced
they could accomplish nothing by it, the Indians resorted to a
new expedient.

On the southern side of the hill was an isolated rock, from
which a rifle, aimed at the spies, could not fail of reaching
them. It offered a chance for a “flank movement,” which
could but prove successful. This rock, once gained, would
bring the whites under point blank range, without the remot-
est chance of escape. The Indians, comprehending the advan-
tage it afforded, attempted to reach it, and the rangers,
comprehending their deadly peril, did their utmost to pre-
vent it.

White had just discharged his rifle, when McCleland saw a
huge savage stealing toward the sheltering rock. He was
fully a hundred yards distant, and, in passing to the cover,
could not avoid exposing an inch or two of his person. The
rock once reached, it was all over with the whites, and, with
a full consciousness of the responsibility that rested upon him,
the dauntless woodsman raised his gun, and coolly awaited
the critical moment. A second later, the tawny hide of the
savage was discerned, gliding, like a snake, behind a flat rock.
Shading the sight with his hand, McCleland drew a bead that
he felt sure would do the deed. Gently touching the trigger,
down came the hammer, breaking into a dozen pieces, without
emitting a spark.

“ Wagh! that’s bad, as that red-skin will get to kiver afore
I can fix another,” muttered the spy, with perfect nonchalance,

as he unscrewed the flint, and produced another in its place:
66
THE HUNTRESS’ EXPLOIT. 59

* As it’s sartin he'll reach it for all of me, Pll jist watch
him.”

Keeping his eye upon the savage, he saw him stretching
every muscle for the leap. Like a crouching panther, he
bounded far outward; but, instead of striking the rock, he
uttered a yell, while in mid-air, and rolled headlong down the
steep, into the valley below. The amazement and fury of the
Indians were no greater than the astonishment of the rangers,
at the unexpected occurrence. A rifle from some unseen hand
had done it.

Still furious and determined, another savage made the at-
tempt, but while in the very act of leaping, he was shot pre-

cisely as his predecessor, the rangers being so oceupied with
the attack in front, that they had no time to attend to him.
This second defeat cast dismay among the Indians, and they
withdrew to devise other means for dislodging their danger-
ous enemies.

The respite came most opportunely to the whites, who had
kept up the defense for several hours, and they now begun to
converse as if there were some possibility of escape. At this
juncture, they noted, for the first time, that the girl was
absent, and they concluded that she had fled, terror-stricken,
to her former captors. They had hardly come to this conclu-
sion, when she made her appearance from behind a rock,
carrying a rifle in her hand. During the excitement of the
attack, she saw a warrior fall, who had advanced some dis-
tance ahead of his companions, and, stealing up to him, she
possessed herself of his gun and ammunition. With the eye
of the huntress, she had noted the fatal rock, and it was by
her hand that the two savages had fallen.

Was it a retributive Providence that guided her hand? for
the second savage that she had slain was one of the bravest
and most cruel of the Shawnee tribe, and the leader of the
company that had killed her mother and sisters, and that bad
taken her and her brothers prisoners.

By this time, night was at hand, and the sky gave evidence ©

of an approaching storm. Dark, threatening clouds arose in
67

tains
60 TALES AND TRADITIONS,

the west, and soon overspread the entire heavens. Night,
black and impenetrable, settled upon the earth, and the two
spies contemplated their attempt to escape with considerable
apprehension, for a single mis-move upon their part, and they
would be in the hands of their relentless. enemies.

A short consultation with the girl, decided the plan that
was to be pursued. It was arranged that their companion
should go in adyance. Her intimate acquaintance with the
localities would prevent her from mistaking her way, and, in
ease any of the Indian pickets or sentinels were encountered,
her knowledge of their tongue would enable her to make a
suitable reply.

The sequel proved the wisdom of this course ; for they had
scarcely gone a hundred yards, when a low whistle warned
them of impending danger. The two rangers sunk cautiously
to the ground where, as determined beforehand, they were to
remain, until a second warning from her announced the coast
clear.

In the course of a quarter of an hour she re-appeared, and
informed them that she had succeeded in removing two senti-
nels who had stationed themselves directly in their way.

The descent was resumed, the spies following their daunt-
less leader, for a half mile, with the most studied caution and
silence, when the bark of a dog, a short distance away, apprised
them of a new danger. The girl turned and told them that
they were now in the very midst of the Indian camps, and
their lives depended upon the most profound silence. A mo-
ment later, the guide was accosted by a squaw, standing in
the door of the wigwam; she made answer in the Indian
tongue, and passed on. Shortly after she made the gratifying
announcement that the village was cleared, and they were
beyond all danger. They took a direct course for the Ohio
river, and, after three days travel, safely reached the block-
house. Their escape prevented the Indians from making the
contemplated attack; and the rescued girl proved to be the
sister of the renowned Corneal Washburn, known as the famous
spy of Captain Simon Kenton’s bloody Kentuckians,
"MORGANS AND THE INDIANS. 61

A PERILOUS ADVENTURE,

We have given many narratives of adventures with the say-
ages which prove that the white man is more than an equal
of the Indian in a contest where prowess and skill are required.
But we have presented no instance in which an old white man
proved more than a match for two lusty foes, bent on his de-
struction. The following adventure, well authenticated, may,
therefore, be added to our Taxes, as affording a very strong
contrast by which to judge of the relative merits of the cour-
age and skill of the white and red-man:

David Morgan, a relation of the celebrated General Daniel
Morgan, had settled upon the Monongahela, during the earlier
period of the Revolutionary War, at this time had ventured
to occupy a cabin at the distance of several miles from any
settlement. One morning in May, 1781, having sent his
youngest children out to a field at a considerable distance from
the house, he became uneasy about them, and repaired to the
spot where they were working, armed, as usual, with a good
rifle. While sitting upon the fence, and giving some direc-
tions as to their work, he observed two Indians upon the other
side of the field, gazing earnestly upon the party. He in-
stantly called to the children to make their escape, while he
should attempt to cover their retreat. The odds were greatly
against him, as, in addition to other circumstances, he was
nearly seventy years of age, and, of course, unable to contend |
with his enemies in running. The house was more than a
ynile distant, but the children, having two hundred yards the
start, and being effectually covered by their father, were soon
so far in front, that the Indians turned their attention entirely
to the old man. He ran for several hundred yards with an
activity which astonished himself, but, perceiving that he
would be overtaken, he fairly turned at bay, and prepared for

69
62 TALES. AND TRADITIONS.
e

a strenuous resistance. The woods through which they were
running were very thin, and consisted almost entirely of small
trees, behind which it was difficult to obtain proper shelter.
When Morgan adopted the above-mentioned resolution, he
had just passed a large walnut tree, which stood like a patri-
arch among the saplings which surrounded it, and it became
necessary to run back about ten steps, in order to regain it.
The Indians became startled at the sudden advance of the
fugitive, and were compelled to halt among a cluster of sap-
lings, where they anxiously strove to shelter themselves.
This, however, was impossible, and Morgan, who was an
excellent marksman, saw enough of one of them to justify
him in risking a shot. His enemy instantly fell, mortally
wounded. The other Indian, taking advantage of Morgan’s
empty gun, sprung from his shelter and advanced rapidly.
The man having no time to.reload his gun, was compelled to
fiy a second time. The Indian gained rapidly upon him, and
when within twenty steps fired, but with so unsteady an aim,
that Morgan struck with the butt of his gun, and the Indian
whirled his tomahawk at one and the same moment. Both
blows took effect—and both were at once wounded and dis-
armed. The breech of the rifle was broken against the
Indian’s skull, and the edge of the tomahawk was shattered
against the barrel of the rifle, having cut off two of the fin-
gers of Morgan’s left hand. The Indian then attempted to
draw his knife; Morgan grappled him and bore him to the
ground. A furious struggle ensued, in which the old man’s
strength failed, and the Indian succeeded in turning him.
Planting his knee on the breast of his enemy, and yelling
loudly, as is usual with them upon any turn of fortune, he
again felt for his knife, in order to terminate the struggle at

once; but, having lately stolen a woman’s apron, and tied it

around his waist, his knife was so much confined that he had

great difficulty in finding the handle. Morgan, in the mean

time, being a regular pugilist, according to the custom of

Virginia, and perfectly at home in a ground struggle, took

advantage of the awkwardness of the Indian, and got one of
70

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THE STRUGGLE ‘FOR LIFE AND DEATH. 63
®

the fingers of his right hand between his teeth. The Indian
tugged and roared in vain, struggling to extricate it. Mor-
gan held him fast, and begun to ass'st him in hunting for the
knife. Each seized it at the same moment, the Indian by the
blade, and Morgan by the handle, and with a slight hold
The Indian having the firmest hold, begun to draw the knife
further out of its sheath, when Morgan suddenly gave his
finger a furious bite, and twitched the knife dexterously
through his hand, cutting it severely. Both now sprung to
their feet, Morgan brandishing his adversary’s knife, and still
holding his finger between his teeth. In vain the poor Indian
struggled to get away—rearing, plunging and bolting like an
unbroken colt. The teeth of the white man were like a vice,
and he at length succeeded in giving him a stab in the side.
The Indian received it without falling, the knife having struck
his ribs; but a second blow, aimed at the stomach, proved
more effectual, and the savage fell. Morgan thrust the knife,
handle and all, into the cavity of the body, directed upward,
and, starting to his feet, made the best of his, way home.

The neighborhood was quickly alarmed, and, hurrying to
the spot where the struggle had taken place, they found the
first Indian lying where he had fallen—but the second had
disappeared. A broad trail of blood, however, conducted to
a fallen tree top, within one hundred yards of the spot, into
which the poor fellow had dragged himself, and where he now
lay bleeding, but still alive. He had plucked the knife from
his wound, and was endeavoring to dress it with the apron
which had cost him his life, when his enemies approached.
The love of life appeared still strong within him, however.
He greeted them with what was intended for an insinuating
smile, held out his hand, and exclaimed, in broken English,
“How de do, broder—how de do? glad to see you.” But
the tomahawk at once did its work. It was not in the hearts
of the settlers to show mercy, and to nurse back to life the
creature who ventured into their midst only to murder and
destroy.

An adventure, not dissimilar to the foregoing, befel one ot

: 71

 

 
TALES AND TRADITIONS.

the early settlers in the lower Muskingum Valley, Ohio.
During the summer of 1798, apprehensions existed, in that
locality, of the Indians ; but, as none had appeared other than
those apparently fr Lendtyy the settlers were lulled into a sense
of security. An old man and his son were at work in a field,
not far from theit house, when all at once two rifles were dis-
charged, almost simultaneously, and the son fell forw: rd,
pierced by two balls. Two Indians rushed forward from the
woods; and each, eager for the scalp, scarcely noticed the old
man, as he fled in an opposite direction. His flight was not,
however, one of fear, but toward the spot where the ever-
ready rifles had been left. He reached the weapons, and, in
an instant, stood upon the defensive. The savages saw their
peril, but were too late to avert it. Quick as if but thirty,
instead of seventy years, nerved his arm, the old settler
brought his piece to bear. A report, and the ball went crash-
ing through one savage skull. Then followed three hours of
maneuver between the white and the red-man, in which were
exercised all the sagacity and strategy of two creatures bent
on each other’s death. From stump to stump and tree to
tree they flitted, or crawled, silent as the grave, but eager as
leopards. TF inally, there came a single report, and the red-
man, with a wild shriek, bounded in air, and then fell, a corpse.
The wounded son had so far recovered his senses as to appre-
ciate the true nature of the struggle, and, making his way
toward the savage whom the old man had killed, recovered
and loaded his rifle. For two hours he watched the two
men, waiting, ere his life should ebb entirely away, for the
moment of victory. It came. He shot the savage; the gun
fell from his grasp, and the father rushed to the spot to find
his son just conscious enough to say “ thank God!” ere his

eyes closed forever. The two savages killed were found to be
Delawares, who had received many kindnesses from the old
man and his son.

72